Morning mist clung low to Azure Wind Mountain.
It used to part on its own when the ancestor circulated sword intent.
Now it lingered stubbornly, thick and damp, like something unwilling to leave.
Lan Qingyun stood outside the inner courtyard where his master rested.
The door was closed.
Inside, faint qi fluctuations trembled unevenly.
Golden Core instability.
Like cracked porcelain holding boiling water.
He had seen this pattern before.
The core was collapsing slowly.
Not today.
Not tomorrow.
But soon.
Very soon.
Footsteps approached from the stone path.
Lan Qingyun did not turn.
"I didn't expect you to come back."
A short laugh answered him.
Senior Brother Lu.
Still dressed in Verdant Mountain Sect robes — rich green silk, embroidered insignia bright and clean.
Behind him stood Senior Sister Mei and one of the twin brothers.
They had grown stronger.
Their auras sharper.
High Foundation Establishment nearing Golden Core.
Good resources made a difference.
Lu clasped his hands politely.
"Junior Brother Qingyun."
Sect Master Qingyun, technically.
But Lu did not use the title.
Lan Qingyun finally turned.
"You've come to visit Master."
It wasn't a question.
Lu nodded.
"There are… rumors."
Of course there were.
In cultivation regions, illness spread faster than wind.
"He is resting," Qingyun replied evenly.
Mei's gaze drifted toward the training grounds below.
Fifty disciples practicing.
Uneven.
Clumsy.
She frowned faintly.
"You're still training them like this?"
"They are disciples of Azure Wind."
"They are… mediocre."
Qingyun didn't react.
"Yes."
Lu sighed.
"Junior Brother. The region is changing. Crimson Cloud Sect has allied with Thunder Ridge. Verdant Mountain is negotiating trade with Moon Pavilion. Azure Wind…"
He let the sentence hang.
Lan Qingyun finished it calmly.
"…is no longer top five."
Mei's eyes softened slightly.
"We didn't leave because we hated this place."
"I know."
"We left because we saw the direction."
"And I chose another."
Lu studied him.
"You are Mid Golden Core now."
"Yes."
"With your cultivation, Verdant Mountain would accept you as guest elder. Even now."
Silence.
Wind moved through bamboo groves.
A wooden sword clattered below as a disciple stumbled.
Lu lowered his voice.
"Junior Brother. When Master passes… this mountain will be pressured. You cannot protect it alone."
Qingyun met his gaze steadily.
"I will not be alone."
Lu glanced at the fifty disciples again.
His expression said enough.
Qingyun almost smiled.
Almost.
"Senior Brother," he said quietly, "you once said talent determines destiny."
Lu nodded.
"I did."
"I disagree."
Lu's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Then what determines it?"
"Who remains."
For a moment, something flickered in Lu's expression.
Conflict.
Memory.
Then it vanished.
He bowed lightly.
"We will see."
They entered the courtyard to visit their dying master.
Inside, Elder Wei lay propped against cushions.
His once-powerful frame had withered.
But his eyes were still clear.
Still sharp.
He smiled faintly when he saw the three who had left.
"So you came."
Lu knelt.
"We owe you that much."
Mei lowered her head.
Elder Wei chuckled weakly.
"You owe me nothing. You chose strength. That is not wrong."
His gaze shifted to Lan Qingyun.
"But someone must choose responsibility."
Silence filled the room.
Lu's jaw tightened.
"Master… Azure Wind cannot survive without stronger backing. If Qingyun agrees, Verdant Mountain—"
Elder Wei lifted a trembling hand.
"No."
Just that.
The single word carried surprising weight.
"This mountain will not kneel."
His breathing grew heavier.
Lu clenched his fists but said nothing.
After a few more strained exchanges, they left quietly.
The room fell silent again.
Only Qingyun remained.
Elder Wei's breathing rattled faintly.
"Qingyun."
"I am here."
"You are stubborn."
"Yes."
A faint smile.
"Good."
Long pause.
"Do you regret staying?"
The question lingered between them.
Qingyun thought about it honestly.
About the missed opportunities.
About faster cultivation elsewhere.
About easier paths.
Then he answered.
"No."
Elder Wei studied him.
"You expected something when you first came here."
Qingyun's eyes flickered.
For a moment.
"You noticed."
"You looked at the sky too often."
Silence.
"I thought…" Qingyun began, then stopped.
Elder Wei wheezed softly.
"You thought fate would descend."
"…Yes."
"And did it?"
"No."
Another long silence.
The old master's voice softened.
"Good."
Qingyun blinked.
"Good?"
"If fate never came… then everything you achieved is yours."
The words hit heavier than expected.
Outside, wind brushed against the courtyard walls.
"I am dying," Elder Wei said plainly.
"Not yet."
"Soon."
His eyes sharpened.
"When I am gone, they will test you."
"Let them."
"You cannot protect everyone."
"I know."
"You must choose what to save."
That—
That was heavier.
The sect.
The disciples.
The legacy.
The mountain.
The name.
Elder Wei's hand trembled slightly as he reached toward Qingyun's sleeve.
"I was not strong enough to restore us."
"You did not fail."
"I stagnated."
"You endured."
A faint chuckle.
"Just like you."
His breathing turned uneven again.
"Help them grow."
"I will."
"Even the weak ones."
"…Especially them."
Elder Wei closed his eyes briefly.
For a moment, Qingyun thought—
But the old man inhaled again.
Still alive.
Still holding on.
That evening, word arrived.
Crimson Cloud Sect had sent a message.
A polite message.
Polite threats were always worse.
Lan Qingyun stood in the main hall reading it.
Annual tribute increased.
Shared resource access revoked.
Invitation to "discuss cooperation."
Which meant—
Submission.
A second-rate sect testing boundaries.
Timing was not coincidence.
They smelled weakness.
Behind him, fifty disciples knelt in rows.
Anxious.
Silent.
He folded the message calmly.
"Training doubles from tomorrow."
Murmurs.
"But Sect Master—"
"We cannot double cultivation resources—"
"We will."
His tone left no room for doubt.
They quieted.
He looked at them one by one.
Not geniuses.
Not prodigies.
Just young cultivators with uncertain futures.
He exhaled slowly.
A hundred years.
Still nothing from the sky.
Good.
Then he would handle this like he always had.
Step by step.
Without miracles.
That night, he stood alone on the highest terrace.
Looking at distant lights of other sect mountains.
Brighter.
More numerous.
Stronger.
"Top five," he muttered quietly.
Once.
Now barely remembered.
Wind swept across the cliff edge.
Behind him, faint coughing echoed from the inner courtyard.
Master still alive.
Still holding on.
But time was thin.
Very thin.
Lan Qingyun clenched his hands behind his back.
"If no destiny comes…"
His voice trailed off.
He did not finish the sentence.
He did not need to.