Daolin made his way up the treacherous mountain path, boots crunching softly against the gravel and exposed roots. The air was crisp at this altitude, filled with the clean scent of pine and the faint whisper of spiritual energy that always lingered near the sect's upper levels. Clouds drifted lazily over the peaks, casting long shadows that moved across the forest below like giant, slow beasts.
He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders as a cool breeze brushed past him. The climb wasn't difficult for a cultivator of his level, but today, his mind was far more occupied with thoughts of someone else—Meiying.
They had grown close over the years—not suddenly, not dramatically, but naturally, like the gradual unfolding of a lotus. Days spent sparring, long nights debating the Dao, shared meals after exhausting training sessions… all of it had planted something warm inside him. He wasn't entirely sure what name to give it yet, but it was there, undeniable and steady.
