Lin Feng pocketed the cool jade slip within his robes. The Spatial Weave Locket he held more carefully, the delicate chain pooled in his palm, the star sapphire dark and serene.
His mission was accomplished. He had secured one tool for his own power and prestige, a sword art that could become a beautiful, terrifying spectacle. And he had found one perfect gift for his mother, a treasure that would delight her mischievous heart.
The rest of the Vault, with its countless glowing orbs and untold legends, held no further allure for him. His choices were made.
With no reason to linger, he turned his back on the silent, towering shelves. His footsteps, now firm and decisive on the polished black marble, echoed through the vast cathedral of treasures as he walked without a backward glance toward the grand archway that led to the descent.
Lin Feng descended. He moved through the fourth, third, second, and first floors with a swift, fluid grace that was a world apart from his earlier laborious climb. The treasures he passed were now invisible to him, their allure extinguished. His purpose here was fulfilled.
He stepped back through the grand stone archway and into the dim, circular anteroom. The air was still heavy with the scent of old paper and dormant power. And there, behind the darkwood desk, was the Librarian. She was frozen in the exact same posture: boots propped on the desk's edge, her entire being absorbed in the book of blank pages held in her hands. It was as if time itself had refused to pass in her presence.
He came to a stop before her desk. She gave no indication she was aware of him.
"I have what I need," he stated, his voice cutting through the quiet.
Slowly, with an air of profound reluctance, she lowered the book. The blank white bone mask tilted up, its smooth, featureless surface regarding him. A long, silent pause stretched between them. She did not ask what he had taken; she did not need to. The subtle shift in the Vault's spiritual tapestry and the absolute finality in his tone were confirmation enough.
She gave a single, slow nod, a gesture of bureaucratic completion.
"Token," she said, the word a dry command.
Lin Feng placed the cold jade token on the polished surface of the desk.
Her fingers, sheathed in the same matte black material that covered her arms, picked up the token with languid indifference. She set it aside in a small, unadorned wooden box, where it lay beside other, identical tokens.
Without another word, without a flicker of acknowledgment, she raised the book of blank pages back into her line of sight. The dismissal was absolute. He had been processed, and he had ceased to exist.
Lin Feng watched her for a few more breaths, a faint, analytical curiosity stirring within him.
'What a strange woman,' he thought, his senses brushing against the dense, immovable weight of her aura. It was a pressure heavier than some Elders he had encountered, a deep well of contained power. 'Her strength is undeniable, hidden beneath this… laziness. This performance of boredom. She might be a secret elder, a guardian of a higher order.'
He observed the perfect stillness of her form, the total absorption in a text that held no words. It was a level of eccentricity that went beyond mere quirks.
'Well,' he concluded, the thought dissolving as quickly as it had formed, 'it doesn't matter.'
She was an enigma, but she was irrelevant to his immediate goals. He turned and walked towards the massive door, leaving the silent Librarian to her empty pages. The door, sensing his departure, swung inward silently, granting him passage back to the world.
He stepped through the massive door and out of the Vault's sacred silence. The daylight, though filtered through the eternal mist, felt brilliant and sharp against his eyes. The crisp mountain air filled his lungs, a stark contrast to the Vault's still, heavy atmosphere.
The moment he cleared the threshold, the immense door swung shut behind him. The movement was not violent, but it was final, closing with a deep, resonant thud that vibrated through the stone beneath his feet. It sealed itself without a visible command, without a flicker of movement from the masked guardian, who remained lounging against the steps, his hookah pipe still issuing its lazy, fragrant smoke.
Lin Feng glanced over his shoulder at the now-sealed entrance, a brief, final acknowledgment, before he began to walk away across the white jade bridge.
"Took you long enough!"
The voice, bright and teasing, cut through the mountain quiet. He turned to see Feng Yan and her two followers, still waiting in the exact same spot where he had left them. She was waving at him, a brilliant, expectant grin lighting up her face, as if his emergence from the legendary vault was the most exciting event of her day.
Lin Feng began walking back along the secluded path, his hands clasped behind his back in his usual, noble posture. The journey felt different now, unburdened.
Feng Yan fell into step beside him, her presence closer and more familiar than before. The two female disciples trailed a step or two behind, their eyes frequently darting to the sharp line of Lin Feng's profile. They whispered and giggled to each other in voices too low for even his sharp senses to clearly decipher, their earlier wariness now replaced by a flustered, captivated curiosity.
Her own curiosity could no longer be contained. "Well?" Feng Yan asked, her voice bubbling over with excitement. "Don't keep us in suspense! What did you take from there? How did it look inside? Was it magnificent? Were there mountains of spirit stones? Rivers of liquid fire?"
One of the disciples behind her, emboldened, added in a hushed, reverent tone, "Yes, Senior Brother Lin! Were the legends true?"
The other, her voice barely a whisper, dared to ask, "Did... did you see a God's weapon?"
Lin Feng's gaze remained forward, his expression neutral. "I just took something that caught my eye." He paused for a beat, considering the Vault's interior with clinical detachment. "And it was... like a library. A very organized one. It had many treasures."
He delivered the next line with deliberate, off-handed casualness, knowing its effect. "Of course, it also had a few Phoenix feathers."
Feng Yan stumbled mid-step, her flamboyant composure utterly shattered. "What?!" she gasped, her voice rising an octave. "Real Phoenix feathers? The Vermilion Bird kind? From the true ancestral bloodline?!" Her eyes were wide, shining with a potent mixture of shock and pure, unadulterated avarice. The two disciples clutched at each other's sleeves, their own whispers ceasing in stunned silence. She let out a low, determined sigh, her gaze turning distant and ambitious. "I'll also do anything. I must get inside that vault one day."
Lin Feng gave a slight shake of his head, answering the earlier, awestruck question. "I didn't see any God's weapon."
As Feng Yan continued to chatter, now wildly speculating about the properties and potential of the legendary feathers and what other wonders must be hidden away, Lin Feng's attention turned inward. The noise of her voice faded into a distant hum.
His right hand, still clasped behind his back, gently closed around the Spatial Weave Locket tucked within his robe. His fingers traced the smooth circle of white gold, the sharp, perfect edges of the square-cut sapphire.
He imagined Meixiu's face when he gave it to her. The initial surprise in her dark eyes, the slow dawning understanding of its impossible function, and finally, the brilliant, utterly mischievous grin that would surely split her features as a dozen clever, playful pranks instantly blossomed in her mind.
At that thought, a change came over him.
A smile touched his lips. It was so faint it was almost not there, a mere ghost of an expression.
But his eyes... his dark, usually impassive eyes, softened. They held a warmth, a profound, quiet happiness that no amount of smiling could ever fully describe. It was a light that belonged to her, and her alone.
The secluded path, with Feng Yan's bright chatter and Lin Feng's private smile, dissolved into the sun-drenched serenity of Medicine Soul Peak. The morning had matured, the sun climbing high enough to cast short, defined shadows and make the air shimmer with warmth. In Elder Tao's main courtyard, the heat coaxed forth the scent of a hundred different herbs from the surrounding gardens, creating a thick, potent perfume of earth, pollen, and simmering sap.
Meixiu stood at a stone alchemy table, her form bathed in the golden light. Mr. Bunbun was tucked securely in the crook of her arm, his one good ear flopping gently. Her attention was wholly focused on a crystalline cauldron before her, within which a vibrant green liquid swirled with lazy, mesmerizing grace. Her twilight-colored robes seemed to drink the sunlight, and her features, eternally youthful and soft, were set in an expression of charming concentration.
Suddenly, a slight, inexplicable shiver ran down her spine. It was not unpleasant, but a delicate, tingling sensation, like the brush of a fond memory. She paused her work, her hands stilling above the cauldron. Her dark, luminous eyes lifted, scanning the tranquil courtyard with a faint, curious expression, as if she might find the source of the feeling hiding among the potted spirit grasses or beneath the gnarled plum trees.
Finding nothing, a slow, knowing smile touched her lips. She looked down at the plush rabbit in her arms, giving its head a gentle, affectionate pat.
"Must be A-Li thinking about us again," she murmured softly, her voice a warm, confidential whisper meant only for Mr. Bunbun's button eyes.
With a contented little shrug that spoke of a deep, unshakable bond, she refocused on her alchemical work, the small, secret smile still playing on her lips as she guided the swirling liquid with a deft touch.
The courtyard hummed with a quiet, dedicated energy. The air, thick with the scent of drying herbs and simmering elixirs, was punctuated by the soft, respectful voices of disciples.
Elder Tao presided over it all from his simple wooden chair in a shaded corner. His wide-brimmed hat cast a deep shadow, concealing his eyes. Before him, a group of five or six Inner Sect disciples formed a respectful half-circle. They clutched jade slips and precious spirit herbs, their postures tense with a mix of hope and apprehension.
"Venerable Elder," a young man ventured, his voice carefully modulated. "The scripture states the Purple Mist Grass must join the crucible at the peak of the third steam cycle for the Harmonization Pill. This humble disciple seeks confirmation."
A young woman holding a vibrant Golden Sunflower asked another. "For the Meridian-Cleansing Elixir, does one gauge the Stoneroot Powder's reaction by the shift in the liquid's hue, or by a count of heartbeats?"
Elder Tao offered a slow, silent nod to the first. To the second, a barely perceptible shake of his head. His gaze never lifted from the aged ledger on his lap.
Yet, despite their intense focus on the legendary elder, the disciples' attention was fractured. Their eyes, again and again, darted away from him. They were drawn to the other figure in the courtyard.
Their gazes fell upon Meixiu. They had heard whispers of Elder Tao's new disciple, rumors of a peerless talent who had caught his eye. But the rumors, they realized in that moment, had been a pale imitation, a feeble attempt to describe the impossible. It wasn't just her skill; her very presence held a serene, untouchable grace, as if she were a reflection in still water, clear and profound. They watched her work at her stone table, the worn rabbit plush tucked in her arm.
These disciples were no novices. They had cultivated for years, their talents honed to a fine edge, placing them among the top of the Inner Sect. Yet, they remained disciples of minor alchemy elders. The ultimate honor—to be a direct disciple of Elder Tao himself—had always been a distant, unreachable star.
It was an honor that had not been bestowed since his first two disciples, legends who had now surpassed even the geniuses of previous generations. For decades, the position had remained vacant, a testament to Elder Tao's impossible standards.
And then she had arrived. Meixiu had been chosen directly from the yearly selections, plucked from the crowd and brought into his inner circle as effortlessly as one might pluck a herb. She was living the very fantasy that fueled their own arduous cultivation, a constant, graceful reminder of the chasm between them. Their expressions as they watched her were a tumultuous blend of raw awe, searing jealousy, and profound confusion.
Meixiu was utterly oblivious to the storm of gazes fixed upon her. She moved with the unthinking, innate grace of a master chef in her own kitchen, the world beyond her cauldron having ceased to exist.
She picked up a stalk of "Frozen Soul Grass," its leaves shimmering with a faint, crystalline frost. She brought it to her nose, sniffed thoughtfully, then broke off a tiny piece to taste. She immediately scrunched her nose in distaste.
"Too bitter, Bunbun," she confided to the plush rabbit. "It'll leave a bad aftertaste in the pill." As if solving the simplest of problems, she reached for a nearby jar of iridescent "Sunset Petals" and sprinkled a generous pinch into the bubbling concoction. "This should sweeten it up just right."
She began to hum a soft, nonsensical tune, one hand gently patting Mr. Bunbun's back. With the other, she adjusted the flow of her qi into the cauldron. It was not done through any complex esoteric method or rigid formula. She did it by "feeling," as one might adjust the heat under a simmering pot, her intuition guiding the spiritual energy. The cauldron responded instantly, the chaotic energies within it settling into a perfect, harmonious swirl. The liquid within glowed with a stable, vibrant light.
The surrounding disciples watched, their professional awe warring with sheer disbelief. To add an ingredient based on taste? To adjust qi flow by instinct? It was heresy to everything they had been rigorously taught. Yet, the result before them was undeniably perfect, the pill's aura purer than any of them could likely produce. They exchanged stunned, helpless glances, their understanding of alchemy quietly fracturing.
From his shaded corner, Elder Tao's hidden gaze was locked on her. The dried tea leaves sewn into the lining of his robes rustled with a faint, almost imperceptible sound, the only external sign of his internal tumult.
'Even though... she's my disciple... she makes pills like she's cooking congee,' he mused, the thought laced with a profound and weary astonishment. 'No reverence for the sacred texts. No rigid adherence to the alchemical canon passed down through ten thousand generations. Just... a taste, a sniff, and an instinct.'
'And she succeeds,' the thought continued, a wave of bewildered resignation washing over him. 'All she needs is a single taste of a finished pill or a single glance at a recipe to understand its very essence. She then produces a near-perfect replica. In half a month, she's advanced from basic remedies to consistently producing high-tier Tier 3 pills... a level of mastery that takes others decades of grueling, meticulous study.'
His hidden eyes shifted from Meixiu toward the general direction of the sect's heart, where the secluded vault lay hidden between its sacred peaks. It was as if he could sense the disturbance in the world's rhythm that Lin Feng's presence caused. A deep, existential fatigue settled in his bones.
'What type of monsters are she and that boy?' he pondered, the rustling of the leaves beneath his robes growing slightly more agitated. 'One rewrites the heavens on a whim, the other treats profound alchemy as a casual kitchen pastime. Neither of them is normal. What god or demon did I offend in a past life to be saddled with such... perplexing geniuses?'
And as if to perfectly illustrate his point, completely unaware of his internal turmoil, Meixiu simply carried on.
With a final, satisfied nod, she carefully used a spirit-jade spatula to scoop the perfected pill from the cauldron. It glowed with a soft, internal light, its surface flawless, emanating a pure and potent aura. She placed it gently into a waiting jade vial, sealing it with a soft click.
She was utterly unaware of the stunned silence she had left in her wake, the disciples still grappling with the casual heresy of her methods. To her, it was simply done.
Without pause, she then began to cheerfully clean her crystalline cauldron, humming the same nonsensical tune. She wiped its interior with a soft cloth with the brisk efficiency of someone who had just finished washing a breakfast bowl, her mind already leaping ahead to the next intriguing recipe or ingredient that had caught her eye. The profound act of creation was already a mundane memory.
Elder Tao, from his shaded corner, remained a motionless statue. The only movement was the faint, final rustle of the tea leaves against his ribs before they too fell still. The weight of his observations—of the effortless genius humming before him and the world-shaking anomaly walking back from the vault—settled deeper into his ancient bones, a quiet, perpetual burden of awe and exhaustion.
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