They spent the next two hours in comfortable, easy camaraderie. They didn't talk about cultivation manuals, his assassination, or the upcoming days in the Song Clan. None of them was really important for now.
They talked about recipes, about Old Lan's cantankerous tantrums in the kitchens, and about the sheer absurdity of lowlander culture. For Ye Jun, it was a rare, precious sanctuary of absolute peace, a reminder of why he fought so hard to survive.
He was no longer just assassin Weaver or trash Ye Jun.
By the time the moon reached its zenith, casting a pale, silver sheen over the White Gale Pavilion, Ye Jun quietly bid farewell to the giant.
While the rest of the sect Cultivated or slept, the pavilion remained dimly illuminated by eternal spiritual lanterns.
Ye Jun slipped past the outer shelves of first floor, his Soul Sense effortlessly mapping the empty parts until he located a secluded alcove in the deep research wings.
