He looked toward the distant horizon, where the mountains shimmered faintly in the dusk. "Tier Five next," he said softly, tone even, eyes unwavering. "No rush. Just precision."
Then, with the same quiet composure he had always carried, Tian Lei returned to his seat, set his cauldron in place, and lit the Heaven-Purifying Fire once again.
And as the night deepened, the silver-gold flame rose anew—steadfast, patient, eternal.
Days slipped by unnoticed, blending into one another like ripples in still water. The courtyard changed with the seasons—spring's breeze, summer's glare, autumn's hush, and winter's silence—but Tian Lei's rhythm never wavered.
He refined, adjusted, observed, and refined again. Tier Five demanded something far beyond technique—it demanded resonance. The ingredients no longer responded to mere control; they responded to harmony.
