The first light of dawn, thin and pale, stretched across the distant peaks, painting them in hues of bruised violet and faint rose. No birdsong yet, no rustle of silk from the neighboring quarters. The world held its breath, a vast, silent canvas awaiting the day's first stroke.
Lin Feng stood outside the small, secluded dwelling, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular, yet missing nothing. The sleek black robe, clung to his well-built frame, the subtle phoenix emblem on the back catching the nascent light. It was a stark contrast to the usual muted tones worn by the Celestial Sword Pavilion disciples, a bold statement in its understated elegance. His black hair, slightly long at the back, just brushing the nape of his neck, was swept back from a flawless, pale face that tapered to a strong jawline. But it was his eyes—dark, depthless pools—that held the quiet intensity. They glinted, reflecting the distant peaks, revealing a mind already sharp, already anticipating.
A few early risers, disciples heading to their morning meditations or practice, moved through the outer courtyard. A young woman, her robes a simple grey, paused, her steps faltering as her eyes snagged on Lin Feng. A faint blush dusted her cheeks as she hurried on, a soft murmur escaping her lips like a whispered prayer.
Another, a broad-shouldered man, his sword hilt gleaming at his hip, gave a barely perceptible nod of respect, his gaze lingering with a flicker of admiration before he continued his path. Stolen glances, hushed whispers, lingering stares – they were the silent accolades offered to his presence, a testament to the aura that clung to him like morning mist.
A soft rustle, almost imperceptible, drew his attention. The door to their quarters opened, and Li Meixiu stepped out. She was barefoot, her small, delicate feet making no sound on the cold stone. Her twilight-colored robes, a swirling tapestry of deep blues and purples, seemed to drink the remaining shadows, making her appear as if she had just stepped from a dream. Black, long hair cascaded down her back, a silken curtain that swayed with her every movement. Her black eyes, deep and knowing, held a mischievous glint, and her soft facial features, unlined by time, made her appear no older than twenty, despite her true age. Cradled in her arms, Mr. Bunbun, the well-loved rabbit plush, dangled casually, its long ears flopping with each step. She moved with an easy grace, a strange, captivating presence that drew eyes even from the outer sect.
"Look at her," a young boy, barely past his initiation, whispered to his companion, his voice a mixture of awe and confusion. "Who is she? She looks… unplaceable. Like a dream someone had."
His companion, older and more jaded, simply grunted, but his gaze, too, was fixed on Meixiu, a flicker of something akin to wonder in his eyes.
The outer courtyard, typically a quiet space at this early hour, began to stir. Cultivators, a steady stream now, flowed from their various dormitories and quarters, all heading in one direction: the alchemy trial grounds. The air, crisp moments before, began to hum with a palpable tension. Hope, sharp and desperate, mingled with the subtle venom of side-eye glances. Thousands of cultivators, from the greenest novices to seasoned practitioners hoping for a breakthrough, were gathering. Their footsteps, a soft scuffing at first, grew into a low rumble as the crowd swelled.
Lin Feng watched them, his expression unreadable. He did not call Meixiu "mother," not here, not ever. Their bond was a secret, an understanding woven between them alone, not for the prying eyes or judgment of this world. It was a quiet truth, a foundation upon which his entire existence was built. He simply stood, a silent sentinel, as Meixiu drifted closer, her presence a soft warmth at his side.
A flash of vibrant red-gold hair, a ripple of flamboyant silk robes, and Feng Yan, the Second Heir of the Vermilion Phoenix Clan, strolled into view. Her wide grin, a dazzling display of confidence and mischief, seemed to banish the last lingering shadows of dawn. She was a whirlwind of energy, her movements fluid and unburdened.
"Well, well, well," Feng Yan purred, her silver eyes glinting playfully as she approached, her gaze sweeping over Lin Feng. "Look at you, all decked out in my finest. Honestly, it looks better on you than it does on me. A true crime, really, that I ever wore it." She winked, a flirtatious spark in her gaze.
Meixiu, without a word, tightened her grip on Lin Feng's sleeve, her fingers digging in just a fraction. Her black eyes narrowed, a subtle, playful jealousy flickering within their depths. She stepped closer, her hands brushing against his, a silent claim. Mr. Bunbun, caught between them, swung gently.
"It suits him," Meixiu said, her voice soft but firm, a hint of something sharp beneath the placid surface.
Feng Yan let out a peal of laughter, a bright, melodic sound that drew a few curious glances. "Oh, it absolutely does, darling! I never said it didn't. Just that it's a tragedy I didn't realize its true potential until now." She paused, her gaze flicking to Meixiu, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. "And you, my dear. Still with your… spiritual weapon?" She gestured to Mr. Bunbun, a teasing glint in her eyes.
Meixiu merely raised a brow, a flicker of her usual mischief returning. "He's very powerful. Don't underestimate him." She patted Mr. Bunbun's head, a tiny, almost imperceptible *thwack* as her palm met the plush fabric.
The air around them, despite the growing throng and underlying tension, felt lighter, imbued with their easy banter. It was a strange island of normalcy amidst the sea of anxious cultivators.
Jin Chen of the Frostblade Clan, his frost-blue robes impeccable, strode past, his features sharp, etched with the arrogance of someone used to being praised. But, now all he has is, outer sect... He couldn't pass any of the Inner Sect trials. His gaze, however, was already locked onto Lin Feng, a festering jealousy simmering beneath his polished facade. He spotted the white-haired, mirror twins, Jin Lei and Jin Mei, standing by a gnarled old oak, their single shadow stretching unnaturally long behind them. They spoke in eerie unison, their voices a chilling, synchronized whisper.
"A good day for trials, isn't it?" Jin Chen attempted, his voice a touch too loud, a forced joviality.
The Phantom Twins turned their heads as one, their pupil-less white eyes fixing on him. "The day is… as it should be," they intoned, their voices perfectly synchronized, devoid of warmth. "Neither good… nor bad." They turned away, dismissing him with an almost imperceptible shudder, leaving Jin Chen to stew in their cold rejection. He scowled, his gaze darting to Shui Daiyu.
Shui Daiyu, the slender girl from the Black Tortoise Clan, stood a short distance away, her back partially turned, revealing a hint of the blue-green scales that shimmered beneath her robes. Her silver eyes, keen and intelligent, were fixed on the distant alchemy arena. Jin Chen, ever persistent, approached her.
"Shui Daiyu, a moment of your time?" he began, his tone a little more deferential this time.
She turned, her silver eyes sweeping over him, cold and disapproving. Her lips, a pale rose, thinned into a fine line. "I am busy," she stated, her voice flat, devoid of any inflection. She offered no further explanation, no apology, simply a silent, impenetrable wall of dismissal. Jin Chen's face flushed a deeper red as she turned her back on him completely, effectively silencing him with a single, withering glare.
In the distance, almost a part of the shadows cast by the sect buildings, stood Yan Lihua. The prodigy, her pupil-less white eyes unblinking, watched Lin Feng intently. Her black hair, stark against her lavender robes, seemed to absorb the light. She was an enigma, her presence as ethereal as the melting frost footprints she sometimes left behind, each a silent, poetic haiku. After a long moment, she moved, her steps deliberate, until she was a mere few paces from Lin Feng.
Her voice, when it came, was soft, almost a whisper, yet it cut through the murmuring crowd. "Your presence… feels like u already have cultivated for years."
It was a rare compliment, one she offered to almost no one. Lin Feng merely nodded, a slight inclination of his head, acknowledging the words but offering no response.
"Who is she? She looks… too beautiful to be real. Like a dream someone had," one outer sect girl whispered to another, her gaze fixed on Meixiu, a mixture of fascination and confusion on her face.
"Right? Like she's not even from around here. And that… rabbit thing," her friend replied, shaking her head. "So strange."
Meixiu, oblivious or simply uncaring of the whispers, leaned into Lin Feng. "They're talking about me, aren't they?" she mused, her voice a low hum. "Probably saying how stunning I am."
Lin Feng's lips twitched, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement. "No doubt," he deadpanned, his gaze straight ahead.
Feng Yan, ever the showman, clapped her hands together, the sound sharp and bright. "Oh, they absolutely are! And about your spiritual weapon, of course. Is it… explosive? I have a penchant for those." She grinned, her eyes sparkling.
Meixiu narrowed her eyes at Feng Yan. "He's not explosive. He's fluffy. And he bites." She squeezed Mr. Bunbun, who remained serenely unbothered.
"A biter, eh?" Feng Yan chuckled, clearly amused. "Even better!"
The light atmosphere, a fragile bubble of humor and easy chemistry, was a stark contrast to the buzzing tension of the thousands of cultivators around them. It was a cinematic moment, a brief respite before the grand spectacle of the alchemy trial.
Everyone was gearing up, the air thick with anticipation, but for Lin Feng and Meixiu, it was simply another morning, another step in their shared journey.
Lin Feng's gaze dropped. He noticed it then, the delicate curve of Meixiu's bare feet against the rough stone of the courtyard. The ground was cold, hard, and would only grow more so as they approached the arena. His brow furrowed, a flicker of concern in his usually impassive eyes.
"You're barefoot again," he stated, his voice a low, calm murmur, meant only for her ears. His tone was gentle, infused with a quiet care that always seemed to surprise her, despite its constancy. "The ground will be rough. And the halls… they're not meant for bare feet."
Without another word, he crouched down, his tall frame bending with an easy grace. From within the folds of his borrowed robe, he took out a pair of slippers. They were exquisite, soft-soled and silver-threaded, clearly meant for an alchemy master's delicate touch, appropriate for the polished floors and subtle energies of the alchemy halls. The silver threads shimmered faintly in the growing light.
Meixiu raised a delicate brow, her eyes wide with surprise. "Where'd you get these?" Her voice held a hint of her usual teasing, but also a genuine curiosity.
Lin Feng met her gaze, his expression entirely serious. "Asked one of the outer sect girls. She gave it right away. Don't know why." His tone was guileless, utterly unaware of the effect his presence had on others.
A slow smile spread across Meixiu's face, a genuine, soft curve that transformed her features. "I do," she murmured, her eyes twinkling with amusement and affection. She extended a foot, allowing him to gently take it in his large, warm hand. The soft fabric of the slipper slid easily onto her foot, a perfect fit. He repeated the action with the other, his movements careful, tender.
When both slippers were on, soft and comfortable against her skin, he rose, his gaze steady on her. The thousands of cultivators, the buzzing anticipation, the looming trial – all faded into the background. It was just them, in that moment.
"If anything goes wrong…" Lin Feng began, his voice dropping even lower, a quiet rumble that vibrated only for her. "…I'll be right here." His black eyes held a fierce, unwavering promise, a silent vow of protection that transcended words.
For once, Meixiu didn't tease. Her playful mask dropped, revealing a profound sincerity. She met his gaze, her own eyes soft and earnest. "Okay," she whispered, a slight nod of her head. "I'll do my best."
The words were simple, yet they held the weight of their shared history, their unspoken understanding. She turned, ready to join the flow of cultivators heading towards the arena. But before she could take more than a single step, Lin Feng's hand gently caught her arm, drawing her back. He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear, his voice a whisper, almost a breath.
"Good luck, Mom."
The word, spoken so rarely, so privately, hit her with the force of a gentle wave. A soft giggle escaped her lips, and a flush, faint but undeniable, bloomed across her cheeks. Her black eyes widened for a moment, then softened, brimming with an emotion she rarely showed. A beautiful, genuine smile curved her lips, a silent acknowledgment of the deep, unbreakable bond between them. With a slight blush still dusting her cheeks, she turned and moved towards the platform, her steps light and sure in her new, silver-threaded slippers. Mr. Bunbun, still clutched in her arm, seemed to bob along in silent approval.
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The journey to the alchemy trial arena was a slow, deliberate procession. The path, wide and well-trodden, led through manicured gardens where spiritual herbs, vibrant and otherworldly, shimmered with their innate energy. The air grew thicker with the scent of various plants, a heady, earthy perfume that mingled with the metallic tang of spiritual furnaces.
Finally, the grand arena came into view, a breathtaking sight. It was a vast, circular expanse, built from ancient, polished stone that seemed to hum with centuries of cultivation energy. Dozens of massive, intricately carved pill furnaces, some as tall as small buildings, dotted the landscape, their dark, polished surfaces reflecting the morning light. Pathways wound through meticulously tended herb gardens, where every leaf, every bloom, seemed to pulse with life. Rows upon rows of tiered seating rose steeply around the central platforms, already filled with hundreds of observers – sect elders, curious disciples, and visiting dignitaries from allied clans.
Dozens of alchemists, their robes varying in color and style, indicating their sect or rank, were already waiting on the various platforms, their expressions a mixture of nervous anticipation and quiet confidence. The air thrummed with a low, expectant murmur, a collective holding of breath.
Lin Feng and the rest of the cultivators who were already selected for inner sect arrived just as the elder overseeing the trial stepped onto the central dais. He was a venerable figure, his long white beard flowing over robes of deep emerald, his eyes sharp and commanding. A hush fell over the vast arena, the collective murmur dying to a pin-drop silence.
The elder's voice, amplified by a subtle spiritual art, resonated across the entire arena, clear and authoritative. "Welcome, cultivators, to the final trial of the Celestial Sword Pavilion's Annual Grand Assessment. Today, you are here to prove your mastery of the alchemical arts." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the assembled participants.
"The task is simple in its essence, yet profound in its execution."
A collective gasp, a ripple of nervous excitement, spread through the crowd.
"You are to refine a Tier-1 Foundation Pill."
The elder's voice boomed, the words hanging in the air. "This pill, as many of you know, is crucial for establishing a cultivator's foundational cultivation base. It requires precision, control, and a deep understanding of elemental harmony."
He paused again, a faint smile playing on his lips, a hint of dry humor in his gaze. "Explosions are not entirely forbidden—I understand the passionate nature of alchemists. But I advise restraint. We do prefer our arena to remain intact for future trials." A few nervous chuckles rippled through the participants, quickly stifled.
Excitement and skepticism rippled through the crowd of observers and participants alike.
A Tier-1 Foundation Pill was basic, yet its simplicity often hid complex challenges. Many a proud alchemist had failed at the simplest tasks.
Li Meixiu lingered at the edge of the competitors' platform, close enough to the observer galleries that she could almost sense Lin Feng's gaze from among the seated onlookers, her expression calm, unbothered by the elder's words or the surrounding tension. Mr. Bunbun, as always, dangled casually from her arm, his plush form a strange, comforting anchor in the grand, bustling arena. She looked as if she were about to attend a picnic, not a high-stakes alchemy trial. Her black eyes, deep and serene, held no trace of fear or anxiety, only a quiet, unwavering confidence.
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