The fortress was unusually quiet that day.
Too quiet for Jun Wuya's liking.
Outside, the morning fog curled over the mountain peaks like a sleeping dragon. Inside his war lab, silence was broken only by the rhythmic clink of glass and the low hum of spirit fire.
Mo Lian worked with focused intensity, sleeves rolled up, hair tied haphazardly with a strip of linen. The dark ink on her forearms, remnants of half-washed alchemy runes, glimmered faintly each time she poured another glowing reagent into the cauldron.
Jun Wuya stood near the forge, arms crossed, golden eyes watching her like a hawk.
She didn't look up once.
That, in itself, unsettled him more than her usual chatter.
"General," she said at last, voice calm but tired, "what exactly did your soldiers inhale during that last campaign?"
He arched a brow. "You're the alchemist. Diagnose it."
"Oh, I did," she said, swirling a flask. "Their spiritual veins are corroding, but not from poison... from spirit exhaustion. Someone's overworking their qi flow without letting it stabilize. Which means..."
"...they're forcing breakthroughs in combat," he finished, tone low.
"Exactly." She set the flask down gently. "And unless you want an army of crippled cultivators, you'll stop pushing them past their meridian limits."
His jaw tightened. "We don't have the luxury of rest. The border won't hold itself."
Her hands stilled. Then she looked up, meeting his gaze... olive eyes bright, unyielding.
"Then you need something that buys them that luxury."
By noon, the lab was a battlefield of its own: smoke curling through golden light, rune arrays glowing hot under layers of protective talismans.
Jun Wuya's men would have balked at the chaos, but he only stood nearby, silent, guarding the door like a sentinel. He couldn't explain why... maybe because watching her work felt… oddly grounding?
Every time her small frame leaned over the cauldron, every time she muttered to herself "too much sulfur… no, maybe a drop of frostdew…" he found himself listening.
At one point, her sleeve caught a stray spark. Before she could react, he was beside her, fingers closing around her wrist, snuffing the flame with a burst of cold qi.
Her breath hitched. So close.
He realized how small her hand was against his, how fast her pulse fluttered.
"Careless," he muttered, releasing her abruptly.
Mo Lian blinked up at him, half amused, half flustered. "You say that like you didn't just lunge halfway across the room to save my sleeve."
"Your incompetence is contagious," he said flatly, turning away.
"Mm. You're blushing," she teased softly.
His golden eyes flicked back, sharp as lightning. "You're imagining things."
She only gave him a maddening smile and went back to stirring the cauldron.
By sunset, the entire chamber was filled with silver mist.
Mo Lian finally leaned back, exhausted but triumphant, holding up a small vial of liquid that shimmered like moonlight caught in water.
"Done," she said with a grin. "I call it... The Spirit Rebalancing Elixir. One dose restores energy flow, repairs minor meridian tears, and even purges low-grade miasma."
Jun Wuya stepped forward, gaze fixed on the glowing vial. "You made this… in a day."
"Mm-hmm," she said proudly. "I'm very efficient when I'm not being insulted."
He took the vial from her fingers, inspecting the silver hue that pulsed softly like a living thing. "This could stabilize half the troops within a week."
"Try not to sound too impressed," she murmured.
"I'm not," he replied automatically... but there was the faintest warmth behind the words.
She watched him pocket the vial, that small ghost of a smile on his lips betraying him more than any praise could.
For a fleeting moment, something in her chest ached.
A white-haired man, golden eyes dimming as she held out an elixir…
A promise she could never keep.
The image faded as quickly as it came, leaving her staring at Jun Wuya's retreating form.
"Strange," she whispered to herself. "You almost look… familiar."
Outside the lab, Baihuan waited, human form draped in mist and dusk light.
"Progress? My lord." he asked.
"She succeeded," Jun Wuya said shortly, handing him the vial.
The tiger's amber eyes glowed faintly. "Then why do you look troubled, General?"
Jun Wuya glanced back at the lab...at the faint silhouette moving inside, radiant even under smoke and ruin.
"…Because every time I look at her," he said quietly, "I feel like I've already failed her once."
The words hung in the night air, soft and heavy.
Baihuan bowed slightly, but his voice held a rare gentleness.
"Perhaps fate is giving you another chance."
Jun Wuya didn't answer, only looked up at the darkening sky, where the first stars began to pierce through the mist.
The fortress fell silent again after dusk. The echo of Mo Lian's cauldron still lingered faintly in Jun Wuya's thoughts long after he left the war lab.
Now, the night belonged to laughter and music.
The capital's entertainment quarter glimmered beneath strings of red lanterns. Flute melodies drifted through the warm air, sweet wine and incense thick enough to blur reality itself.
Inside the Moon Pavilion, noblemen and court officials lounged around polished tables, courtesans pouring wine with smiles sharp enough to wound.
And amidst it all... Jun Wuya, still in his dark robes, silver insignia faintly reflecting lantern light. He stood out like moonlight in a tavern; calm, composed, untouchable.
"Greetings, Immortal Jun!"
A portly noble rose, grinning too wide. "We are honored that you'd grace us humble mortals with your presence!"
Jun inclined his head slightly. "The honor is yours."
A ripple of laughter followed.
"Tell me, General," another voice chimed in, a thin man with sly eyes, "I was under the impression that immortals dwell in the Nine Heavens. Yet here you are, living among us mortals. Surely, this is… unusual?"
The question was dipped in honey but the venom beneath was clear.
Several courtiers leaned forward, curiosity sharpened like knives.
Jun's golden eyes lifted slowly. The air seemed to still for a heartbeat.
"I am here by decree," he said evenly. "To aid your Emperor and protect this realm from threats it cannot yet perceive."
"Ah," another courtier murmured, feigning innocence, "then it is true. You were… sent down, were you not?"
The room cooled. The courtesan nearest him froze mid-pour.
Jun's lips curved faintly not quite a smile.
"If Heaven had wished me gone," he said quietly, "you would not live long enough to gossip about it."
A tense silence. Then one of them forced a laugh, waving his fan. "Of course, of course! Merely jesting! Please, drink... to the immortal guardian of our empire!"
Jun accepted the cup but did not drink. His thoughts had already drifted...to a smoke-filled lab and a woman with ink-stained hands and olive eyes that reminded him of the dawn before regret.
He set the cup down untouched.
Back at the Fortress
The fortress's great hall was emptier without him.
Mo Lian sat at a long table with a steaming bowl of soup before her, the faint scent of spirit herbs drifting up. The caretaker, Mrs Mu, a kindly older woman with streaks of white in her hair, moved about, fussing with dishes.
"Eat while it's hot," she said.
Mo Lian nodded absently, picking at the food. "Where's Immortal Jun?"
The caretaker smiled faintly. "Out on an errand, I believe."
"An errand?" Mo Lian arched a brow. "Does that mean I can go out too?"
The caretaker froze mid-step, glancing toward the window before lowering her voice. "You know I can't allow that. Orders are orders."
"So I'm locked up here," Mo Lian said flatly.
"It's for your safety," the woman replied gently. "This place...it's not kind to strangers. Especially not to wanted ones."
Mo Lian's spoon clinked against the bowl. "Right. My safety."
She looked out the window, watching the lanterns of the distant capital flicker beyond the mist-shrouded mountains. A restless spark kindled in her chest, the same spark that always came before trouble.
"I'm sure he won't notice," she murmured to herself, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. "Just a little walk… can't hurt, can it?"
The fortress was built like a prison disguised as a palace, stone towers brimming with wards, guards posted at every corner, and spiritual seals humming faintly beneath the moonlight.
Which was, unfortunately, terrible news for Mo Lian.
It started with Mrs. Mu.
The old caretaker had a soft smile and steady hands, but the faint shimmer in her eyes told Mo Lian she wasn't just some kindly mortal , her qi was carefully masked, disciplined. The type of presence that belonged to someone who could sense a mouse breathing three rooms away.
"Rest early," Mrs. Mu said, pouring tea with mechanical precision. "The General will return by midnight."
"Of course," Mo Lian said sweetly.
She waited until the woman left, then pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. "Return by midnight? Perfect."
Pulling out a small pouch from her sleeve, she spilled its contents on the table; crushed frostleaf, night lotus pollen, and one drop of liquid moonfire.
The air shimmered as the concoction hissed to life.
"Alchemy isn't just for healing," she whispered, grinning. "It's also excellent for distractions."
She tossed the vial toward the incense burner. A soft pop...then a swirl of glittering silver smoke unfurled through the room. The faint scent of lotus filled the air.
Mrs. Mu's voice drifted from the corridor. "What in Heaven's name..?"
Mo Lian was already gone.
With a swift flick of her wrist, she smeared a rune across her skin, her qi veil snapping into place, cloaking her spiritual signature. She slipped through the narrow servant hall, silent as a breath.
The fortress wards glowed faintly, but her alchemist's eyes could see their rhythm, the rise and fall of spirit pulses like a heartbeat.
"Old-fashioned formation," she muttered. "Predictable."
Timing her steps between the waves of qi, she pressed a small talisman to the gate, one she'd made earlier from crushed mica and spirit ink.
It pulsed once, and the barrier blinked out just long enough for her to pass through.
"Sorry, Mrs. Mu," she murmured, stepping into the open night. "But a bird's gotta fly."
And with that, Mo Lian vanished into the mountain fog.