"Add another Darshan to the Akademiya?"
At Idris's words, the elders erupted—louder than when he'd just ordered the Akasha to stop harvesting dreams or when he'd said he'd pin the blame on the Doctor.
Idris, well aware Nahida was likely still peeking in, let his gaze slide over the objectors—cool, indifferent—while his voice dropped to a whisper only she could hear.
"See it, Little Lucky Grass King? Human nature has its kindness, but hearts are selfish.
I said I'd halt dream-harvesting—push back against the Doctor—and they grumbled, sure. But this? Proposing a new Darshan? Look at them jump. The six great branches' resources have been fossilized for ages. If a new hand reaches for the pie, their slices shrink."
In the dark, Nahida answered softly, complicated emotions threading her tone.
"Yes. I've learned something. Thank you, Grand Sage Idris. If your temper were gentler, you might be a very good teacher…"
"But with so many objecting, how will you handle them? And I've never even heard of a pill-refining discipline—do you actually know this craft?"
Idris didn't bother replying.
Villains, after all, make the best teachers.
Facing the chorus of naysayers, his expression stayed flat. The next instant, the aura he'd honed from the experience of mortal emperors unfurled like a storm front. The pressure of a human sovereign crashed over the hall.
Knees wobbled. Faces blanched. These book-dazed elders—most without even a Vision—couldn't make sense of why this young man radiated such an upper-throne presence. But under that weight, the bravado drained right out of them.
"I understand," Idris said evenly. "If all I offer is a name, you won't support adding a seventh Darshan. Fine. I'll make you understand the benefits soon enough. What you need to do now is prepare."
The kingly aura withdrew.
"Y-yes, we understand," the elders exhaled in unison—then darted each other furtive looks. Resolutions formed on the spot: trip him up in the shadows, stall him, force him to give up the Pill-Refining Faculty. None of them were keen to share their vested interests with a newborn branch.
Idris saw through them at a glance. The Akademiya's calcified old guard? He'd already earmarked a day to deal with them. Hopefully they'd know when to bow out gracefully.
He issued a few more instructions, then rose. "That's all for today. Dismissed."
The elders scattered—some to halt the Akasha program and draft the announcement that would land squarely on the Doctor's head, others to scheme against the Pill-Refining plan.
Nahida and Zhongli, who had watched the entire meeting from the shadows, slipped away as well.
Night fell before Nahida's consciousness returned. She drifted through the wall into Idris's room, a small packet of tea cradled in her hands.
"You've worked hard, Grand Sage. I used a touch of my power to brew this—it'll help you sleep deeper and recover more spirit tonight. You like Liyue, don't you? These leaves are from there."
"Don't mind me; it's a little reward for how busy you've been these past few days."
Idris frowned—not at the tea, but at the way she'd floated in like a ghost.
Nahida mistook the look and tensed. "You… don't like it?"
"That's not it." He pointed at the wall she'd just phased through. "Next time you come to my quarters, try knocking. Even if you're 'just a kid,' you're still a goddess. Popping into a man's room in the middle of the night—doesn't that strike you as… odd?"
"You—! R-rogue!" Nahida's cheeks went scarlet.
Idris let the sputter roll off him. Because as of today, after all his running around, the system had chimed with a brand-new reward:
The Eight-Trigram Pill Furnace.
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