The cave remained utterly silent.
The faint hum of qi lingered in the air, woven through stone and shadow, as the talismans hovered in a slow, deliberate orbit around Elder Lianhua.
She looked at them for a long moment. Then her gaze lowered to her right hand.
There was no hesitation.
She raised her hand to her lips and **bit down gently on her fingertip**.
Not hard.
Not violent.
Just enough.
A thin line of crimson welled instantly. Rich. Bright. Alive.
The scent of immortal blood spread faintly through the cave, causing the surrounding qi to ripple in instinctive response. Even the stone beneath her seemed to draw minutely toward it.
Lianhua did not react. She simply lifted her hand.
A single drop gathered at her fingertip, trembling.
She extended her finger toward the nearest talisman paper.
The moment her blood touched the surface, the talisman **shuddered**.
Not from pain.
Not from strain.
From recognition.
Her blood did not soak in like ordinary ink—it **merged**, sinking into the fibers as if the paper itself were alive. A soft golden outline flared briefly around the drop, then vanished.
Lianhua's eyes sharpened.
"Good," she murmured.
Her finger moved.
Slow.
Precise.
Unwavering.
She began to **draw**.
Each line was formed by blood guided by qi, not gravity. The crimson thread obeyed her will, flowing across the talisman surface, forming intricate runes of tracking, resonance, and binding.
The symbols were complex. Interlocking. Layered like spatial arrays compressed onto parchment.
As she drew, the cave seemed to respond. The air grew dense, shadows deepened, the formation outside trembled faintly.
Her blood carried **authority**.
Not because it was powerful—
But because it **commanded**.
"This talisman will not track scent," Lianhua said softly. "Nor qi. Nor physical traces."
Her finger paused for a moment, hovering above the paper.
"It will track **it**," she murmured. "Specifically… its blood."
The last rune sealed.
The talisman **ignited**.
Not in flame.
In presence.
A pale red glow bloomed across its surface, threaded with faint crimson lines. The paper stiffened, taking on a quality closer to jade than parchment. A subtle pressure filled the cave as the talisman's perception opened.
The remaining talismans around her fell still, as if bowing in acknowledgment.
Lianhua withdrew her finger. The wound on her fingertip had already begun to close.
The talisman trembled. At first subtly—like paper disturbed by a distant breeze.
Then the glow within flickered. The runes she had drawn warped slightly, as though something unseen pressed against them.
"…Hm."
The pull intensified.
The talisman strained; its surface rippled like disturbed water.
A thin, almost inaudible **crack** echoed through the cave.
Lianhua did not move. She did not flinch. She simply watched.
The talisman convulsed once—
And then **shattered**.
Not burning. Not violently.
It **collapsed inward**, folding upon itself before breaking into pale fragments that drifted like ash through the air.
They fell silently. Dead.
The cave stilled.
The circle of remaining talismans quivered, reacting to the sudden failure.
Lianhua's gaze shifted to the fragments. Calm. Unreadable.
"…So," she said quietly.
Her tone held no surprise. Only thought.
The implication was clear: this was not normal resistance. This was **existential refusal**.
Her fingers lifted, and the fragments dissolved into nothing, erased by a gentle pulse of qi.
She exhaled. Slow. Even. Untroubled.
"This will take time," she said softly. "And more than one attempt."
Her gaze moved to the remaining talismans. There was no frustration in her eyes. Only patience. The dangerous kind.
She reached into her sleeve again. Another talisman slid forward. Then another. Then another. They arranged themselves before her in a precise, symmetrical circle.
Once more, she raised her hand and bit her finger. A fresh bead of blood welled.
Her eyes did not waver.
"Again," she said quietly.
Her blood lifted. The first line was drawn. The cave responded.
The second talisman glowed. The runes formed, precise and controlled, her movements identical to before.
Line by line. Symbol by symbol.
Her qi threaded through the paper, stabilizing, reinforcing, compensating for the misalignment's resistance.
The air grew heavier. Shadows thickened. The remaining talismans trembled as if aware of the strain.
A second talisman **cracked**. Not yet broken—but close.
Lianhua noticed. She adjusted her qi by the smallest fraction, imperceptible to any other cultivator. The crack slowed. The glow steadied.
She continued.
"…You are troublesome," she murmured, almost wryly.
The final rune was traced. The talisman shuddered violently. For a moment, it looked as if it would shatter like the first.
The cave held its breath.
Lianhua's eyes narrowed. Her qi pressed down—firm, absolute, unyielding.
"Stay," she said softly.
The talisman froze. The cracks sealed. The glow stabilized.
It did not shatter. It did not collapse. It **endured**.
Silence fell. The talisman hovered, trembling faintly… but whole.
Lianhua studied it for a long moment. Then, quietly:
"…Good."
But she did not relax. She did not smile.
She reached for another blank talisman.
Her fingers paused. Thinking. Calculating. Adjusting.
Then she lifted her hand again.
"Again," she said softly.
And began to draw. Patient. Methodical. Unyielding.
Because whether it took four attempts… or five…
She was not leaving that cave without a solution.