The sun hung at its zenith, a white-gold coin pressed against an endless blue. Its light fell in sharp, unforgiving angles across Veiled Silence Peak, carving knife-edged shadows from black marble and frost-laced stone. The air was so still that each drop of sweat from Lin Feng's brow shattered audibly against the ground before vanishing into the hungry earth.
He finished the final lap, boots whispering over the pristine path where only Elder Lan's steps had ever touched. No wear marred the marble, no grooves told of past use—this was sacred ground, undisturbed until now. Muscles burned with the kind of pain that promised progress, each fiber singing with the aftertaste of exertion. His breath left faint silver trails—not from cold, but from the void qi clinging to him like a second skin.
Then came the shift. Sunlight dimmed, its gold leached into muted pallor within arm's reach of him. Shadows didn't spread—they sank inward, pooling at his feet as though drawn to a hidden gravity.
A breeze stirred—or perhaps the mountain exhaled. The ancient plum tree shivered, shedding a single blossom. It drifted downward in slow spirals, edges blackening to the color of old blood before curling in on itself. Before it could touch stone, it dissolved, its essence swallowed by the same nothingness that pulsed beneath his skin.
High above, a hawk wheeled, its cry muted by the heavy silence for which the peak was named. One sudden bank, and it fled, as if the air near him had grown teeth. The mountain watched. The embedded blades in its stone shivered in their sleep. And the void qi, ever patient, coiled tighter around its new master.
At the precipice, Lin Feng knelt. His new robe—a pale grey masterpiece of understatement—shifted like living mist as he moved. The high collar framed a face of impossible perfection, black hair catching stray glints of sun before damp strands clung to his neck.
He bent over the stone basin, its surface so still it might have been carved from jade. His reflection held for only a heartbeat before he broke it, plunging his hands into icy water. Droplets clung to his lashes, traced the sharp line of his jaw, and beaded along dark strands of hair—vanishing before they reached his chin, stolen by the mountain's silence.
Rising, the robe settled around him with lethal grace. The cut emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, the lean power in his frame, the danger in his stillness. Where the collar met his throat, a single drop slid along the line of his Adam's apple before disappearing into fabric.
From here, the world stretched out in autumn gold and winding valleys, village rooftops sending thin threads of smoke into the sky. Far below, other training grounds teemed with ant-sized figures, their shouts swallowed by distance. Only here, on this isolated pinnacle, did true silence reign.
Lin Feng rose from the marble in one fluid motion, his shadow pooled tight around his feet as he moved toward the peak's edge. Below, the sect's stairways coiled like a serpent's spine between the mountains—veins of carved stone connecting the celestial peaks.
He stepped into empty air.
The wind roared in his ears as he fell, his new robes flaring like wings before his boots struck a mid-mountain landing with barely a sound. The impact sent a ripple through the void qi surrounding him - a dark shimmer that absorbed the force completely. Without pausing, he pivoted onto the branching stairway that led to Elder Tao's domain.
The change was immediate. Where Veiled Silence Peak smelled of nothing but winter, here the very air thickened with each step - cloying sweetness undercut by acrid smoke. The stone beneath his feet grew warm, then hot, vibrating with the aftershocks of distant explosions. By the time the pavilion gates came into view, the wooden beams were sweating resin, their once-proud characters now blurred beneath layers of soot and... was that caramel?
The air grew thick with the scent of charred herbs and something unnervingly sweet as Lin Feng ascended the final steps to Elder Tao's peak. A thin haze of bluish smoke curled around the gateposts, their once-pristine surfaces now streaked with soot in odd, almost artistic patterns. The wooden plaque announcing "Serenity Pavilion" hung at a drunken angle, one corner still smoldering faintly.
Beyond the gates, the courtyard told a story of cheerful destruction. A perfect circle of sand had been fused into glass, its surface still shimmering with unnatural heat, radiating outward in fractal patterns that suggested something had bloomed there with violent beauty. The supporting pillars bore scorch marks that suspiciously resembled rabbit silhouettes - one particularly bold char mark even showed the distinct outline of a plush ear.
Overturned tables formed a haphazard maze, their surfaces stained in psychedelic hues where spilled elixirs had eaten through the wood. Vials of failed concoctions bubbled ominously from their places on a miraculously intact shelf, their contents shifting between colors that hurt to look at directly. One particularly volatile mixture pulsed between neon green and a shade that didn't exist in nature, emitting faint giggles with each transformation.
Near what remained of a meditation pond, the water had taken on a worrying viscosity, its surface occasionally rippling without wind. A single lotus flower floated serenely at its center, glowing with soft pink light - the only untouched thing in the entire courtyard. Beneath it, the shadow was unmistakably shaped like a certain rabbit plush.
From beyond the wreckage came the sound of cheerful humming, occasionally punctuated by a soft "oops" and the tinkling of broken glass. The breeze carried a familiar voice murmuring, "Mr. Bunbun says it's not our fault if the ingredients are too excitable..."
Elder Tao sat amidst the devastation like an island of calm, perched on the only undamaged stool in the courtyard. His gnarled fingers cradled a teacup that steamed despite the surrounding chaos, the liquid inside shifting colors like a mood ring. He didn't look up as another muted explosion sounded from the workshop, merely took a slow sip before speaking in a voice dry as aged parchment.
"Trial luck won't save you." The words cut through the lingering smoke. "That Tier 2 pill was the heavens chuckling at our expense." Another sip. The tea turned an accusatory shade of crimson. "True alchemy begins with control. Start again—from feeling qi, not creating explosions."
From the wreckage of what might have been a preparation table, Meixiu emerged with singed sleeves and a suspiciously round burn mark on her robe that perfectly matched Mr. Bunbun's silhouette. She opened her mouth to protest, but Elder Tao's raised eyebrow silenced her before a sound could escape.
At the gate's shadowed archway, Lin Feng stood motionless, his new grey-white robes blending with the lingering smoke. Though he made no sound, Elder Tao's fingers twitched slightly around his cup—the only acknowledgment of the disciple's presence. But the old alchemist's attention remained fixed on Meixiu, his stare heavy with the weight of centuries of disappointed masters.
"Qi isn't fireworks," he continued, watching as Meixiu absentmindedly tried to wipe a soot stain from Mr. Bunbun's face, only to spread it further. "It's the breath between heartbeats. The pause between lightning and thunder." He set down his cup with deliberate precision. "Find that silence in yourself before you touch another ingredient."
Behind them, a forgotten vial burped out a tiny purple cloud that formed a perfect rabbit shape before dissipating. Elder Tao didn't blink.
The afternoon light slanted through the shattered remains of the alchemy pavilion's roof, painting stripes of gold across Meixiu's increasingly frustrated expression. She sat cross-legged on the only intact section of flooring, her twilight robes spread around her like spilled ink. Mr. Bunbun lay slumped in her lap, his remaining ear drooping further with each failed attempt, button eyes dull with sympathetic exhaustion.
"Focus," Elder Tao intoned from his stool, watching the steam rise from his teacup in perfect spirals despite the surrounding chaos. "Qi is not in your hands. It's in the spaces between."
Meixiu scowled at her stubbornly ordinary palms. "I am focusing! But it's like trying to catch the wind with a fishing net!" She took a deep breath that made her sleeves billow dramatically. Mr. Bunbun's stitching puckered in what could only be described as a plush grimace.
Near the entrance archway, Lin Feng's presence was a pause in the world itself—no sound, no shift of air, as if the smoke dared not pass before him. His dark eyes tracked every twitch of Meixiu's fingers, every frustrated puff of her cheeks.
"Again," Elder Tao said, sipping tea that had darkened to the color of storm clouds. "And this time, don't chase it. Let it come to you like—"
"A stray kitten?" Meixiu suggested, wiggling her fingers hopefully.
"A lethal poison you're trying not to spill," Elder Tao corrected dryly.
The resulting attempt sent a nearby pile of ash swirling into a miniature tornado before collapsing. A single feather from some unfortunate bird's previous encounter with Meixiu's experiments floated down to land on her nose.
"Blargh!" She crossed her eyes at it, then blew it away with an exasperated sigh that accidentally ignited it midair. The tiny fireball zipped around the pavilion before Elder Tao caught it between two fingers and snuffed it out with a look.
Mr. Bunbun's ear flopped in defeat as Meixiu groaned, flopping onto her back. "Why won't it work? I'm breathing all the breaths and thinking all the thoughts!"
At the doorway, Lin Feng's lips pressed into a thin line—the only sign of his amusement. Elder Tao's eyebrow twitched as he took a long, slow sip of his now pitch-black tea. "Because," he said, watching a wayward wisp of Meixiu's energy turn a broken vial into perfect snowflakes in mid-July, "you're trying to command it rather than listen to it."
The sun dipped lower slightly, stretching their shadows across the wreckage as Meixiu sat up again, clutching Mr. Bunbun like a lifeline. She closed her eyes, and for one fleeting moment—between one heartbeat and the next—the air around her hands shimmered. Meixiu's breath caught. There. A wisp of qi curled around her fingertips, shy as a moth drawn to light. Her pulse leapt—"I've got it!"—before her nose twitched. Then she sneezed, and it vanished like morning mist.
Elder Tao's teacup lightened one grudging shade. "Better," he conceded. "Now go rest before you turn my entire pavilion into a winter wonderland."
Elder Tao's final words hung in the smoky air as Meixiu scrambled to her feet, nearly tripping over a still-sizzling alchemy manual in her haste. The old master merely sipped his tea, watching with detached amusement as she wobbled toward the pavilion entrance where Lin Feng stood.
Meixiu's tired eyes sparked with sudden light when she spotted Lin Feng's silhouette cutting through the pavilion's hazy smoke. A grin broke across her soot-streaked face as she pushed herself up from the wreckage of another failed attempt, her twilight robes fluttering like battered moth wings.
"You came back," she called, voice hoarse from hours of frustrated muttering to herself.
Lin Feng didn't answer. He never did. But by the time she'd taken one wobbling step forward, he was already there—one arm sliding beneath her knees, the other bracing her back as he lifted her effortlessly. Mr. Bunbun, wedged between them, let out a soft whump as his remaining ear flopped over Lin Feng's forearm.
Meixiu nestled against his chest, her fingers plucking at the pristine fabric of his new robes. The void qi that clung to him like a second skin dissolved at her touch—not retreating, but softening, as if the nothingness itself had learned tenderness for her alone.
"Oho, look at you," she murmured, tilting her head back to study his face. "All dignified in Elder Lan's colors. Did the ice queen finally teach you something interesting?"
Lin Feng adjusted his grip as he began descending the mountain path. "Felt qi."
Meixiu's eyebrows shot up. "Already? Showoff." She poked his chest. "And? What's it like?"
His steps didn't falter. "Like breathing."
"Ugh, of course it is for you," she groaned, though her fingers curled slightly into his robe. "Meanwhile I spent all day trying to catch what Elder Tao calls 'the whisper between heartbeats.' Mostly just caught fire. Repeatedly."
The fading sunlight caught the edges of Lin Feng's new robes as he walked, turning the pale grey fabric luminous against Meixiu's smoke-stained twilight hues. Mr. Bunbun, thoroughly squished between them, watched the path behind them with his usual resigned expression.
Meixiu shifted, wincing as a burnt patch on her sleeve crumbled away. "There was this one vial—" she began, launching into an animated retelling of her disasters, hands waving as she described the singing frogs, the upside-down peach tree, the vine that had nearly braided Elder Tao's beard before he'd vaporized it with a glare.
Lin Feng's silence wasn't empty; it was the kind of quiet that listened, that noticed the way her fingers trembled slightly with exhaustion despite her lively tone, the faint wince she hid when a burn on her wrist brushed against his sleeve.
After a particularly vivid description of Elder Tao's tea changing colors with each new catastrophe, Lin Feng finally spoke, his voice low and deliberate. "You should rest." Not a suggestion—an observation, as factual as the setting sun. His grip shifted minutely, adjusting to better shield her from the evening breeze that carried the first whispers of chill. "Tomorrow will be harder."
Meixiu huffed, but her head drooped against his shoulder, her energy spent. "Says the man who mastered qi in a single morning," she muttered, but there was no real bite to it—just the comfortable rhythm of their old banter. Mr. Bunbun, still wedged between them, tilted his head as if to say 'I told you so'. The path ahead blurred, the distant lights of the disciples' quarters flickering like grounded stars. For now, there was only this: the steady rhythm of Lin Feng's steps, the warmth of Meixiu's weight against him, and the quiet understanding that needed no words. The mountain held its breath around them, and for once, the world felt perfectly, peacefully still.
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