By the time Lin Feng's form solidified at the entrance to Medicine Soul Peak, the late afternoon sun cast long, gentle shadows across the tranquil herb gardens in warm, golden light. The air here was a world apart from the shattered arena—thick with the competing scents of blooming spirit-flowers, drying roots, and the faint, metallic tang of purified minerals. Lin Feng's form solidified at the peak's entrance, his sprint ending as abruptly as it began.
He wasn't physically tired; the seemingly endless run across the celestial stairways had not even quickened his breath. But a profound mental fatigue settled over him, the weight of the day's cataclysm and the Sword Saint's judgment pressing down. A single, nervous thought churned in his mind, a frantic loop that was more terrifying than any battle: 'What do I even say to her? She must have seen everything.'
Pausing before the grand, open gateway of Elder Tao's pavilion, he ran a hand through his hair, smoothing back the strands disturbed by his passage. With a few sharp, precise tugs, he straightened the simple grey disciple robes Elder Lan had provided, brushing away invisible dust. The mundane actions were a shield, a desperate attempt to assemble a facade of normalcy before stepping into her space.
He entered the compound quietly.
The pavilion was a vast, open-air structure, its central courtyard open to the sky. Shelves and worktables carved from dark, fragrant wood were arranged with meticulous care, laden with glass cauldrons, jade mortars, and countless vials that shimmered in the soft light. A few other female disciples moved with quiet purpose in the background, their robes of soft green and white blending with the lush spiritual plants, their presence a part of the peak's serene tapestry.
His gaze swept the courtyard, and there she was.
Li Meixiu stood in the center of the open compound, her back partially to him. The fading sunlight caught the twilight silk of her robes and the long, ink-black cascade of her hair. In the crook of her arm, Mr. Bunbun's single button eye seemed to watch the world with perpetual, threadbare patience. She was focused on a small, crystalline cauldron from which a plume of shimmering, lavender-tinted steam gently rose, her fingers carefully adjusting the flow of her qi.
But the first person to truly see him was Elder Tao.
Seated on a simple wooden chair at the edge of the covered pavilion, the elder was hunched over his weathered ledger, his hat shadowing his eyes. As Lin Feng's presence broke the peaceful equilibrium of the peak, Elder Tao's head lifted. Their eyes met across the distance.
No words were exchanged.
Elder Tao gave a single, almost imperceptible nod. It was not a greeting of welcome, but the acknowledgment of a duty completed. Then, he let out a quiet, weary sigh that seemed to release days of pent-up tension. It was the sound of a man whose arduous task—that of providing a constant, distracting alchemical education to a deeply perceptive woman while the heavens tore apart outside—was finally, blessedly over.
Lin Feng's eyes shifted back to Meixiu, and he allowed himself a single, silent sigh of relief. She was here. She was herself. She was whole.
Now, he just had to find the words.
The shift in the air, the subtle break in the pavilion's quiet rhythm, was all it took. Sensing his presence as surely as if he'd called 'Mom', Meixiu's head lifted from her work.
Her eyes found him, standing there in his simple grey robes, whole and unharmed. For a single, unguarded moment, a brilliant, sun-bright smile of pure, unadulterated relief illuminated her face, erasing the faint lines of worry that had been etched there all afternoon.
Then, memory returned. The trembling mountain, the devouring sky, the long, terrifying hours of not knowing. The smile vanished. Her cheeks puffed out in a spectacular, wordless protest. With a pointed, deliberate turn of her head, she looked away from him, hugging Mr. Bunbun tighter against her.
Lin Feng understood the silent lecture perfectly. There would be no explanations, no excuses. There was only one currency she would accept right now.
He crossed the room in a few swift, silent strides. Without a word of warning, he bent and gently scooped her up into his arms, one sliding beneath her knees, the other a firm, secure band across her back, lifting her effortlessly against his chest. Mr. Bunbun was squashed comfortably between them, a silent, fuzzy witness.
Meixiu let out a small, sharp gasp of surprise, her eyes widening. The delicate silver spirit-herb spoon she'd been holding clattered forgotten onto the stone table. For a heartbeat, she was rigid in his hold. But she didn't push him away, didn't scold him. After a moment's hesitation, the tension bled from her frame, and she leaned her head against his shoulder, nestling into the solid warmth of him.
She maintained her pout, her face turned stubbornly away, refusing to grant him the satisfaction of meeting his gaze. But the way her fingers curled slightly into the fabric of his robe, and the soft, indignant "Hmph!" she let out against his neck, made it clear the battle was ongoing. He was not forgiven, and she was not going to let him win that easily.
Holding Meixiu securely against his chest, Lin Feng turned to face the hunched figure of Elder Tao. Mr. Bunbun's single button eye peered out from between them, a silent observer.
"Elder Tao," Lin Feng said, his voice respectful but firm. "I am taking her back early today. I hope that is acceptable."
The alchemy master did not look up from his weathered ledger. A few dried tea leaves clinging to his ribs rustled with a sound like crumbling parchment. He let the silence stretch for a long moment, the only sound the gentle bubble of a nearby cauldron.
"It is… acceptable," he finally stated, his voice parched and dry. "However, the work remains. The principles of alchemy do not bend for personal… entanglements." He flipped a page with a deliberate, rasping sound. "Tomorrow's quota is doubled."
It was not framed as a punishment, but as an immutable principle—a master reasserting the boundaries of his domain. Yet, beneath the stern exterior was a profound, bone-deep relief. The source of the day's cosmic drama, the variable that had nearly unraveled the heavens, was now officially someone else's problem to manage and placate.
"Understood. Thank you, Elder," Lin Feng replied with a slight nod.
Without another word, he turned and carried Meixiu out of the serene, herb-scented pavilion, stepping from the golden light of Medicine Soul Peak into the deepening violet of the evening. He began the long journey back across the celestial stairways to their assigned quarters on Veiled Silence Peak.
In his arms, Meixiu maintained her silent protest, her face stubbornly turned into his shoulder. But the performance was fading. The white-knuckled grip she'd had on Mr. Bunbun had loosened, the plush rabbit now simply held rather than used as a shield. Her body, which had been rigid with performative outrage, now settled into the familiar, unthinking comfort of being carried by her son. She didn't need to speak. The shift from a dramatic sulk to a quiet, enduring pout told him the worst was over.
The storm in the heavens had passed. The one waiting for him in their quarters, however, had merely been delayed.
The journey ended at the threshold of their secluded quarters, a private haven carved into the silent heart of the peak. Lin Feng shouldered the door open and carried her across the threshold, into the space that bore the quiet imprint of their shared existence. It was simple, yet far from austere—a low table held a half-finished game of Go, a twilight-colored robe was draped over a screen, and the air carried the faint, comforting scent of sandalwood and the unique fragrance that was simply her.
In the center of the main room, he slowly, carefully, lowered her until her feet touched the polished wooden floor.
The moment she was grounded, the fragile truce of their journey shattered.
Meixiu spun away from him in a whirl of silk, presenting him with her back. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, using Mr. Bunbun as a fluffy, indignant shield. The plush rabbit's single button eye seemed to glare at him in stern judgment over her shoulder.
"Hmph!"
The sound was a declaration of war.
She tilted her head just enough to shoot a glare at him from the corner of her eye, her cheeks still puffed out. "Making such a big scene! Shaking the whole mountain! Turning the sky into… into that!" she accused, her voice a mix of genuine upset and theatrical wrath. "You worried everyone! You worried me! You're in so much trouble, A-Li! So! Much! Trouble!"
Each word was a pebble thrown at his armor, meant to sting, to show him the depth of her pique. But the slight tremor in her voice, the way her shoulders were not quite as rigid as she wanted them to be—it all betrayed the fear that had gripped her for hours, the terror that had now curdled into a storm of relieved, furious scolding. The real tempest was not outside, but here, contained within their four walls, and it had fluffy ears and a formidable pout.
Lin Feng did not try to defend himself. He knew this ritual, this dance of transgression and atonement that was as familiar to them as breathing. Words were useless now. They were just noise. Only actions, the right actions, could begin to mend the tear in her world.
He moved around her, a quiet orbit to her grumbling sun. He did not speak as he went to the small, spirit-heated kettle, filling it with water drawn from the peak's purest spring. He selected the specific canister of osmanthus tea, the one whose sweet, floral scent never failed to make her hum with pleasure. The soft clink of porcelain was the only sound as he prepared her favorite cup.
Once the tea was steeping, its delicate aroma beginning to permeate the room, he fetched the round silk cushion she preferred, the one stuffed with cloud-cotton. He did not simply place it on the floor. Instead, he gently took her elbow, his touch as light as a falling petal, and guided her the two steps to where it lay. She resisted for a heartbeat, a statue of indignation, before allowing herself to be maneuvered, her body stiff but compliant as he eased her down onto the soft cushion. "There, Mom," he murmured, his voice low. "Is that more comfortable?"
Then, he picked up the finished cup of tea, its surface shimmering with golden osmanthus petals. He moved to stand before her again, kneeling slightly to bring it to her eye level. "Here, Mom," he said, his tone softening into something rare and coaxing. "Your favorite. The one that smells like honey. You like this one, right?"
Meixiu kept her face resolutely turned away, her nose in the air, but her eyes darted toward the steaming cup for a fleeting instant. She made no move to take it.
Only then, with the tangible evidence of his remorse arranged before her, did he step back. The aura of the heaven-shaking prodigy, the disciple who had faced down the Sword Saint, was gone. In its place was the quiet, unwavering presence of a son who knew, with every fiber of his being, that he had caused his mother fear.
He stood before her, his hands at his sides. His voice, when it came, was soft, stripped of all arrogance and layered with a sincerity that was for her ears alone.
"I'm sorry for worrying you, Mom."
Meixiu kept her back to him, her gaze fixed stubbornly on the far wall. But her shoulders, which had been drawn up to her ears, softened by a fraction of an inch.
"Sorry isn't good enough!" she retorted, her voice thick. She hugged Mr. Bunbun tighter. "The whole sky turned black! It felt like the end of the world! I thought... I thought..."
She huffed again, a sharp, frustrated sound, unable to give voice to the terrifying conclusion her mind had leaped to. The sentence hung in the air, unfinished, more powerful in its silence than any words could have been.
Lin Feng saw the fragile crack in her armor, the slight slump of her shoulders that spoke of fear held at bay for too long. The sight of it, the evidence of the distress he had caused, lanced through him with a sharper pain than any of the ape's blows. A profound need to make it right, to erase the worry from her eyes, eclipsed everything else.
"Mom, please," he said, his voice dropping into a soft, pleading tone he reserved only for her. He knelt before her, bringing himself to her eye level. "The tea will get cold. And I... I brought you these." From a small pouch at his waist, he produced two honey-colored candies, the same kind he'd given her before, their faint glow illuminating the worried lines on his face. "The ones you like. I saved them for you."
He placed them carefully on the table beside the untouched cup. "I'll polish every sword on the peak tomorrow. I'll even clean Elder Lan's practice courtyard. Just... please don't be angry anymore, Mom."
He looked at her, his dark eyes, usually so sharp and detached, now wide with a raw, unguarded plea. It was not a strategy; it was a supplication from a son whose world had only one true center.
Her grumpy facade shattered.
With a sound halfway between a sob and a cry of frustration, she spun around. The pretense of anger melted away, replaced by a wave of pure, unadulterated maternal relief.
"You stupid, stupid boy!" she exclaimed, her voice cracking.
Before he could react, she surged forward. Her hands framed his face, and she showered it with a flurry of quick, frantic kisses—on his forehead, his cheeks, the tip of his nose—as if physically confirming he was real and whole and solid beneath her lips. "Don't you ever! Ever scare me like that again! Do you hear me?!"
The kiss-assault ended as abruptly as it began. She leaned back, her hands now fluttering over him, patting down his arms, his shoulders, his chest in a frantic, thorough inspection. Her touch was searching for the evidence of the battle she had imagined—the broken ribs, the deep bruises, the wrenched shoulder.
She found nothing. His skin was unmarred, his muscles solid and whole beneath the simple grey robe. Not a single flinch of pain.
The relief that had flooded her features instantly curdled into deep, narrow-eyed suspicion. She peered at him, her gaze sharp enough to pierce stone.
"How are you perfectly fine?" she demanded, her voice dropping to a suspicious whisper. She poked his chest accusingly with one finger. "You were sent to fight a savage beast! A monster! You should be covered in bruises! You should be barely able to stand!" Her eyes widened with a new, horrifying thought. "Did you drink one of those bad potions? The ones that numb the pain but rot your meridians from the inside? Tell me the truth, A-Li!" She grabbed the front of his robe, her small fists clenching the fabric. "Did you do something stupid behind my back? Hmph! Answer me!"
A faint flush warmed Lin Feng's cheeks from the sudden, frantic affection, but his gaze was steady as he met her searching eyes.
"No bad potions, Mom. I promise," he said, the words simple and solid. It was the unvarnished truth. He hesitated for a heartbeat, choosing a path through the impossible. "The… breakthrough… it… healed me." It was a vast, cavernous understatement, a single, quiet stone dropped into the deep well of what had truly happened, but it was a version of the truth she could hold without it burning her.
Meixiu searched his eyes, her own narrowed with a mother's preternatural instinct for falsehood. She scanned the dark, quiet pools of his gaze, looking for the slightest flicker of evasion. She found none. Only the same unwavering certainty that had always been his core.
Finding no lie, the last vestige of her tension—the suspicion, the fear, the frantic energy—drained from her in a long, shuddering sigh. The final wall crumbled, leaving only a profound, weary relief in its wake.
"Oh, A-Li," she whispered, her voice soft now, all the storm gone.
She took his hand, her fingers lacing with his, and led him the few steps to the large, smooth stone slab that served as their bed, its surface softened by thick, comfortable mats and blankets. "Come here, you troublesome boy."
She sat, her twilight robes pooling around her, and guided him down until he was lying on his side. Gently, she maneuvered him until his head was resting heavily in the softness of her lap. The world narrowed to this: the familiar scent of her, the solid warmth of her thighs beneath his cheek, the quiet sound of their breathing.
Her hand rose, and her fingers began to card through his hair, slow and gentle, smoothing back the strands from his forehead. The touch was a silent absolution, a ritual of peace. With her other hand, she carefully placed Mr. Bunbun beside her on the bedding, positioning him so his single, kind button eye could keep a steady, threadbare watch over them both.
The silence that settled between them was a warm, living thing, filled with the gentle rhythm of her fingers in his hair and the steady certainty of his presence in her lap. After a long, peaceful moment, Lin Feng spoke, his voice relaxed and deeper with contentment.
"The Sect Leader and Elder Lan mentioned something," he began, his words a low murmur against the soft fabric of her robes. "About me being summoned to the Imperial Palace soon."
He turned his head slightly, just enough to look up at her face, to see the soft curve of her jaw and the way her lashes fanned against her cheeks. "Wanna come, Mom? We can travel there together. See the whole capital city, see everything."
The effect was instantaneous.
Meixiu's entire being seemed to brighten, all traces of her earlier pout vanishing as if they had never been. Her eyes, which had been soft with maternal tenderness, now sparkled with the uncontainable light of a thousand mischievous stars.
"Oh! Oh!" she gasped, her free hand fluttering excitedly before clasping Mr. Bunbun and squeezing him tight. "Is it like the comics or mangas you used to read to me? Will there be a golden-haired prince or a brooding king? Or... or a cold, powerful Duke with flowing black hair who looks just like you?!" Her voice dropped to a theatrical, conspiratorial whisper. "And... and maybe there's a 'tragic heroine' being bullied in a corner somewhere that we can swoop in and save?"
Lin Feng stared up at her, his expression going utterly, profoundly blank. It was a look of pure, unadulterated mental short-circuiting, as if his brain had simply refused to process the synaptic leap she had just made. He blinked once, slowly. A long, weary sigh, dredged from the very depths of his soul, escaped his lips.
"Mom..." he said, the single word laden with the weight of a thousand such explanations. "That's a completely different genre. We are in a cultivation world." He spoke slowly, as if to a very bright child who had gotten fundamental universal laws confused. "All you might see is... maybe the strongest man in the empire as the Emperor, some grand, qi-infused viewpoints from the palace walls, maybe even the best spiritual food stalls in the realm, and some high-end artifact stores..." He trailed off, his mental energy clearly spent, the list of mundane, cultivation-appropriate sights exhausted. "I can't remember what else anymore..."
Meixiu's brilliantly excited face collapsed into an exaggerated, world-weary pout. Her bottom lip jutted out, and she slumped her shoulders dramatically.
"Hmph," she sniffed, turning her nose up. "So that means no female-lead drama, no cold Duke of the north with a tragic past, and no secretly insane but devastatingly handsome king who needs healing love..." She sighed, a performance of profound disappointment. "How utterly, completely, soul-crushingly boring."
Lin Feng looked up at her, his expression utterly deadpan, but a flicker of something deeper and more serious in the depths of his dark eyes. It was the unspoken rule that had existed between them since he was a child—a quiet, absolute insistence that in her eyes, no one else could ever hold a candle to him. "Wait." The single word cut through her theatrical lament. "And I'm more handsome than any king, Mom." He said it not as a boast, not as a question, but as a simple, unshakeable fact of the universe, as undeniable as the turning of the seasons or the sharpness of a well-honed blade.
Meixiu looked down at him, her exaggerated pout instantly melting away, replaced by a slow, sly, and utterly triumphant smile that curved her lips and crinkled the corners of her eyes. She had been fishing, and he had taken the bait exactly as she'd hoped.
"Hmm," she mused, tapping a finger on her chin as if in deep consideration, though the gleam in her eyes gave her away. "You are! But..." she leaned down, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "only if you promise to stay always near me and carry whatever I purchase when we are in the capital city. No complaining! Not even a single sigh!"
He held her gaze for a long moment, the serious set of his jaw the only sign of the immense weight of the commitment he was about to make. Finally, he gave a single, solemn nod, his head still resting heavily in her lap.
"Fine," he agreed, the word a resigned sigh that was also a vow.
A brilliant, victorious grin split her features. "Yay! It's a promise!" she cheered, her hands clapping together once before she immediately resumed stroking his hair, her movements now buoyant with glee. She began to hum a happy, nonsensical tune, already lost in visions of imperial marketplaces and a dutiful, impossibly handsome son laden with her spoils.
Lin Feng closed his eyes, surrendering to the rhythm of her joy and the gentle motion of her hand, the ghost of a smirk touching his own lips. It was a price he would pay a thousand times over.
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