They gathered in Bai Xuelan's research room an hour after the match. The door was sealed with a privacy formation that Tang Xiaoli had rigged from a modified alchemy containment ward. It was not elegant, but it worked.
Zhao Lingxi sat at the desk. Lan Yue stood beside her, close enough that their arms almost touched. Neither of them mentioned it. Neither of them moved away.
The others filled the room. Tang Xiaoli sat cross legged on the floor surrounded by alchemical instruments. Bai Xuelan pinned scrolls to the wall with the focused intensity of a war strategist. Mo Tian leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his fan closed for once.
"Let us start with what we have," Bai Xuelan said.
