Dusk arrived slowly, as if even the sun hesitated to leave Cloudcrest under Azure Snow's shadow.
The sky bled from gold to pale violet, then into the cool indigo that matched the frost in Lin Tian's veins. Lanterns along the inner corridors flickered to life one by one. Disciples finished their final drills; servants hurried to complete chores before full dark.
And in his courtyard, Lin Tian stood very still.
The folded note lay on the stone table.
"Tomorrow at dusk. Come alone to the medicinal garden…"
He had read it enough times that the ink seemed burned into his eyes.
He didn't read it again.
Instead, he lifted his right hand and slowly rolled his wrist.
The trace responded.
But he felt it—like a thin ring of cold beneath the skin, circling the meridian where Elder Shen's testing needle had pressed. It did not hurt. It did not pulse wildly.
It waited.
He closed his eyes and circulated his qi.
The flow was smooth. Seventh level—stable.
