Elder Qiao gestured toward a narrow path leading down the terrace.
"Follow," he said.
Lin Tian obeyed.
They descended along a stone stair carved into the cliffside. The path wound downward, passing beneath arching ice bridges and through corridors cut into the mountain itself. The deeper they went, the less grand the buildings became.
Outer territory.
Still clean, still refined compared to Cloudcrest—
But not the glittering heart of the sect.
Along the way, disciples passed them in small groups.
Most didn't bow.
They weren't obligated to.
Some glanced at him openly, eyes flicking down his cultivation, up again to his face.
A few whispered.
One laughed softly.
Lin Tian kept walking.
He simply moved like someone who had learned to endure people's eyes for eighteen years.
At the entrance to the outer quarters, Elder Qiao stopped.
A small compound of stone buildings sat in a line, each with simple carved doors and narrow courtyards. It wasn't miserable.
