Lingling tugged at Xuanyan's sleeve, her fingers tightening as if afraid he might slip away if she loosened her grip. The blush on her cheeks had already faded, replaced by a faint crease between her brows.
"Brother Xuanyan…" she whispered, leaning closer so only he could hear. "What if he comes to hurt you when I'm not around? Tang Lishen is already at Stage Six… and he's the personal disciple of an Inner Sect Elder."
Her voice trembled despite her attempt to keep it steady.
"With that kind of backing… even my mother might not be able to help us."
Xuanyan looked down at her.
It was obvious now—she wasn't afraid for herself.
She was afraid for him.
The realization stirred something warm and unfamiliar in his chest. He lifted his hand and gently traced his thumb along her cheek, guiding her gaze back to his.
"He won't dare," he said quietly.
Lingling hesitated. "But—"
Xuanyan smiled, but there was no warmth in it.
"If he lays a hand on me," he said calmly, "his master won't arrive in time to collect the body."
Lingling froze.
The words weren't loud. They weren't dramatic. That was what unsettled her most.
For a brief moment, she forgot the boy who used to blush when she teased him, forgot the one who held her gently and listened to her worries late into the night. The person standing in front of her now felt sharper, more dangerous—like a blade she hadn't noticed until it was already drawn.
Someone carrying secrets she couldn't see through.
And yet… her heart still trusted him.
Xuanyan leaned in and pressed a slow, reassuring kiss to her forehead, grounding her racing thoughts. His touch was gentle, familiar, and careful—completely at odds with the storm brewing behind his eyes.
Inside, his thoughts were far colder.
So he thinks his master will protect him?
An Inner Sect Elder or not… Xuanyan wondered how long that confidence would last once Tang Lishen realized just how fragile that protection truly was.
A faint chuckle slipped from his lips, barely audible.
I'll take everything he treasures—his pride, his opportunities, his future. Even his master.
He lowered his gaze, expression smooth once more .
Alchemy Hall
Xuanyan and Mei Lingling stepped into the Pillfire Alchemy Hall together.
Heat slammed into them immediately—thick, suffocating, the kind that crawled under the skin and made a man reconsider every decision that had led him here. Bronze chimneys jutted from the hall's upper structure, hissing and belching thin spirals of smoke into the air, as if the building itself exhaled every time another apprentice's ambitions combusted inside.
The doors were grand, unnecessarily so. Flames and lotus petals were carved into the stone in elaborate reliefs, frozen in a moment of eternal rebirth that felt more threatening than inspiring.
*Welcome to the place where your dreams burn beautifully—before you do.*
Inside, the hall assaulted the senses all at once.
Cauldrons bubbled with viscous, glowing liquids. Furnaces whined under strain. Qi flames crackled like impatient beasts straining against invisible leashes. Somewhere deeper within the hall, a muffled *boom* echoed, followed shortly by an inventive string of curses that suggested both failure and survival—barely.
Xuanyan inhaled slowly, letting the heat roll through him.
The Pillfire Alchemy Hall unfolded in rigid layers of hierarchy. At the center stood the true masters, calm and composed, working behind translucent barriers of formation light that pulsed gently with authority. Their movements were unhurried, precise, every gesture confident in the knowledge that nothing here could touch them without permission.
Farther out, the quality dropped sharply.
Beginners and outer disciples were pushed to the edges like excess slag, clustered around unstable furnaces and cracked cauldrons. Scorch marks scarred the floor, blackened tiles whispering quiet warnings about what happened to those who believed confidence could substitute for competence. Some stains were old. Others looked… recent.
Shelves lined the walls, stacked high with jade boxes containing spirit herbs, each one guarded like a divine relic. Several labels were etched with friendly warnings, clearly written by people who had learned the hard way.
"Do not open unless you have spare organs."
"Heat-resistant gloves mandatory."
They passed rows of apprentices stirring cauldrons with the dull focus of prisoners stirring prison soup. Sweat soaked robes. Faces were tight with concentration or quiet despair. Every so often, someone glanced up—eyes flicking to Lingling first, then to Xuanyan—before quickly looking away again.
Whispers followed them like heat shimmer.
The inner circles were another world entirely.
There, real alchemists worked within controlled formations, their flames disciplined, their expressions serene. Qi flowed smoothly, obediently, as if the world itself knew better than to resist them. Compared to that, the outer rings were less a training ground and more a rehabilitation center for the spiritually untalented and emotionally damaged.
Xuanyan took it all in with detached amusement—the perspective of someone who had already died once and found the experience underwhelming.
If this place was meant to intimidate him, it was doing a terrible job.
To him, it wasn't a sacred hall of alchemy.
It was a beautifully organized slaughterhouse for ambition.
As they moved deeper into the hall, Lingling began to feel it.
Not words or accusations.
Attention.
It pressed in from every direction, subtle but relentless. Apprentices who had been hunched over their cauldrons slowed their movements. A few missed beats. Flames wavered. Hands hesitated just long enough to ruin a mixture. Someone scorched a batch and cursed under their breath, glancing up instinctively before forcing their eyes back down.
Lingling didn't change her pace.
She kept her posture straight, her expression calm, her hands folded lightly in front of her—but the space around her shifted all the same. People leaned away just slightly as she passed, as if afraid proximity alone might invite trouble. Others leaned closer, curiosity outweighing caution, their gazes flicking between her and Xuanyan in quick, calculating motions.
She felt it most keenly when she paused.
Not a single sound changed, yet the hall seemed to hold its breath with her.
Xuanyan noticed.
Not because Lingling reacted—she didn't—but because the world around her did. Eyes lingered a fraction too long. Movements subtly reoriented. Even the heat felt heavier near her, thick with unspoken speculation.
Daughter of an elder.
Walking beside an outer disciple.
After what happened earlier , a fucking shameless kiss
Rumors were forming already, silent and efficient.