Daughter of an elder.
Walking beside an outer disciple.
After what happened earlier , a fucking shameless kiss
Rumors were forming already, silent and efficient.
Far from the outer ring, within the inner circles where controlled formations shimmered and the air felt cleaner, someone finally looked up from his work.A woman stood inside a controlled formation, calmly regulating her qi flame. She didn't stop her work when she glanced over. Her movements remained steady, practiced, clearly belonging to someone who had failed enough times to stop making mistakes.
Her gaze settled on Lingling first.
Then briefly on Xuanyan.
No surprise. No hostility. Just quiet evaluation.
After a few seconds, she returned her attention to her cauldron as if nothing worth reacting to had happened. But she didn't forget what she saw.
Xuanyan admired it all with the detached amusement of someone who had already died once and wasn't particularly afraid of doing it again.
System, he murmured inwardly. Spend points. Learn Qi Condensation Pill Refining.
[-500]
Knowledge crashed into his skull like someone had thrown an entire library at his head. Flame control. Temperature curves. Extraction timing. Failure patterns. Recovery cycles. The information poured in all at once, sharp and invasive, leaving no room to breathe.
He steadied himself and let it settle.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
So this is what cheating feels like, he thought Beautiful disgusting.
There were six grades of pill quality. The higher the cultivation realm a pill belonged to, the more absurdly difficult it became to refine without flaws. In fact, across the entire sect—no, across the entire continent—not a single alchemist could reliably refine pills above Grade Four, not even low-rank ones.
The reasons were obvious enough.
Ambient spiritual qi was impure, polluted by countless cultivation methods and formations layered over centuries. Resources were scarce, monopolized, or hoarded by those who didn't share. And most alchemists simply lacked the knowledge to bridge the gap between theory and reality.
Xuanyan exhaled slowly.
With this knowledge… maybe I can push past Grade Four, he thought. And if I ever get my hands on one of those legendary divine flames…
A gentle voice cut through his thoughts.
She shifted closer to him, fingers tugging lightly at his sleeve.
"Brother Xuanyan…?"
He blinked, snapping out of his knowledge-soaked trance. The warmth of her hand was grounding in a way nothing else in this hall was.
"Ah. Sorry," he said. "Thinking."
She smiled, gentle and unguarded. "We're here."
Xuanyan followed her gaze forward, toward the waiting area of the Pillfire Alchemy Hall.
Only then did Xuanyan notice the massive wooden gate standing before them. It loomed silently, its surface etched with swirling spirit flames and lotus patterns that shimmered faintly in the dim heat of the hall, old formations embedded so deeply that even time had failed to wear them down.
Lingling stepped forward and tapped the small bronze bell beside the door, channeling a thin thread of qi into it.
A clear, sharp chime rang out, echoing once before fading.
The gate opened sooner than Xuanyan expected.
He straightened instinctively, tension and anticipation mixing in his chest.
Mei Lingyao.
He had heard the name countless times. Read it even more. A talent so overwhelming that even Inner Sect elders spoke of her with restraint—yet one deliberately starved of resources simply because her cultivation lagged behind her potential. Someone like that didn't fade quietly into the background.
Meeting her was something he had unconsciously prepared for.
But—
Instead of the figure he imagined, someone else stood in the doorway.
A woman, only a few years older than him.
White hair spilled down her back like fresh frost, catching the light as she shifted her weight. Her skin was pale to the point of translucence, untouched by heat or sun, and her eyes were sharp enough that Xuanyan felt them before he fully met her gaze.
Her body was sculpted with a dangerous balance of control and excess—soft where it shouldn't be, disciplined where it mattered—an unsettling contradiction wrapped in icy composure.
She stepped forward once.
The movement was minimal, but it carried weight.
The air around her seemed to cool.
Her gaze found Lingling first.
It stopped there, freezing, her brows drawing together slowly as if she were trying to understand how this woman dared to appear here so casually. The displeasure wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
Then her eyes shifted ,The subtle bounce of her chest as she turned made the moment even more mesmerizing.
Xuanyan felt it the moment her attention touched him.
Her gaze lingered for a fraction of a second—measuring, sharp—before dipping lower, catching on where Lingling's fingers were still wrapped around his hand.
Something cracked.
Just barely.
A sharp inhale escaped her before she masked it, the smallest fracture in an otherwise flawless expression.
Then she lifted her head.
Her voice fell like a blade carved from frost.
"Young Miss."
It wasn't a greeting.
It was an accusation.
The air between the two women tightened instantly, tension thick enough to feel against the skin. Xuanyan stood between them, acutely aware that he had somehow become part of a confrontation he hadn't initiated.
Lingling's smile vanished.
"We're here to see my mother," she said flatly. "Announce our arrival."
Yanmei didn't move , not even a blink and she didn't bother to conceal the disdain written plainly across her face.
Years ago, Mei Lingyao had taken Yanmei in. Pulled her from cold nights and colder people, given her a place in the Pillfire Alchemy Hall when she had nothing but stubbornness and scars. Yanmei repaid that mercy with everything she had. She refined herbs until her fingers cracked and bled. She assisted in dangerous concoctions without complaint. She memorized flame cycles, failure thresholds, and formula variations that most disciples abandoned halfway through. She endured. She persisted. She waited.
Just once… call me daughter.
Lingyao never did.
Yet she smiled at Lingling with an ease Yanmei had never earned, with an affection that came naturally instead of being measured and with held. A warmth Yanmei would have bled for, just to feel once. So of course she hated her—not because Lingling had done anything wrong, but because Lingling existed.