A Grade Two pill rested in Xuanyan's palm, faintly glowing as if it were breathing. For a beginner, refining something of that level bordered on the impossible—it was the kind of result elders used as a benchmark, not something expected from an outer sect nobody attempting his first proper refinement.
Yanmei snapped out of her stunned daze and hurried forward, her composed mask cracking completely. "Show me the pill," she demanded, her voice sharp and unsteady at once. Before Xuanyan could even respond, she seized it from his hand, fingers trembling as she inspected it with obsessive focus. Her breath hitched. "A… Grade Two pill?" The words fell from her lips like a confession. Disbelief bled into accusation as she stared at him. "How did you refine this? No—don't answer yet. Let me see it properly."
There was desperation in her voice now, the kind that came from years of effort suddenly rendered fragile by a single result. But before she could press further, Lingling darted forward and grabbed Yanmei's wrist. The contact was light, but it snapped Yanmei back to herself instantly.
"Senior Sister—wait," Lingling said quickly.
Yanmei froze. Only then did she register the surroundings—the hall, the staring disciples, the fact that she was gripping someone's pill like a thief caught red-handed. Color drained from her face. She swallowed hard and slowly released her hold, her voice shrinking into something small and strained. "I… forgive me. I overreacted."
She placed the pill back into Xuanyan's palm as though returning a sacred relic, then straightened her back and forcibly reconstructed her usual icy composure. When she spoke again, sarcasm coated every word like poison lacquer. "Well then. Congratulations, Outer Sect Genius. It seems even beginners can shatter basic alchemy principles now. Did Heaven personally descend to guide your hands?"
Xuanyan only smiled faintly, utterly unbothered. "Would you believe me," he said mildly, "if I said it was intuition?"
That calm answer hit Yanmei harder than mockery ever could. She stiffened, looked away sharply, and pretended the floor was suddenly fascinating. Lingling clasped her hands together, eyes shining with unrestrained delight.
"Of course!" Lingling said brightly. "Brother Xuanyan succeeds because he believes he can do what everyone else says is impossible. Isn't that right, Senior Sister?"
Yanmei's mouth twitched. "Yes. I adore people who casually bend reality," she muttered. "They're always my favorite to compete with."
Lingling giggled behind her sleeve, pride sparkling openly. "You sound jealous."
"I sound sane," Yanmei shot back.
She did not sound sane—especially not with the faint blush still clinging stubbornly to her cheeks. She blamed the cauldron's heat and absolutely nothing else.
Xuanyan ignored their exchange and calmly cleaned the rim of the cauldron, his eyes reflecting the quiet flame beneath it. "This is only the beginning," he murmured. "If this level is considered advanced, then perhaps the world is smaller than I thought."
Silence settled over the hall. The dim glow painted the three of them in soft light—the boy who refused to be ordinary, the girl who believed in him without question, and the rival who could no longer decide whether she wanted to slap him, flee from him, or watch him refine another pill.
Yanmei inhaled slowly, gathering the fragments of her pride and snapping them back into place like armor. "Enjoy your miracle," she said coolly. "But don't grow arrogant. One lucky pill doesn't make a master."
Xuanyan glanced up, amusement sharpening just slightly in his eyes. "One pill," he replied evenly, "is all it takes to begin a legend."
Yanmei rolled her eyes so hard she nearly inspected the ceiling beams. "And here I thought the fire was the only thing overheating in this room."
Lingling stepped closer to Xuanyan, her sleeve nearly brushing his arm as she smiled up at him. That small, unconscious movement hooked Yanmei's attention instantly. She tore her gaze away and stared very intently at the cauldron instead.
Get a grip, Yanmei. You are a dignified cultivator. Not a jealous chicken.
Behind her, Lingling's voice drifted softly through the fading smoke. "Brother… that was amazing."
Xuanyan nodded quietly, watching the last curl of smoke dissipate. Yanmei, despite every ounce of restraint she possessed, let a whisper escape—so faint it barely reached even her own ears.
"…Amazing indeed."
Before that fragile honesty could settle, Lingling clasped her hands behind her back and leaned forward slightly, smiling with gentle excitement. The movement brought her closer than before, close enough that Xuanyan could feel the warmth of her body through their robes, the faint, unmistakable press of her presence carrying an intimacy that needed no explanation.
"Brother Xuanyan," she said sweetly, her voice softer now, lowered in a way that felt private despite the open hall, "for successfully passing your alchemy test, your Senior Sister will reward you personally."
Yanmei's brows twitched. Something about that tone felt wrong—not playful, not teasing, but certain in a way that made her chest tighten before she could stop it. She straightened abruptly and snapped back into her professional demeanor, informing them that Lingling's mother had left the sect to gather rare herbs and would return by tomorrow, before the tournament, meaning Xuanyan would need to refine another pill in front of her if he wished to truly secure his standing.
Her gaze sharpened as she added that producing a similar result again might actually give him a chance.
Xuanyan bowed respectfully and thanked her, then turned back to Lingling and placed an arm around her waist with an ease that felt natural rather than deliberate. Lingling flushed instantly and leaned into him without hesitation, her body fitting against his as if it belonged there, her hand resting lightly at his side with fingers curling unconsciously into the fabric of his robes. There was nothing exaggerated about the gesture, and that was what made it unbearable.
Yanmei watched their silhouettes from the doorway, the closeness between them unmistakable. Lingling's bright, unguarded smile, worn so openly as she stood pressed against him, cut through Yanmei like a blade she hadn't seen coming.
A strange heaviness settled in her chest as an old belief resurfaced, one she had carried for years—that if she became better, stronger, more accomplished, then Mother would one day look at her the way she looked at Lingling.
But now Lingling was clinging happily to someone the sect had once dismissed as outer sect trash, and worse still, he wasn't trash at all. He was talented, gifted, and infuriatingly pleasing to look at.
"Why…" Yanmei muttered under her breath, fingers curling tightly at her side as frustration and confusion twisted together inside her. She shook her head sharply, forcing herself to stop thinking about it, knowing only that dwelling on it made the ache sharper. Her voice remained steady as she turned away, but her heart refused to listen, beating painfully out of rhythm with every step she took.