The five-year plan was not a single scroll, but a living document in Lin Feng's mind, updated with every Ledger-guided analysis and personal observation. It dictated tonight's ritual with the precision of a chemical formula.
The objective a minor meridian realignment to optimize the flow of his wood and water affinities, leveraging the natural peak of the moon's yin energy. The method a low-grade, synergistic herbal bath.
He had spent the last week gathering the components through his official channels. Pale Moonpetal leaves (mildly yin-attuned, calming) from the garden's common stock, acquired with a nod from Overseer Liang for "comparative blight studies." Whispering Willow bark shavings (wood-attuned, pliable) scavenged from fallen branches near the mountain's spirit-spring. A pinch of powdered Deepwater Kelp (water-attuned, purifying) procured from the Contributions Exchange with a single contribution point. And the base, purified water, condensed in a copper bowl left on a high, windswept ledge for three nights to absorb ambient starlight.
The location was the only risk. He couldn't perform this in the dormitory. The steam, the scent, the faint spiritual fluctuations would raise questions. He needed privacy.
He found it in the most overlooked place imaginable, the Scriptorium annex's disused manuscript repair alcove. A small, stone-walled nook at the very back of the lowest vault, where a natural fissure in the mountain wall vented a faint, dry warmth from deep geothermal veins. It was forgotten, dusty, and perfect. Archivist Song had given him a rusty key months ago to fetch damaged scrolls from the area and had never asked for it back.
As the tenth bell tolled, signaling the depth of night, Lin Feng slipped from the dormitory. The sect was a tapestry of shadows and silence, broken only by the distant howl of spirit winds. He moved like a ghost, his spiritual dampening field held tight, making him a part of the scenery.
The alcove was exactly as he'd left it, a space barely large enough to lie down in, lit by a single, flickering everglow stone he'd secreted there. In the center sat a large, chipped ceramic basin he'd "borrowed" from the garden's compost shed. It was clean, scoured with sand and will.
He lit a small spirit-stove a crude thing of wire and a low-grade fire crystal and set a copper kettle upon it. While the water heated, he prepared the herbs. The Moonpetal leaves he shredded by hand, releasing a faint, silvery dust. The willow bark he crushed in a mortar. The kelp powder he measured with a sliver of bone.
This was not alchemy. It was infusion. A gentle drawing-out of properties, not a transformative reaction. The Ledger's plan emphasized synergy and subtlety over power.
When the water steamed, he poured it into the basin, then added the herbs in sequence: willow bark first (to ground the energy), then moonpetal (to cool and guide), finally the kelp (to purify and connect). The water swirled, turning a pale, opalescent green, emitting a scent like a forest after rain and the deep, clean smell of a still lake at night. Faint motes of spiritual light, visible only to his enhanced, focused perception, danced on the steam.
He stripped off his grey robes, folding them neatly. His body in the flickering light was lean, bearing the faded yellow maps of old bruises, but no longer the taut lines of constant pain. The meridians beneath his skin, once clogged and angry, now traced faint, smoother pathways.
He stepped into the bath.
The heat was immediate, but the sensation was not of scalding. It was of permeation. The infused energy didn't try to force its way in; it seeped, drawn by the weak but now-clean attraction of his own wood and water affinities. He felt it as a gentle pressure along his legs, his spine, his arms. A soft, green-brown warmth for the wood, a cool, blue silken thread for the water.
He sank down until the water reached his chin, closed his eyes, and began the guided meditation from the five-year plan. He visualized his wood and water meridians as two faint, intertwined vines one sturdy and seeking, the other fluid and adapting. He directed the bath's energy not to strengthen them, but to lubricate their connection points, to soften calcified nodes where the other three affinities had caused friction.
It was slow, meticulous work. The size of a grain of rice. Then another. He was a spiritual watchmaker, adjusting tiny, internal gears with tools of steam and intent.
For an hour, there was only the whisper of his breath, the faint gurgle of the geothermal vent, and the slow, deliberate unknotting of his own flawed foundation. The bath's energy gradually dimmed, its colors fading as its essence was spent.
He was in a state of profound, focused calm, the point of light in his mind shining with a serene intensity, when the silence was broken.
Not by a sound. By a presence.
A shift in the air pressure. A scent that didn't belong, night-blooming jasmine undercut by cold metal. Then, a voice, liquid and amused, from the alcove's entrance, which he had, in his focus, neglected to fully curtain.
"Well. This is a cozier hideaway than I imagined."
Lin Feng's eyes snapped open. His body didn't jerk, the Conscious Focus held his panic in a vice of ice. He turned his head slowly.
Yan Meixiang leaned against the stone archway, one red-clad shoulder propped casually. Her dark eyes gleamed in the low light, taking in the scene, the steaming basin, the scattered herbs, his exposed shoulders. Her smile was a predator's curl.
"Bathing in the dark, little disciple? And with such interesting additives. Not the usual path to power." She took a step inside, the small space shrinking impossibly. Her aura, previously restrained, now unfurled slightly a palpable, sweet-sick pressure that made the steam seem to recoil.
Lin Feng's mind raced, scenarios flashing and dying. Attack? Impossible. Flight? Blocked. Explanation? He had none that would satisfy her. His spiritual dampening field was up, but against her focused attention, it felt as thin as paper.
He did the only thing he could. He leaned back in the bath, letting the opaque water cover him to his collarbones, and met her gaze. He did not show fear. He showed curiosity.
"Senior Yan," he said, his voice remarkably steady. "The annex is closed at night. Are you lost?"
Her eyebrows rose, delight flashing in her eyes at his audacity. "Lost? No. Curious. I was taking a stroll. The mountain air is so refreshing after a day of tedious sect politics. And I remembered a quiet spot I'd seen near the library. Imagine my surprise to find it occupied. And by the same unremarkable disciple from the python incident." She took another step, her fan tapping lightly against her palm. "You're full of surprises. First, you're an unlucky obstacle. Now, you're a midnight herbalist. What are you cultivating, I wonder? It doesn't smell like the Azure Cloud Technique."
Every word was a probe. She was dissecting him with conversation.
"A disciple must make do with what he has," Lin Feng said, keeping his tone neutral, informational. "My roots are poor. Standard cultivation is inefficient. Some old texts suggest supplementary baths can aid affinity alignment. A futile effort, most likely, but it passes the time."
"A futile effort," she repeated, her gaze dropping to the now-clear water. "Using Moonpetal, Willow, and Deepwater Kelp? A synergy blend. Not common knowledge for an outer disciple. And you prepared it yourself." She looked back at him, her head tilted. "You're either a very dedicated fool, or you're not as futile as you seem."
This was the precipice. Denial would mark him as a liar. Admission would mark him as a threat or a resource. Both were dangerous.
He chose a third path transactional honesty.
"The knowledge is from cross-referencing damaged manuals in this very annex," he said, gesturing vaguely to the shelves of crumbling scrolls visible in the gloom behind her. "As for being a fool likely. But a fool with a method is still a fool with a method. It gives a sense of progress, however illusory."
She stared at him, her playful mask slipping for a fraction of a second, revealing the cold, assessing strategist beneath. She was silent for a long moment, the only sound the drip of condensation from the vent.
"A sense of progress," she murmured. Then she smiled again, but this time it was different. Less predatory, more intrigued. "You interest me, Lin Feng. You're a puzzle made of broken pieces, but you're trying to fit them together in a new picture. Most in your position would have given up or turned vicious. You're building. Quietly." She unfolded her fan with a snap, hiding the lower half of her face. "I like builders. They understand that foundations matter."
She turned to leave, then paused. "A word of advice, little builder. Your method is subtle. But the scent of certain herbs, especially when combined with the unique tang of your particular spiritual dissonance, is not entirely invisible to those who know how to look. Be more careful with your steam." Her eyes glinted over the edge of the fan. "The night holds more than just pythons and curious women."
And with that, she was gone. The scent of jasmine and metal lingered, then was slowly overpowered by the fading forest-lake smell of the bath.
Lin Feng didn't move for a full minute. His heart, which had been a frozen lump, began to beat again, a slow, heavy thud. She had found him. She had analyzed his setup in a glance. She had seen through his dampening field enough to sense the "tang" of his roots. And she had called him a builder.
It was not a threat. It was a recognition. And from a creature like Yan Meixiang, recognition was infinitely more dangerous than contempt.
He rose from the now-tepid water, dried himself with a rough cloth, and dressed mechanically. His mind was a storm behind the calm facade. She was a variable he could not control, could not predict. Her motives were opaque. She found him "interesting." That made him a toy, a pet, or a potential piece on her board.
He cleaned the alcove meticulously, erasing all traces of the bath. As he worked, the Ledger, which had been silent throughout the encounter, delivered its message.
Karmic Event Logged: High-Risk Interaction with Designated Variable 'Yan Meixiang'. Outcome: Non-Hostile Recognition. Data acquired. Threat Level: Elevated. Opportunity Level: Indeterminate.
Passive Karma Adjustment: +3 (For maintaining cognitive integrity under high-pressure scrutiny).
Current Karma Balance: 13.
Three points for not breaking. A small consolation.
He returned to the dormitory in the dead of night, his body humming with the subtle improvements from the bath his wood and water channels did feel smoother, a fraction more responsive but his spirit was chilled.
He lay on his pallet, staring at the dark ceiling. The five-year plan was a map of a long, internal war. Zhang Hai had been a skirmish won. Yan Meixiang was a declaration that the war had fronts he hadn't even known existed. She operated on a level of social and spiritual perception far beyond the outer disciple mountains.
His ten points had become thirteen. He had a choice. He could invest them all in accelerating his own plan, trying to build a stronger foundation faster. Or he could spend them on understanding the new threat.
He made his decision before dawn.
"Ledger," he thought, as the first grey light touched the window. "Analysis request. Subject: Yan Meixiang, based on observed behavior, known affiliation (Profound Joy Pavilion), and standard cultivation world archetypes. Do not attempt to probe her cultivation or secrets. Focus on: Likely short-term objectives within the Azure Cloud Sect. Probable interests in a disciple like Xiao Rou. And predicted reaction to a low-value, intelligent asset that has drawn her casual attention. Karma limit: eight points."
He was spending most of his reserve to buy a psychological and strategic profile. It was the only currency that might protect him.
Analysis Requested: Behavioral & Motivational Modeling of High-Level Antagonist.
Assessing…
Estimated Karma Cost: 7 Points.
Proceed? Y/N
Yes.
The points drained. The information that filled his mind was complex, probabilistic, and chilling.
Primary Objective in Azure Cloud Sect: Intelligence gathering and resource assessment. Likely targeting three things: 1) Knowledge of the sect's defensive formations (via social engineering). 2 Acquisition of unique resources (like a Heavenly Spirit Root prodigy). 3 Recruitment of potential turncoats or useful pawns within the younger generation.
Interest in Xiao Rou: High. A Heavenly Spirit Root is a strategic treasure. Probable goals: Grooming for eventual recruitment to the Profound Joy Pavilion or failing that creating a debt or leverage over her for future use. Sees her not as a person, but as a supremely valuable specimen.
Reaction to 'Low-Value, Intelligent Asset' (You): Ambivalent. You are not a primary target. You are a curiosity. Probable short-term behavior: Intermittent observation. Light testing (as witnessed). She may attempt to use you as an unwitting sensor within the outer disciple layer, or as a harmless conduit to get closer to Xiao Rou. Direct danger is low unless you become an obstacle to her primary objectives or demonstrate unexpected value/threat.
Recommended Strategy: Maintain 'intelligent futility' persona. Be a puzzle that is not worth solving, but is occasionally amusing to glance at. Do not avoid her entirely that marks you as hiding something. Do not seek her out that marks you as ambitious or desperate. Be predictably, boringly earnest in your limited pursuits. Provide minor, uselessly interesting information if pressed (e.g., gossip about garden yields, annex scroll conditions). Become a source of neutral, low-grade data.
It was a tightrope. Be visible enough to not be a mystery, but dull enough to not be a prize. Be useful in the most meaningless way possible.
He had six points left. A buffer.
As the dawn bell rang, Lin Feng rose. The encounter in the alcove had shifted his world. He was no longer just a quiet spot in the outer disciple mountains. He was a quiet spot that had been noted on a map held by a demoness.
He went through his morning routines, the bath's physical benefits a small warmth against the new cold in his gut. In the garden, he made his observations for Liang. In the annex, he dusted. He was the picture of dull diligence.
At midday, as he crossed a central courtyard, he saw her again. Yan Meixiang was walking with a handsome inner disciple from the Azure Cloud Sect's diplomatic corps, laughing at something he said, her fan fluttering. Her gaze swept the courtyard, passed over Lin Feng without a flicker of recognition, and moved on.
It was perfect. He was beneath notice. For now.