Twenty-five Karma points sat in his spiritual ledger, a number that should have felt like security but instead felt like a ticking clock. He had a week until he had to report back to the Frozen Jade Pavilion with thoughts on "reconciling a goddess with her blizzard." He had a week to choose one of Master Mu's three impossible ailments to study. And he had to do it all while maintaining the facade of an earnest, mediocre outer disciple.
The sheer cognitive load was staggering. It was like being handed three doctoral theses and a request to solve a nuclear reactor's core instability, all while working a full-time janitorial job.
He spent the first day after the Heart of the Glacial Vein not in the annex or the garden, but in motion. He walked the perimeter paths of the outer sect, his Conscious Focus extended not inward, but outward, mapping the flows of people and information. He was looking for a pressure release valve. A way to offload the dangerous attention beginning to pool around him.
His solution was counterintuitive, he needed to become slightly more visible, but in a completely boring way.
He used five of his spirit stones to purchase, openly, a large quantity of common Spirit-Replenishing Tea from the sect market. Not the good stuff. The cheap, bitter kind given to laborers. Then, he went to the duty hall and volunteered for a public works rotationspecifically, the maintenance of the mountain path spirit-lantern arrays. It was a week-long, outdoor, mind-numbing job involving cleaning crystal lenses and replacing low-grade glow-stones. It was visible, communal, and utterly devoid of prestige or intrigue.
For the next several days, Lin Feng became a familiar, grimy figure on the main paths, working alongside a handful of other low-talent disciples. He was seen. He was spoken to. He complained about the chill and the tedium. He shared his cheap tea. He became, in the eyes of the outer sect gossip network, a disciple who had caught a few minor breaks (the garden, the annex) but was now firmly back in the grind. It was the perfect camouflage. No one plotting in shadows would suspect a man patiently scrubbing lantern glass.
While his hands worked, his mind was a universe away, partitioning itself into three.
Partition One: The Glacial Heart. He replayed the discordant pulse of the stone, the way its blue veins forked like angry lightning. Reconciliation. Not suppression, not submission. A harmony of stillness and storm. What did that look like? A snowfield under a calm sky, yes. But also the intricate, violent beauty of a snowflake forming in a turbulent cloud. One was the end state Su Lingxi desired, the other was the process the stone embodied. Could her Dao encompass both? He didn't know. But he began sketching mental models of interference patterns, where a chaotic wave and a pure sine wave could, under precise conditions, create a more complex, stable standing wave.
Partition Two: Master Mu's Menu. He analyzed the three problems not as alchemist, but as a systems diagnostician.
Photosynthetic Reversal (Sun-Leaf Vine): Energy inversion. Output becoming input, life becoming decay. A logical loop turned parasitic.
Spectral Anchoring (Ghost-Cap Mushrooms): State error. A thing that should be in superposition is stuck in one reality. A loss of quantum potential.
Harmonic Dissonance (Singing Steelbloom): Identity crisis. A single resonant frequency splitting into a schism. A self arguing with itself.
All were, at their core, spiritual identity disorders. Just like the coral. Just like Su Lingxi's heart. He was, disturbingly, developing a specialty.
Partition Three: Threat Assessment. Zhang Hai was a smoldering coal. Yan Meixiang was a circling hawk. His new, boring public visibility was a hedge against both. But he needed a more active defense.
On the fourth day of lantern cleaning, he found it. An opportunity so small it was almost invisible.
He was replacing a glow-stone in a lantern overlooking a steep ravine when he overheard two inner disciples, taking a break on a nearby overlook, discussing the upcoming Inter-Sect Exchange Tournament.
"Profound Joy Pavilion is bringing their junior stars. Nasty bunch. All illusion and mind-tricks."
"Our foundation establishment seniors can handle it. It's the Qi Condensation bracket I'm worried about. We need reliable scouts. Disciples who can observe, not fight. To map their styles beforehand."
A scout. An observer. A role that required no power, only perception and a good memory. A role that would give him a legitimate, public reason to be watching people closely, especially visitors from the Profound Joy Pavilion. A reason to be near Yan Meixiang's disciples without suspicion.
It was a way to turn his greatest vulnerability, his lack of combat strength into an official asset.
That evening, he didn't go to the dormitory. He went to the Strategy and Tactics Hall, a place outer disciples rarely visited. He requested an audience with the disciple in charge of preparatory logistics for the tournament, a harried-looking man named Senior Brother Cheng.
Lin Feng presented himself not as a cultivator, but as a researcher.
"Senior Brother, this disciple performs observational duties for the Herb Garden and the Scriptorium annex. I am trained to note minute details, patterns of change, and systemic behaviors. I understand the tournament requires scouts to analyze opponent styles. I volunteer. I cannot contribute in the ring, but I can contribute here." He placed his recently completed, meticulously detailed log of the lantern array's decay patterns on Cheng's desk. It was a document of stunning, pointless thoroughness.
Cheng stared at the log, then at Lin Feng's plain, tired face. He needed warm bodies for the scut work of scouting taking notes, running messages. A disciple who was already conditioned to boring observation was perfect.
"Fine. You're on the auxiliary observer list. Report to the West Training Yard tomorrow after the morning bell. You'll be given assignments. Don't get in the way."
"Understood. Thank you, Senior Brother."
Another thread woven into his tapestry of mundane legitimacy. Scout, gardener, archivist, lantern-cleaner. A portrait of harmless diligence.
With that secured, he turned to the most pressing decision: Master Mu's problem. He needed to choose. The Ghost-Cap Mushrooms called to him. A problem of states, of being trapped. It felt most analogous to his own situation.
He spent two of his precious Karma points for a preliminary comparative analysis from the Ledger.
Analysis: Comparative Conceptual Difficulty of Listed Ailments.
Result:
Photosynthetic Reversal: High complexity. Involves fundamental energy-law subversion.
Spectral Anchoring: Medium-High complexity. Involves dimensional phase mechanics.
Harmonic Dissonance: Medium complexity. Involves self-interference and identity fragmentation. Closest conceptual match to previously solved 'Internal Ice-Shatter' case. Highest probability of incremental progress with available resources.
Recommended Selection: Singing Steelbloom.
Cost: 2 Points. Current Balance: 23.
Harmonic Dissonance. A self at war with itself. He was becoming the sect's therapist for schizophrenic spiritual entities.
The next day, he reported to the Quiet Peak herbarium. Master Mu was waiting by the Singing Steelbloom. It was a stunning plant a single, metallic stalk topped with a crystalline bloom shaped like a bell. Ordinarily, it would emit a pure, strengthening tone for metal-attuned cultivators. Now, it trembled constantly, emitting two discordant, grinding notes that set Lin Feng's teeth on edge. Tiny fractures were appearing in its crystalline petals.
"You chose the singer," Mu Qing said without preamble. "Why?"
"It is arguing with itself, Master. I have some experience with that condition."
A ghost of a smirk. "I suppose you do. Your methodology?"
"First, understand the nature of the split. Is it a clean division? Two equal voices? Or a dominant note and a suppressed harmonic? The treatment for a civil war is different from the treatment for a rebellion."
She looked at him, then at the bloom. "Perceptive first question. It is not equal. There is the primary note, the 'Sword's Clarity' resonance it was bred for. And a newer, emergent note, a 'Shield's Lament' resonance. They are incompatible. The bloom is trying to be both weapon and armor, and is shattering under the strain."
Lin Feng nodded, circling the plant. "So the conflict is between its assigned purpose and an emerging nature. It was designed for one thing, but its own growth is creating another." He saw the parallel immediately the sect's expectations for a trash disciple vs. the path he was forging. "We cannot simply silence the 'Shield's Lament.' That is its own voice. We must either find a way to harmonize them into a chord, or convince the plant to choose one and fully relinquish the other."
"Harmonization is the ideal. A resonance that is both sharp and enduring. No one has achieved it. Forced suppression is easier, but damages the bloom's spiritual potential." She crossed her arms. "Your task is to explore the harmonization path. You have the week."
She left him with the shuddering plant. Lin Feng sat before it, closing his eyes, listening not with his ears but with his spiritual sense, filtered through the Ledger's analytical framework. He felt the two frequencies: one high, piercing, and linear (the Sword). The other lower, resonant, and circular (the Shield). They weren't just different notes; they were different geometries of vibration. To harmonize, they needed a common ground, a third element that could translate between line and circle.
His mind flashed to an image from his old world, a vibrating Chladni plate. Sand on a metal plate, forming intricate patterns based on resonant frequencies. Could the solution be a resonant medium? Something that could carry both frequencies and allow them to form a new, stable pattern together?
He spent the afternoon in the herbarium's scrap yard, looking for materials that were good conductors of vibration. Not spiritual energy, but pure, physical resonance. He found pieces of Singing Sandstone (used for foundational arrays), thin sheets of White Iron too impure for forging, and a vial of Liquid Mercury considered a hazardous waste.
An idea, fragile and dangerous, began to form. What if he didn't try to change the bloom? What if he changed the air around it? Created a localized resonance chamber that forced the two conflicting notes to interact in a specific, controlled way, guiding them toward harmony?
It would be an external scaffold for its internal conflict. A therapy room for a plant.
He had just begun sketching a design for a small, mercury-damped, sandstone chamber when a sharp, familiar voice cut through the herbarium's quiet.
"So this is where you scurry off to, little builder."
Lin Feng's blood froze. He turned slowly.
Yan Meixiang stood at the entrance to the scrap yard, having somehow bypassed Master Mu's wards or been permitted entry. She was a splash of violent red against the grey stone and dull greenery. Her fan was closed, tapping idly against her chin, her dark eyes drinking in the scene. Lin Feng, surrounded by junk, sketches of resonators in the dirt.
"Senior Yan," he said, bowing, keeping his voice flat. "This is a restricted area."
"Is it? My permissions in the Azure Cloud Sect are flexible." She glided forward, her gaze sweeping over his sketches. "Resonance chambers? How delightfully mundane. And yet, not what one expects from a simple outer disciple." She stopped before him, the scent of jasmine and metal overwhelming the smell of damp stone and herbs. "You are full of layers, Lin Feng. Lantern cleaner. Garden observer. And now a resonance theorist in Mu Qing's private scrap heap. Which layer is real?"
He met her gaze, letting the "intelligent futility" persona surface. "This disciple is merely trying to be useful where he can, Senior. Master Mu tolerates my clumsy experiments."
"Clumsy." She picked up a piece of Singing Sandstone, her fingers delicate. "There is nothing clumsy about the targeting of your usefulness. You attach yourself to points of influence. The garden overseer. The icy palace mistress. The recluse alchemist. For a man with no power, you have an exquisite sense of leverage."
The directness was a blade. She was peeling back his camouflage with terrifying ease.
"I go where my duties are assigned," he said, the lie practiced and smooth.
"Duties." She laughed, a sound like poisoned honey. "Let us speak of duties, then. The tournament scouts. A clever move. It gives you reason to watch my disciples. Do you think you will learn anything useful?"
He had been played. She knew about his scout assignment instantly. Her network was everywhere.
"I follow the orders of the Strategy Hall, Senior. My task is to observe techniques, not affiliations."
"Techniques. Affiliations." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Let me offer you a different duty, little builder. A more profitable one. Be my observer. Within the Azure Cloud ranks. Tell me who is ambitious, who is discontent, who has secrets they think are hidden. You have a way of being overlooked. You see things. Report them to me. The Profound Joy Pavilion rewards useful eyes handsomely."
It was an offer. And a threat. Refusal would mark him as an enemy. Acceptance would make him a spy, with all the attendant risks.
Lin Feng did not hesitate. He gave her the truth, wrapped in the persona she half-believed. "Senior, you overestimate me. I see dirt, blight, and broken crystals. I see patterns in decay. The secrets of people they are a language I do not speak well. I would be a poor investment."
She studied him, her predator's smile not fading. She saw his refusal, but she also saw the earnest, limited disciple he presented. It was a frustrating puzzle. A tool that might be too dull to be useful, but whose shape was so unusual she couldn't bring herself to discard it.
"A poor investment," she repeated. "Perhaps. Or perhaps a slow-growing one. The offer stands, little builder. Think on it. The view from the Profound Joy Pavilion is expansive." She dropped the piece of sandstone. It clattered on the ground. "Do enjoy your resonance chamber. I do hope it doesn't shatter."
With a last, lingering glance, she turned and melted back into the shadows of the herbarium, leaving behind her scent and a knot of cold dread in Lin Feng's stomach.
He stood amidst the scrap, his hands clenched. She was applying pressure. Testing his seams. His web of boring legitimacy was holding, but it wouldn't withstand a direct, sustained assault.
He had to move faster. He had to make his value to the Azure Cloud Sect to Mu Qing, to Su Lingxi so undeniable that crushing him would be more trouble than it was worth for an external power like Yan Meixiang.
He looked down at the sketches for the resonance chamber. It was no longer just an alchemical experiment. It was a declaration of capability. He would make this broken flower sing a chord no one had ever heard. It would be his first true masterpiece. And he would lay it at the feet of his patrons, not as a plea, but as proof.
The garden of forking paths was narrowing. Yan Meixiang's path was one of subservient espionage. Su Lingxi's path was one of terrifying responsibility. Mu Qing's path was one of pure, perilous intellect.
Lin Feng picked up his chalk. He would walk Mu Qing's path. But he would use it to build a fortress that made him untouchable by the likes of Yan Meixiang, and indispensable to the likes of Su Lingxi. The first stone of that fortress would be a healed, harmonious flower. He began to draw with furious focus. The clock was ticking, and the stakes were no longer just his own advancement, but his very survival as a free agent in a game of giants.