The journey back to the sect was uneventful.
No ambushes.
No anomalies.
No lingering watchers.
That, more than anything else, confirmed the truth.
Upon returning, the sect welcomed them with restraint. Records were updated. Contributions acknowledged. The border mission was filed away as a "successful stabilization effort."
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
Elder Qin's betrayal was quietly sealed within restricted archives.
Li Chen resumed his role as a core disciple.
He did not advance.
He did not retreat.
He simply existed.
Xu Ming returned to cultivation under strict compression, his Chaos Qi dense and obedient, like coiled steel awaiting release.
Life resumed.
But the innocence was gone.
Weeks later, Li Chen sat beneath an ancient tree within the sect grounds.
Only then did he allow himself to cultivate.
Slowly.
Carefully.
The divine breathing technique responded immediately, eager and vast—but Li Chen kept it leashed, guiding only what was necessary. His foundation solidified cleanly, quietly, without thunder or omen.
The heavens did not react.
The Dao accepted it without comment.
That confirmed everything.
Far above, a record closed.
"Lower realm deemed low-priority."
"Irregularities dormant."
"Resources reallocated."
Li Chen opened his eyes and smiled faintly.
Not in triumph.
In relief.
The heavens had not been defeated.
They had been outwaited.
He rose, brushing dust from his robes, and walked back toward the sect.
"For now," he murmured, "we live quietly."
And somewhere far above, attention had already moved on—unaware that the most dangerous seeds were those left unattended.