The arena emptied slowly.
Victors were congratulated.
The defeated were carried away.
But the elders did not disperse immediately.
Lin Xuan sat inside the medical pavilion, his fractured shoulder being reset by an older disciple trained in healing techniques.
The pain was sharp but controlled.
He did not resist.
He did not complain.
"You were reckless," the healer muttered. "That strike could have shattered your entire arm."
Lin Xuan gave a faint smile. "It didn't."
The healer snorted. "Luck won't follow you forever."
Maybe not.
But precision might.
When the treatment was complete, his arm was wrapped tightly and supported against his chest.
No miraculous recovery.
No sudden healing.
It would take time.
That was good.
Weakness made people less afraid.
Outside the pavilion, two elders were speaking in low voices.
Lin Xuan did not try to eavesdrop.
But he did not need to.
The atmosphere itself had changed.
He had crossed a line.
Not of rules—
But of attention.
By evening, an official notice was posted.
The Black Mist Valley expedition would depart in two days.
Five Outer Court disciples.
Three Inner Court supervisors.
One elder overseeing from a distance.
Resources were limited.
Protection was not guaranteed.
The wording was precise.
"Participants assume all risks."
Lin Xuan read the notice quietly.
This was not a reward.
It was filtration.
Back in his courtyard, he sat alone again.
The repaired wall still smelled faintly of fresh wood.
His shoulder throbbed steadily.
He circulated his energy carefully, avoiding strain.
Inside his consciousness, the dragon was silent for a long time.
Then—
You held back again.
"Yes."
You could have crushed him.
"Not in front of them."
A pause.
The dragon's presence shifted slightly.
You are learning restraint.
Lin Xuan exhaled slowly.
Restraint was survival.
If he had displayed overwhelming strength—
They would not send him to Black Mist Valley.
They would isolate him.
Or dissect him politically.
A knock came at his door.
Not slow this time.
Not polite.
He opened it.
Chen Wei stood outside again, visibly nervous.
"They're moving Zhao Feng to the Inner Court infirmary," Chen Wei whispered. "Some say his meridians were damaged."
Lin Xuan's expression did not change.
"That is unfortunate."
Chen Wei hesitated.
"Senior Brother… people are saying you struck his unstable meridian point intentionally."
Lin Xuan met his eyes calmly.
"In battle, you strike where your opponent is weakest."
Chen Wei swallowed.
Then lowered his voice further.
"Be careful in Black Mist Valley."
This time, there was no gossip in his tone.
Only warning.
Later that night—
A shadow moved along the outer wall of Lin Xuan's courtyard.
Not clumsy.
Not aggressive.
Just watching.
Inside the room, Lin Xuan's eyes opened without moving his body.
He did not reach for a weapon.
He did not circulate energy aggressively.
He simply slowed his breathing.
After several minutes—
The presence withdrew.
No attack.
No sabotage.
Just confirmation.
They were making sure he was still alive.
Still injured.
Still manageable.
The next morning, Elder Han summoned the five selected disciples.
They stood in a line within the External Affairs Hall.
Lin Xuan stood at the far end.
Bandaged.
Silent.
Elder Han's gaze moved across them one by one.
"Black Mist Valley is unstable terrain," he began calmly. "Spiritual beasts mutate unpredictably. The mist interferes with perception."
His eyes paused briefly on Lin Xuan.
"Disciples who overestimate themselves tend not to return."
No one responded.
"This expedition has two objectives," Elder Han continued. "Resource collection and environmental assessment."
A faint pause.
"And… investigation of unusual spiritual fluctuations reported within the valley."
The words were simple.
But Lin Xuan felt the dragon stir slightly.
So that was it.
It wasn't just a test of strength.
They had sensed something inside the valley.
Something similar.
Or connected.
"Departure at dawn," Elder Han concluded. "Rest well."
As the disciples exited the hall, one of the Inner Court supervisors lingered behind.
He glanced briefly at Lin Xuan.
Not hostile.
Not friendly.
Measuring.
"Your shoulder," the supervisor said casually. "Will it hold?"
Lin Xuan answered calmly, "It will."
The supervisor nodded once.
"See that it does."
Then he left.
That night—
Lin Xuan did not sleep.
He sat beneath the dim lantern again, circulating energy in slow, precise patterns.
Not to advance.
Not to break through.
But to stabilize.
Black Mist Valley would not allow recklessness.
And unlike the arena—
There would be no referee.
No boundary lines.
No witnesses required.
Inside his consciousness, the dragon's voice returned, quieter than before.
The valley carries ancient residue.
"How strong?"
A fragment.
Lin Xuan's eyes narrowed slightly.
"A fragment of what?"
The dragon did not answer immediately.
When it finally spoke, its tone was different.
Of something that once ruled the sky.
Silence filled the room.
Lin Xuan felt no excitement.
Only weight.
If the sect had sensed even a trace of that—
Then this expedition was not coincidence.
It was confirmation.
Before dawn, as the first light crept over the mountains—
Lin Xuan stood at the edge of the sect grounds with the other four disciples.
Mist rolled along the distant valley like a living thing.
Cold.
Unmoving.
Waiting.
No dramatic speeches.
No encouragement.
Only Elder Han's final words:
"Return alive."
The group began descending the mountain path.
Lin Xuan did not look back at the sect.
Because he understood something clearly now.
If he returned stronger—
The sect would tighten its grip.
If he returned unchanged—
They would lose interest.
If he did not return—
The problem would solve itself.
The mist ahead thickened as they approached the outer boundary.
And deep within that silent valley—
Something ancient stirred.
Not fully awake.
But aware.