Chapter 6: Preparing a gift
Ling Yun eventually rose from his seat and began walking behind each of the alchemy disciples one by one.
He said nothing.
He only watched.
Their breathing, the flow of their Qi, the rhythm of their mixing, their posture—he took it all in with unblinking focus.
But they weren't immune to his presence.
The moment they felt his gaze, their concentration broke. Mistakes increased. Flames sputtered. Mixtures curdled and cracked.
Ling Yun noticed.
Before any true disaster struck, he left the hall in silence.
No one understood why.
Not that day, nor the days that followed. Yet the pattern repeated. Each time he entered the alchemy hall, he would inspect the herbs, jot down strange notes, sit quietly for a while, then begin his silent patrol behind the disciples.
Whispers grew. Curiosity turned to unease.
Then—one day—it happened.
As the disciples entered the hall as usual, they found Ling Yun collapsed beside one of the cauldrons.
Unconscious.
A healer was summoned immediately, and he was carried back to his private residence within the Feng estate.
But the news? It spread like wildfire.
"The young lord of the Ling Clan fainted while refining pills?"
"Hah! Did he think alchemy is the same as butchering people in battle?"
"Alchemy is the art of life. Not something a brute can master!"
The rumors reached Feng Shan's ears. He was seated in the grand hall when he heard the report—and burst into laughter.
"Unbelievable... I never thought watching that Ling boy struggle would bring me this much joy."
He turned to his steward.
"Do you know what brought that boy so low, Steward?"
The man bowed slightly. "No, Master. I do not."
Feng Shan's eyes gleamed.
"Betrayal," he said, voice heavy with meaning. "Power may place you in a vulnerable position, but betrayal… betrayal delivers the killing blow."
He looked down at his cup of tea, then sighed.
"If only that boy had been born into our clan…"
---
One full day passed.
Ling Yun remained unconscious.
When he finally awoke, the room was full.
Members of the Ling Clan surrounded him. Some were weeping. Others kneeled in silence. All of them had gathered around their young lord with worry etched deep into their faces.
Ling Yun sat on his mat, pale, soaked in sweat, his long white robes clinging to his body. His breath was shallow. His eyes dull.
"Young Master, please... don't do this to yourself!"
"Yes, Young Master! We understand your pain—but there is no way out of this... not anymore."
Their voices trembled with sincerity.
Their hearts were breaking.
And Ling Yun?
He looked at them in silence—at the people who still knelt before a man no longer who he once was.
At the very people this body had vowed to protect, even in death.
Ling Yun gave a half-smile to the tearful faces around him.
"The Patriarch of the Feng Clan will be coming out of seclusion soon," he said quietly. "I don't have much time."
His voice was calm, but his eyes shimmered with pain.
"I need to act before that happens. I spoke with Feng Shan. That man… he's a fox in human skin. I'm to be part of the welcoming ceremony for the Patriarch. And if I'm not prepared… that ceremony will become a slaughter."
The words struck like lightning.
Members of the Ling Clan broke down in tears. One by one, they collapsed to their knees.
Ling Yun, eyes glistening, watched them silently.
"I swear… I won't let anything happen to you!"
---
The next day, Ling Yun returned to the alchemy hall.
A spy from the Ling Clan, tasked with keeping an eye on him, passed the news on.
"Sir," he whispered to the steward, "Ling Yun has truly lost all hope. He's fading, day by day. He was the one we all believed in… but yesterday, he cried in front of us."
The steward grinned. "Excellent. You've done well."
He handed over a pouch filled with silver.
"Here's what I promised, boy."
---
The alchemy disciples were stunned to see the young lord walk into the hall once again.
Just yesterday, he had fainted beside a cauldron and humiliated himself before everyone. And yet, here he was—walking back in as if nothing had happened.
This time, no one could ignore him.
"Young Lord Ling, please return to your manor," one of the senior disciples said stiffly.
Ling Yun frowned, then forced a smile.
"Brothers, I'm not here to cause trouble."
"But you already have!" another snapped. "You ruined several spiritual herbs! Do you even understand how hard it is to find those?"
"You were born into luxury, Young Lord. You've never spent a night trembling in fear in some cursed forest, wondering whether you'd come back with a herb or not at all!"
"You think you can just waltz in here and destroy what we risk our lives to gather?"
The mood turned hostile.
Just then, the steward entered the hall.
"What's going on here?" he asked.
The alchemists quickly relayed their grievances. The steward paused, then nodded thoughtfully.
"It's true," he said, "spiritual herbs come at a heavy price. Many lose their lives gathering them."
He then turned to Ling Yun.
"But someone with such a thirst for knowledge shouldn't be cast out over a single mistake."
His words struck a careful balance—appeasing the crowd while offering Ling Yun a narrow path forward.
"Young Lord," he said smoothly, "as the steward of the Feng Clan, I can grant you access to the hall and the cauldrons. But the spiritual herbs… are not mine to give."
Ling Yun offered a tired smile.
The steward continued.
"That being said, there may still be a way."
"You need herbs, don't you? Then perhaps… you should gather them yourself."
"The forests around Mount Fengming aren't far from here. If you're truly serious about your studies, then go. Find the herbs. Learn the reality behind the books you've read in our public library."
He smiled faintly, knowing full well what kind of test he was setting.
And Ling Yun?
He looked down at his hands—soft, uncalloused—and made his decision.
Ling Yun burst into laughter, loud and unrestrained.
"Hahaha! Yes, exactly, Steward! In fact, I can collect extra herbs to repay the damage I caused!"
The steward smirked to himself. Fool, he thought. He's nothing but a shattered man, clawing at any rope thrown to him.
"Very well, Young Lord. I'll make the arrangements."
He bowed slightly, then turned and left, satisfied.
Ling Yun whistled lightly as he strolled back toward his manor, eyes relaxed, his gait casual.
From a distant balcony, Feng Lan watched him.
"Is he insane?" she murmured. "He's walking around, whistling, while a blade hangs over his neck?"
She shook her head, her fiery red hair dancing in the breeze.
"Let's go."
"Yes, my lady."
---
Back in the manor, Ling Yun gathered the members of the Ling Clan. When he told them about his plan to venture into the wilderness and harvest spiritual herbs, the reaction was immediate.
Cries of protest filled the room.
"Young Lord! It's far too dangerous!"
"Those mountains are crawling with demonic beasts, corrupted cultivators, and guardian spirits!"
"Even experienced gatherers don't return from such expeditions!"
Ling Yun raised a hand, silencing them.
"You're right," he said calmly. "But what choice do we have?"
He looked around the room, meeting every pair of anxious eyes.
"The Patriarch will soon emerge from seclusion. Do you think we'll be safe when that happens?"
The room fell silent.
"We need to act. If I return with something valuable—something worthy—it may shift our fate."
A man at the back scratched his head awkwardly. It was Houli, the clan's simple-minded errand boy.
"Uh… Young Lord," he stammered, "how are you gonna… y'know… get ready?"
Ling Yun turned to him, his eyes sharp and gleaming.
He smiled.
"I'm going to prepare a gift."
"A gift worthy of the man who plans to kill me."