The fallout from the "Seminar of the Void" was immediate and chaotic.
As Lin Fan and Yue Qingqian made their hasty, silent retreat from the lecture hall, they left behind a sect in an uproar. The disciples were divided into three distinct camps. The largest group was simply bewildered, treating the entire event as a bizarre piece of performance art and a source of endless gossip. The second, smaller group, composed mostly of Li Haoran's followers like Wang Teng, loudly proclaimed Yue Qingqian to be a charlatan and a lunatic, arguing that she had made a mockery of the profound art of alchemy.
The third, and most influential group, consisted of the elders and a handful of senior disciples. They remained silent, their expressions a mixture of deep contemplation and utter confusion. They couldn't explain what they had seen, but the sheer, unadulterated confidence of both Yue Qingqian and her master, Elder Liu, prevented them from dismissing it outright. The performance had planted a seed of doubt in their orthodox understanding of the Dao. Was it possible there was a path they had never considered? This uncertainty made them wary, and they resolved to observe this "Quasi-Saintess" from a distance.
Back on the safety of Xiao Xiao Peak, behind the newly reinforced arrays, the atmosphere was funereal.
Yue Qingqian had slumped onto a stool, the adrenaline from her performance wearing off, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion. Lin Fan was pacing again, his face grim.
"The good news is, no one will be asking you for practical alchemy advice anytime soon," he said, his voice laced with bitter irony. "The bad news is, we've replaced simple curiosity with profound, high-level scrutiny. We're no longer a joke; we're a puzzle. And powerful people hate puzzles they can't solve."
He knew that their successful performance had also made them a target. By being so different, they had inadvertently challenged the established order.
His fears were validated sooner than he expected.
A few days later, while Yue Qingqian was recovering her mental fortitude by dutifully digging a new escape tunnel (now designated Tunnel #28), Lin Fan felt a sudden, sharp prickle on the back of his neck.
It was a sensation he knew well—the feeling of being watched.
But this was different from the broad, sweeping scan of the Sect Master's divine sense. This was a focused, sharp, and incredibly persistent gaze, like the tip of a needle being pressed against his protective arrays. It held no malice, but it was filled with an unyielding, analytical intensity.
Lin Fan's heart sank. He instantly activated a secondary, passive-detection array, and a spiritual map of the area appeared in his mind. On it, a single, bright point of light stood on a cliff edge on the neighboring peak, looking directly towards them. The energy signature was sharp, cold, and pure, like a shard of ice.
"Junior Sister, stop digging," Lin Fan's voice was low and tense, transmitted directly into the tunnel. "We have a visitor."
Yue Qingqian scrambled out of the tunnel, her face smudged with dirt. "Who is it?"
"Trouble," Lin Fan replied, his eyes fixed on the spiritual map. "The kind of trouble we can't fool with poetry and dancing flames."
He didn't need to consult his intelligence reports. He knew exactly who it was. There was only one disciple in their generation who possessed a Sword Intent so pure and cold.
Jian Wuchen. The Cold Light Sword. The top contender from the Sect Competition.
He had been standing there, on that cliff, for three straight days. Just watching. Not attacking, not speaking, just observing their insignificant little peak with the unwavering focus of a hawk studying its prey.
"What does he want?" Yue Qingqian whispered, a new kind of fear creeping into her heart. The enemies she had faced so far were either foolish (Wang Teng), easily manipulated (Liu Changqing), or too high-level to bother with them directly (the Sect Master). But this Jian Wuchen was different. He was their peer, a true genius, and his motivations were completely unknown.
"He wants to understand," Lin Fan said, his analysis swift and chilling. "In his world, everything is about strength, about advancing, about the sword. Our 'Dao' of harmony and inaction is a direct contradiction to his entire belief system. He sees you, a 'Quasi-Saintess', promoting this... 'weakness'. He can't comprehend it. So, he's trying to 'cut through the illusion' with his Sword Intent, to see the truth of what you are."
This was a far more dangerous opponent than any they had faced. Jian Wuchen wouldn't be fooled by performances. He believed only in the direct evidence of power.
"As long as he just watches, we do nothing," Lin Fan instructed, his voice firm. "We stick to our routine. You practice your flame control, I'll tend the garden. We pretend we don't even know he's there. The moment we react, we show him that we're concerned. And to a wolf like him, concern is a sign of weakness."
And so, a strange, silent standoff began.
For days, Jian Wuchen stood on his cliff, his gaze a palpable force. And on Xiao Xiao Peak, Lin Fan and Yue Qingqian went about their lives with a forced, almost painful, normalcy. But beneath the surface, a new and terrible pressure was building.
Lin Fan knew this couldn't last. A sword that is constantly being sharpened is meant for one thing: to cut. It was only a matter of time before Jian Wuchen decided that watching was no longer enough.