The silent standoff lasted for seven days.
To the rest of the sect, it was an invisible conflict. But on Xiao Xiao Peak, the pressure was a constant, tangible thing. Lin Fan found himself unable to relax in his rocking chair; every sip of tea tasted of ash. The cold, analytical gaze from the neighboring peak was like a spiritual weight, pressing down on their fragile peace. He knew, with the certainty of a seasoned survivalist, that the wolf was done observing and was about to begin its hunt.
On the eighth morning, the point of light on Lin Fan's spiritual map finally moved. It didn't retreat; it descended, making a slow, deliberate path directly toward the entrance of the Ninth Peak.
"He's coming," Lin Fan said, his voice a flat, dead tone.
Yue Qingqian, who was listlessly watering the herb garden, dropped her watering can with a clatter. She looked at her Senior Brother, her eyes wide with fear.
"Emergency Protocol Seventeen," Lin Fan stated calmly. "Assume the 'Innocent but Confused' stance. Do not speak unless I give you a signal. Your only job is to look harmless. Go."
Yue Qingqian nodded, her face pale, and quickly took up a position near the herb garden, trying her best to look like a simple girl tending to her plants, completely oblivious to the world.
A few minutes later, a figure appeared at the edge of their small courtyard.
Jian Wuchen was exactly as the rumors described him. Dressed in immaculate white, his posture was as straight and unyielding as the ancient sword on his back. His handsome face was a mask of cold indifference, and his eyes... his eyes were the sharpest things Lin Fan had ever seen. They didn't just look at you; they dissected you, searching for weaknesses. The very air around him seemed to grow colder, crisper.
He stepped into the courtyard, his presence a stark, aggressive violation of the peak's lazy, tranquil atmosphere.
He ignored Lin Fan completely, his gaze locking onto Yue Qingqian.
"Quasi-Saintess Yue Qingqian," he said. His voice was like his gaze—cold, sharp, and devoid of any emotion save for a faint, almost imperceptible disdain. "I have watched for seven days. Your so-called 'Dao of Harmony' is an illusion. It is a trick of light and words, a shelter for the weak who fear the true path of cultivation."
He took another step forward. "The true Dao is forged in the fires of conflict, tempered by absolute power. It is sharp, direct, and unyielding. It is the Way of the Sword."
His gaze was so intense that Yue Qingqian instinctively flinched.
At that moment, Lin Fan moved, placing himself between Jian Wuchen and his Junior Sister. He adopted the posture of a timid, flustered, and utterly useless senior brother, bowing slightly, his hands wringing nervously.
"Senior Brother Jian! Greetings, greetings!" Lin Fan said, his voice full of a practiced, servile anxiety. "What brings a genius like yourself to our humble little peak? My Junior Sister is... well, she's a bit simple, you know. Doesn't understand much about the world. If she's offended you in some way, I apologize on her behalf! Please, don't mind her."
Jian Wuchen's gaze flickered to Lin Fan for a fraction of a second, his eyes filled with contempt for this sniveling, weak cultivator, before returning to Yue Qingqian. It was clear he considered Lin Fan to be less than an obstacle.
"I am not here to talk," Jian Wuchen stated flatly. "I am here for a demonstration. I challenge you. Let us see how your 'harmony' fares against my 'sharpness'."
This was the moment. The confrontation they couldn't avoid.
But Yue Qingqian, following her script, did not respond to the challenge. Instead, her eyes, wide and full of an almost child-like curiosity, fixed on the ancient sword strapped to Jian Wuchen's back.
She tilted her head, a confused expression on her face. Then, in a soft, clear voice that seemed completely out of place in the tense standoff, she spoke.
"Your sword..." she said, more to herself than to him. "It sings a very loud, very lonely song. It's so sharp... it doesn't have any friends."
The effect was instantaneous.
The icy calm on Jian Wuchen's face cracked. A flicker of pure, unadulterated fury flashed in his eyes. He had come here seeking a philosophical and martial confrontation, and he was being met with... childish pity? This wasn't just a rejection; it was an insult to the very core of his being, to his Sword Dao itself.
"Enough of these games!" he snapped, his voice now laced with a dangerous edge. "You hide behind your brother's weakness and your own foolish words because you are afraid. You will not face me? Fine."
He took a step back, his cold composure returning, but it was now the coldness of a glacier about to break.
"I will issue a formal challenge through the sect's proper channels. A duel on the Arena of Blades. It will be officially sanctioned. Then, you will have no choice but to face my sword. We will see then if your 'Dao' is anything more than empty air."
Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode away, his white robes vanishing from the courtyard, leaving behind a chilling promise and a crisis that could no longer be contained.