In the aftermath of the duel, a strange and paradoxical peace settled over Xiao Xiao Peak. The outside world was in a frenzy, debating the meaning of the "battle" and the profundity of the "Dao of Harmony," but on the peak itself, an eerie quiet reigned.
This quiet, however, did not fool Lin Fan. To him, it was the unnerving silence in the eye of a hurricane. He spent three days and nights doing nothing but reinforcing his arrays, adding new layers of misdirection and cloaking runes until he was satisfied that even a passing fly would need a map and a password to find their courtyard.
The legend of Yue Qingqian had mutated. She was no longer just the eccentric "Quasi-Saintess." Now, disciples whispered the title "Sage of the Ninth Peak." They spoke of her not as a person, but as a living philosophical concept. This had an unexpected benefit: no one dared to approach her. They would see her from a distance, bow reverently, and then hurry away, afraid their own crude, worldly thoughts might disturb her profound meditations.
This new, enforced isolation was a development Lin Fan grudgingly approved of.
On the fourth day, Elder Liu Changqing arrived. He didn't come in a frantic rush, but with the slow, deliberate pace of a pilgrim approaching a holy site. His face was aglow with a beatific smile.
"My disciple! My Sage!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with an almost tearful reverence. "Your demonstration at the arena... it was a sermon delivered not with words, but with the Dao itself! You have opened my eyes! You have opened the eyes of the entire sect!"
He brought with him not a summons, but gifts. Several large, heavy boxes were carried by his attendants.
"These are but poor offerings to aid in your profound meditations!" he declared grandly. Inside were not just common herbs, but rare spiritual minerals, a thousand-year-old piece of calming incense wood, and several volumes of ancient poetry, which Liu Changqing now believed were a form of coded Daoist scripture.
Lin Fan, observing from the doorway, saw his opening. The iron was hot. It was time to strike.
He gave Yue Qingqian a subtle, pre-arranged signal.
Yue Qingqian, who had been staring at a crack in a stone with profound interest, slowly turned her gaze to her master. A faint, troubled look crossed her face.
"Master," she said, her voice soft and fragile. "The sword's song... it was very loud. It still echoes in my mind. It is a... a very dissonant note in my harmony. It makes my spirit tired."
This was the hook. Liu Changqing immediately leaned in, his face a mask of concern. "My child! Of course! To harmonize with such brutish energy must have been a great strain on your spirit! What do you need? Tell me! I will move heaven and earth to help you find your peace!"
Yue Qingqian looked down at her hands, a perfect picture of a troubled artist. "I feel a need... for stillness. For a long, deep quietude. Like a... like a turtle in winter. I need to enter a state of deep rest, to digest the disharmonious song of the sword and turn it into a part of my own silent melody."
Lin Fan almost smiled. It was a masterpiece.
Liu Changqing's eyes lit up with understanding. "Deep rest! A spiritual hibernation! Of course! It is a profound technique of self-healing and integration! What ingredients are needed for such a state? Tell me their 'songs'!"
Yue Qingqian, reciting from the script Lin Fan had drilled into her, began to list the key ingredients for the legendary Turtle God Pill (Guī Shén Dān).
"I need... the silence of the thousand-year-old tortoise shell... the dream of the soul-soothing spirit grass... and the deep, cold slumber of the netherworld ice jade..."
Each item she named was rarer and more absurdly precious than the last. These were not materials one could simply request; they were treasures stored in the deepest vaults of the sect, some of which hadn't been touched in centuries.
But Liu Changqing did not hear a list of priceless materials. He heard a poem, a recipe for enlightenment. He saw his disciple on the verge of another profound breakthrough, and he would be the one to provide the catalyst.
"It shall be done!" he declared, his voice booming with absolute conviction. "These are not mere ingredients; they are the keys to your Dao! I will petition the Sect Master myself! I will use all my authority! You will have your 'deep quietude,' my disciple! You will have it!"
He left in a whirlwind of purpose, a man on a holy mission.
In the courtyard, Yue Qingqian finally let out a shaky breath. She looked at her Senior Brother, her eyes wide with a mixture of terror and exhilaration. The "Wool-Harvesting Plan" had just entered its most audacious phase yet.
Lin Fan gave a slow nod of approval. Their new legendary status, while terrifying, was proving to be a surprisingly effective crowbar for prying open the sect's treasure chest.