The night was cold and moonless. A heavy silence, thick with unspoken anxiety, had fallen over Xiao Xiao Peak. Yue Qingqian stood at the edge of the courtyard, dressed in her simple, dark travel clothes beneath her conspicuous purple robe. She had already taken the Pill of Profound Calm, and her heart was a steady, slow drum, but her mind was a whirlwind. Tonight, the performance would have no script revisions, no second takes, and the audience would be the most powerful being in the sect.
Lin Fan stood a few feet away, a silent shadow in the darkness. He had done everything he could. The tools were delivered, the script was memorized, the stage was set. Now, all he could do was wait.
"It is time," Yue Qingqian whispered, more to herself than to him. She took a deep breath, ready to step onto her sword.
"STOP!"
A frantic, disheveled figure burst into the courtyard, his face pale with panic and his breath coming in ragged gasps. It was their master, Daoist Wuwei.
He had clearly just sprinted all the way up the mountain. His usual lazy demeanor was gone, replaced by a raw, paternal terror. He must have heard the sect-wide gossip about the Sect Master granting a special 'meditation session' at the most dangerous place in the world.
"You're not going!" he wheezed, planting himself directly in Yue Qingqian's path, his arms spread wide. "I forbid it! Absolutely not! Are you both mad?!"
His terrified gaze flickered from Yue Qingqian's determined face to Lin Fan's unnervingly calm one.
"That old fanatic Liu Changqing has completely bewitched you!" he accused, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anger. "And you!" he pointed a shaky finger at Lin Fan. "I know this has your strange ideas all over it! 'Listening to the song of a Demon King'? That's not enlightenment, it's suicide! It's a calamity-level beast, not a musical instrument!"
This was the internal variable Lin Fan had always dreaded but had, until now, managed to contain. Their own master, the voice of normalcy and common sense, had arrived to shatter their carefully constructed illusion.
"Master, you don't understand," Yue Qingqian began, trying to explain using the gentle, esoteric language of her persona. "It is a necessity for my Dao..."
"I don't care about your Dao!" Wuwei interrupted, his voice cracking. "I care about my disciple! I brought you to this sect to cultivate, not to get yourself eaten! If you go, I... I will go to the Sect Master myself and tell him this is all a fraud, that you're being manipulated!"
This was the worst-case scenario. If Wuwei Daoren, her official master, were to make such a scene, the entire plan would not just fail—it would backfire catastrophically, bringing the full wrath of the sect's hierarchy down upon them for deceit.
Yue Qingqian looked at Lin Fan in desperation.
Lin Fan, who had remained silent throughout the outburst, finally moved. He stepped forward, his face a perfect mask of gentle concern and filial piety.
"Master, you are overwrought," he said in a soft, soothing voice. "Your heart is in turmoil. Please, sit down. Let us not make any rash decisions."
He gently guided his flustered and panicking master to the stone table. "You have expended much energy. You must be thirsty. Your disciple has just brewed a fresh pot of 'Heart-Calming Herb' tea. It is excellent for soothing the spirit."
Wuwei Daoren was still fuming, but the familiar, gentle authority in his disciple's voice had a calming effect. "Tea? There's no time for tea! We have to stop her!"
"Of course, Master," Lin Fan said, already pouring a fragrant, steaming cup. "But we must discuss this calmly. A calm mind finds the best solutions. Please, drink. It will help clear your thoughts."
He placed the cup in his master's trembling hand. The tea was a special blend, one of the many "contingency" items Lin Fan kept on hand. The Heart-Calming Herb was real, but it was supplemented by a much more potent, tasteless, and utterly harmless ingredient: the pollen of the Thousand-Year Dream Lily, a powerful soporific.
Wuwei Daoren, still caught in his panicked state, took a large, thirsty gulp. The tea was warm and fragrant, and it did, in fact, seem to calm his racing heart almost instantly.
"You see, Master..." he began, his angry words already starting to slur slightly. "We can't just... let her... This is... very... sleepy tea..."
His eyes grew heavy. His head drooped once, then twice. The teacup slipped from his fingers, clattering softly on the stone table. With a gentle sigh, Daoist Wuwei slumped forward, his head resting on his arms, fast asleep.
Lin Fan moved swiftly. He caught the teacup before it could fall and carefully placed it aside. Then he gently lifted his master and settled him comfortably in his own favorite rocking chair, draping a warm blanket over his shoulders.
Yue Qingqian stared, wide-eyed and speechless.
"He would have gotten in the way," Lin Fan said quietly, looking down at his peacefully sleeping master. "He would have thrown himself in front of the Sect Master and caused a scene. In the end, this is safer. For him, and for us."
He looked at his master's sleeping face for a long moment. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—not guilt, but a profound weariness. This was the price of his path. To protect the ones he cared for, he had to deceive them, to manipulate them, to put them to sleep while he sent his only other family member into mortal danger.
He turned back to Yue Qingqian, his expression hardening once more into that of the director. The brief moment of warmth was gone.
"The final obstacle has been cleared," he said, his voice cold and steady. "The audience is waiting. Go."
Yue Qingqian nodded, her heart a tangled mess of fear, determination, and a strange ache for their sleeping master. She gave the rocking chair one last look, then stepped onto her sword and vanished into the night sky, leaving Lin Fan alone in the silent courtyard, the sole guardian of their sleeping, clueless father figure.