The next ten days on Xiao Xiao Peak were dedicated to a different kind of meticulous preparation. Gone were the delicate manipulations of fire and ethereal poetry recitations. Instead, the focus shifted to the gritty, practical art of blending in with the desperate dregs of the cultivation world.
Lin Fan transformed their simple courtyard into a makeshift costume and prop department. He procured several sets of the roughest, most worn-out Outer Sect disciple robes he could find (likely salvaged from discarded laundry piles during a previous, unrecorded supply run). He then proceeded to make them worse. He deliberately frayed the edges, added patches made from mismatched, low-quality cloth, and stained them with concoctions designed to mimic grease, mud, and unidentifiable grime.
"Scavengers don't wear pristine robes," he explained grimly, rubbing a dark paste into the sleeve of a robe Yue Qingqian was holding. "They wear hardship. They wear the dirt of dangerous places."
Next came the gear. He produced sturdy, non-spiritual climbing ropes woven from beast tendons, grappling hooks made from sharpened bone, heavy leather gloves, and worn satchels designed to carry ore samples. He even crafted several small, empty vials that looked like they once held potent, dangerous substances, leaving faint, alarming residue marks inside.
"Subtle details," he lectured. "Anyone looking closely will see tools of a trade, not weapons of war. It reduces suspicion."
He then taught Yue Qingqian a minor body-modification technique – not an illusion, but a way to temporarily alter skin texture and add faint, superficial scars using carefully applied herbal pastes. They both acquired a few convincing 'old injuries' – a faded burn mark on Lin Fan's forearm, a thin white scar near Yue Qingqian's collarbone – marks consistent with navigating treacherous terrain or surviving minor beast encounters.
Most complex was the cultivation masking. Simple aura dampening wouldn't suffice. Lin Fan devised a breathing technique derived from an obscure text on surviving in high-energy environments. When practiced, it caused their spiritual energy flow to become slightly erratic, fluctuating unpredictably, mimicking the unstable aura of cultivators who frequently exposed themselves to chaotic energies like those found in the Blackwind Caverns. It made pinpointing their exact cultivation level significantly harder.
Throughout this process, Yue Qingqian was a diligent, if slightly unnerved, student. She shed the ethereal grace of the "Dao Sage" and practiced moving with a rougher, more pragmatic gait. She learned how to adopt the wary, constantly scanning gaze of someone used to danger lurking around every corner.
Lin Fan also established their communication protocols. "Standard hand signals for 'danger', 'target sighted', 'retreat', and 'all clear'. Study them." He also gave her a small, smooth black stone. "If we get separated and verbal communication is impossible, channel a single, brief pulse of spiritual energy into this – just enough for me to sense. One pulse means 'wait', two means 'trouble, need assistance', three means 'aborting mission, retreat to peak immediately'. Use it only if absolutely necessary."
He reinforced the prime directive: acquire the Deep Ocean Black Iron. Information on Starlight Sand was a secondary, opportunistic goal. Speed and anonymity were paramount.
"Remember," he drilled into her, "at the Ghost Market, everyone is masked, both literally and figuratively. Trust no one. Assume everyone is dangerous. Do not be tempted by other rare items. Stick to the mission."
Meanwhile, Daoist Wuwei continued his peaceful, magically induced slumber in the rocking chair, occasionally shifted and covered with a fresh blanket by Lin Fan. His presence was a silent, constant reminder of the stakes involved and the lengths Lin Fan was willing to go to maintain their hidden life.
Finally, the night arrived – two weeks after receiving Old Man Chen's message, coinciding with the celestial alignment Lin Fan had predicted. A sliver of a new moon hung in the sky, offering minimal light. A cold wind whipped down from the mountain peaks.
Lin Fan and Yue Qingqian stood ready at the edge of Xiao Xiao Peak. Gone were the Quasi-Saintess and the cautious senior brother. In their place stood two rough-looking figures clad in stained, patched grey robes, their faces hidden behind simple copper masks. They carried worn satchels and basic climbing gear. Their auras fluctuated subtly, hinting at hardship rather than hidden power. They looked like countless other desperate Outer Sect disciples hoping to strike it rich or die trying in the sect's dangerous periphery.
Lin Fan held up one of the Serpent's Eye tokens, its cold, dead aura barely perceptible. "I go first. Give me one hour lead time. If I do not send the 'abort' signal via the communication stone within that hour, you follow. Use the established safe route to the Blackwind Caverns entrance. Show the token, say nothing unnecessary, enter, and find me near the designated rendezvous point – the collapsed stalactite formation near the eastern passage."
He looked at Yue Qingqian, his masked eyes conveying a final, intense warning. "Be careful. More careful than you have ever been."
Without another word, he leaped onto his sword, a simple, battered-looking artifact he kept for such occasions, and melted into the night shadows, flying low and fast towards the perilous unknown of the Blackwind Caverns.
Yue Qingqian watched him go, the cold Serpent's Eye token clutched tightly in her hand. The final act of their most dangerous performance was about to begin. She settled down to wait, her senses on high alert, the silence of the peak pressing in around her.