The hunt began not with a bang, but with a whisper.
For the next two weeks, Gu Xuan became Su Linyue's shadow, a ghost she never knew was there.
He performed his duties at the pavilion with the same quiet diligence, but every spare moment was dedicated to observing his target.
He learned her routine, a sad, monotonous cycle dictated by the ghost of her former ambition.
Each morning, she would be at the training grounds before anyone else.
She never drew her sword. She would simply stand under the old willow, her posture rigid.
Gu Xuan saw the minute flinches in her hands when a disciple executed a particularly brilliant sword form, the flicker of longing in her eyes that was quickly suppressed by a wall of icy pride.
Afterwards, she would go to the sect's grand library.
But as Gu Xuan observed from the dusty aisles of his own section, he noted she never went to the areas dedicated to cultivation arts or sword manuals anymore.
Instead, she spent hours in the medicinal wing, poring over ancient texts on meridian theory, spiritual root damage, and cultivation deviations.
She was a physician desperately trying to diagnose her own terminal illness.
Her last stop was often the Medicine Pavilion. Here, her poverty and isolation were laid bare.
Gu Xuan would watch from a distance as she tried to barter her meager monthly sect contribution points for herbs—low-grade warming herbs that could offer only a moment's respite from the Frigid Yin Qi gnawing at her from the inside.
The truly potent remedies remained on the highest shelves, their prices mocking her predicament.
One evening, he followed her to a secluded cliffside behind the Outer Sect dormitories.
There, under the cold moonlight, she finally allowed herself a moment of vulnerability. She sat in the lotus position and attempted to circulate her Qi.
Gu Xuan watched from the shadows, his expression unreadable. Within moments, her body began to tremble.
A thin, crystalline layer of frost spread from her skin, coating her robes in a delicate, deadly sheen.
A pained gasp escaped her lips, and she doubled over, her face contorted in agony.
The attempt was a failure, just like all the others. She stayed there for a long time, a solitary, frozen statue of despair, before her iron will forced her back to her feet, her mask of cold indifference firmly back in place.
Seeing this, Gu Xuan felt the last piece of his assessment click into place.
Her pride was a fortress, but its walls were crumbling from within. She was at her breaking point. The time for observation was over.
It was time to build the stage.
His new hunting ground became the Outer Sect's Mission Hall.
The large, bustling hall was filled with disciples accepting and turning in tasks for contribution points. Gu Xuan ignored the common missions—escorting merchants, hunting low-level beasts—and focused on the board of undesirable tasks.
These were the high-risk, low-reward missions that no one with any backing or ambition would ever touch.
His eyes scanned the list, passing over tasks like cleaning the sect's spirit beast stables and testing new, unstable pill formulas.
And then he found it. A mission posting, stained and ignored, in the bottom corner of the board.
"Recruits needed for Frost Iron mining detail in the Blackwind Caverns. High risk of tunnel collapse and Yin frost exposure. Potential for encounters with Deep Dwellers. Reward: 50 contribution points."
It was perfect. The Blackwind Caverns were a treacherous network of tunnels in the coldest part of the sect's back mountain.
They were notoriously unstable, and the Yin frost that accumulated in the deeper tunnels was a poison to most cultivators.
It was a mission designed for the desperate and the disposable.
Now, he just had to ensure both he and Su Linyue were assigned to it. A direct request was impossible. Manipulation was the only way.
From his time in the archives, Gu Xuan knew things. He knew, for instance, that Deacon Chen, the portly man in charge of assigning these menial tasks, was lazy, greedy, and currently in debt to a boorish Inner Sect disciple over a series of lost bets.
That evening, a small, unmarked pouch was delivered to the Inner Sect disciple.
It contained a rare spirit herb—one Gu Xuan had acquired from a dangerous mission long ago—worth more than enough to cover the deacon's debt.
Attached was a simple, anonymous note: "A gift, for your patience Deacon Chen, perhaps you could suggest he clear his slate of undesirable tasks by assigning them to those who don't complain. Disciples like Gu Xuan and Su Linyue are quiet and used to hardship."
The next day, a new mission roster was posted in the hall. Gu Xuan walked up to the board, his face as placid as ever. He scanned the parchment, his eyes tracing the neat calligraphy.
Blackwind Caverns Mining Detail:
* Li Wei
* Zhao Feng
* Gu Xuan
* Su Linyue
He stared at the two names, one below the other, and a cold, satisfied certainty settled in his chest.
The actors were now in place.
His gaze drifted across the hall, where Su Linyue was just noticing her own name on the board.
He saw her shoulders tense, her face pale slightly. To her, this was just another indignity, another dangerous, pointless task.
She had no idea it was fate, meticulously crafted and delivered by the unremarkable archivist standing twenty feet away.
Gu Xuan turned and walked away, melting back into the crowd.
The stage is set, he thought, a flicker of anticipation in his hidden eyes. Now, let the play begin.