Chapter 16

Mist Valley’s Inner Disciplinary Hall looked like a courthouse had mated with a sword rack: all solemn marble pillars—each carved with “VIRTUE” in dramatic seal script—and a ceiling webbed in suspension chains “just in case justice needed reinforcement.”

Mingyue would have admired the architecture if she hadn’t been too busy throttling panic.
Calm. Breathe. This is just a glorified clinic intake—except the physicians wear judgmental hats.

Jiang Feng strode beside her in the guise of “Reclusive Grandmaster Yun.” In daylight he radiated easy authority, silver mask in place, crippled-cultivator act convincingly subtle. Every disciple they passed bowed twice: once for respect, once out of sheer survival instinct.

“Three rules,” he murmured—a private lesson disguised as small talk. “One: never offer more information than required. Two: if they press you on cultivation secrets, cite an elder’s instruction—preferably mine. Three: remain… civil.”

“You say that like I’m going to hurl scalpels.”

“That was in my top five concerns.”

Inside the disciplinary hall waited a semicircle of silk-robed inner elders, their badges glinting like fresh dental work. At center sat Elder Hu Qingsong, lean as bamboo and twice as creaky; his specialty: rules, sub-rules, and footnotes about rules.

“Disciple Shen Mingyue,” he intoned, “you are charged with unauthorized activation of a sect array and endangering fellow disciples.”

“Correction, Elder,” Mingyue replied, bowing. “I stabilized a faulty ward. Endangerment was already present.” She produced a sketch she’d drafted overnight: the original keystone glyph, cracked and sparking. “Left unrepaired, this would have collapsed onto our junior herb-gatherers, flooding the grotto with uncontrolled mist.”

Several elders bent closer. One harrumphed. Another whispered, “The angles are mis-etched…”

Hu frowned. “Even so, outer disciples may not tamper with official formations.”

Mingyue slid forward a second parchment—signed by Elder Ling (Jiang Feng had procured it ten minutes earlier). “Per Elder Ling’s provisional guidance, I was instructed to apply ‘basic first-aid runework’ should I witness hazardous instability. I complied.”

The hall rustled. Elder Ling held enough clout that few wanted to contradict a safety directive.

Hu tapped the table. “Fine. The array charge is reduced to a caution.” He flicked a new talisman onto the desk—Dismissal? No… too ornate. Mingyue’s heart tightened until she recognized the seal: Special Apprentice Permit – Formation Hall Observation.

“Since you’re so eager to meddle,” the elder said, “you will spend ten mornings assisting Formation Hall scribes—under supervision. Fail, and the caution reinstates.”

Ten mornings of unpaid labor? Annoying but survivable. She bowed. “Gratefully accepted, Elder.” Translation: Thanks for the free training, sucker.

Hu moved on. “Second matter: reports of illicit beast-rearing in the Pill Pavilion.”

Mingyue stiffened. Oh no.

“At least three witnesses heard avian noises and saw flame leaks.” He lifted a brow. “Explanation?”

She inhaled, ready to spin—but Jiang Feng’s subtle cough reminded her of Rule #1: minimal info.

“Temporary spirit-flame reaction from an experimental furnace,” she said, perfectly sincere. “My cauldron lining… overperformed.”

One elder chuckled; anyone who’d ever scorched a pill knew that pain. Elder Hu hesitated—then reached for a jade testing plaque. “Place your hand.”

Mingyue pressed her palm. The plaque glowed a mild orange, signifying personal flame affinity, nothing beastly. Xiao Zhu, tucked deep in her core, emitted a supreme imitation of a sleeping ember.

Hu’s shoulders sank a millimeter. “Very well. Keep your experiments contained. The sect launders only so many uniforms.”

Gavel—well, calligraphy brush—came down. “Session dismissed.”

Once free, Mingyue exhaled a month of tension. “I think I only aged two days.”

Jiang Feng nodded. “You defended yourself cleanly. But word of your talent spreads; more eyes will watch.”

“Great,” she muttered. “I love being reality TV.” She glanced up. “Thank you—for the letter.”

He looked away, faintly amused. “Consider it interest on my medical debt.”

The moon was only a pale crescent when Mingyue was done with classes. She slipped through the mist-ward into Jiang Feng’s secluded pavilion, but he was already waiting in the lantern-lit garden: robe loose at the throat, long hair unbound, as though he’d been coaxing the night breeze to carry away the last of his pain.

She set her basket on the stone table with a decisive thunk.
“Emergency house-call,” she announced. “Side effects include questionable tea and unsolicited acupuncture.”

He gestured to the cushion opposite. “Then let us make use of the quiet while it lasts.”

Mingyue unpacked gleaming blue-white mushrooms, a sprig of frost-mint, and a vial of clarified phoenix ash. “Tonight’s special: Cloudcap Detox Tea—chills rampant fire poison and stabilizes meridian turbulence.”
Jiang Feng lifted a brow. “Rare combination.”
“Rare patient,” she countered.

With Xiao Zhu dozing in her core, she coaxed a gentle flame beneath the jade kettle. A ribbon of phoenix warmth spiralled up; her Ice-root qi slid down the sides, tempering the heat until liquid shimmered silver instead of boiling. The pavilion filled with a scent like sweet winter rain.

When the brew turned faintly opalescent, she poured a single cup and added one drop of phoenix ash. The surface flashed gold, then settled.

“Bitter,” she warned. “But effective.”

He drank without flinching. A pulse of dark qi flickered across his throat, then dimmed to ember-glow. He exhaled—slow, deliberate—and the ambient pressure in the room eased, as though mountains had shifted a finger-width.

“Your outer wounds are knit,” she said, fingers already sliding a fresh set of forged needles into a lacquer tray, “but your internal meridians still look like a snarled fishing net. May I?”

“Mn.” He loosened his sleeves and turned so lamplight traced the long scar that cut from sternum to hip—faint now but still thrumming with residual void energy.

Mingyue knelt behind him, palms hovering a hairbreadth from his back. She let her vision blur until streams of qi appeared—some bright and swift, others sluggish. Deep within, pockets of shadowy turbulence churned like inverted whirlpools.

“Two problems,” she murmured. “Stagnant yin along the left governor channel, and rogue fire threads coiling around your dantian like barbed wire. Classic contraindication.”

His tone was wry. “I noticed.”

She selected a silver-blue needle—quenched in moon-jade for conductivity—and tapped a point between the seventh and eighth vertebrae. Ice-root qi flowed, seeping into the knot of yin. The stagnation shuddered, then began to melt.

Xiao Zhu stirred, lending a ribbon of regulated flame. Mingyue channelled it through a second golden needle just below the ribcage, guiding the excess fire into a controlled loop that wouldn’t scorch tissue. For a moment their three energies—her ice, Xiao Zhu’s flame, and Jiang Feng’s vast but fractured core—vibrated in perfect resonance.

Jiang Feng’s breath hitched. Power rippled down his arms; nearby lanterns flared, gutters of wind swirling. Then—quiet. The violent tug-of-war inside him settled to a low, even hum.

He opened his eyes, lashes stilling. “The pain… is distant.”

Mingyue withdrew the needles, wiping them with spirit alcohol. “Give it an hour; circulation will recalibrate. Avoid sword katas until tomorrow.” She paused, teasing: “Doctor’s orders, Your Immortalness.”

He glanced over his shoulder, midnight eyes softening. “Then I shall obey.”

While the tea kettle cooled, he motioned for her to sit opposite. “Your dual roots—flame and variant ice—allowed you to balance conflicting forces inside another body. Not simple.”

“Felt like playing tug-of-war with a thunderstorm,” she admitted.

Jiang Feng drew a quick diagram on the table’s thin layer of condensation, tracing two intersecting spirals. “If you learn to split-cycle them deliberately, you can accelerate anyone’s recovery—or destroy internal defenses. Tonight you used instinct. Let us make it method.”

For the next hour they practised breath-sync: inhale with frost, exhale with ember; micro-adjust meridian gates; anchor each cycle with intent rather than raw emotion. Xiao Zhu chimed in with rhythmic warmth whenever she faltered, like a living metronome.

By the time moonlight faded to pre-dawn grey, Mingyue could thread a hair-thin strand of ice qi down her right arm while running parallel heat along the left—no burns, no frostbite. She flexed fingers, awed. “That’s… ridiculously useful.”

“And uniquely yours,” Jiang Feng said. “Few cultivators dare split channels. It invites backlash. But your medical control—and your companion—grant you a margin.”

He rose; the subtle hitch that had always accompanied his movements was nearly gone. He rotated a shoulder experimentally and gave her a slow nod of approval.

Progress—not miraculous, but real.

Before leaving, Mingyue produced a palm-size talisman of ice-jade and phoenix feather sigils—last night’s sleepless forging. “Emergency shield,” she said lightly. “If your core spikes while I’m not around, channel into this. It’ll siphon the excess.”

He ran a thumb over the etching, expression unreadable. “You spend resources meant for your own advancement on me.”

“Well, you keep almost imploding. Bad for my résumé.”

Silence stretched, comfortable. Then he reached into his sleeve and offered a slender vial filled with pale blue crystalline powder. “Moonpetal dew—condensed. You will need it to refine pills above fourth-rank.”

Her eyes widened; even inner disciples scrimped months for a thimbleful. “This is—”

“Interest on the interest,” he said. “And… gratitude.”

Heat climbed her cheeks. She cleared her throat, tucking the vial safely away. “Try not to relapse before I get more mushrooms.”

He gave the faintest incline of his head—half bow, half promise.

Outside, the first pearl light of dawn threaded through the valley mists. Mingyue breathed cold air spiced with pine and phoenix ash, feeling both exhausted and fiercely alive. She had spent a night balancing elemental extremes inside an immortal lord’s meridians—and neither of them had exploded. Progress indeed.

Xiao Zhu fluttered in her core, pride-warm and drowsy.
We did good, she told him.
He chirped agreement, then promptly demanded breakfast.

“Fine,” she sighed, heading toward the kitchens. “But you’re eating outside my dantian this time.”

The mist rolled back to let her pass, and somewhere behind her Jiang Feng watched—his qi finally smooth as glass, yet thrumming with a new, cautious hope.