Chapter 17

The Formation Hall archives smelled of cedar shavings, dust, and the faint copper tang of over-inked scrolls. Mingyue arrived at dawn—first day of “penance”—to find rows of stone desks circling a huge suspended jade disk veined with drifting runes. Elder Shou loomed beside it, quill poised like a halberd.

“You’ll label glyph rubbings, cross-reference node coordinates, and under no circumstances breathe on the primary array,” he said.

“Breath control—my specialty,” she promised, settling at a desk stacked with brittle parchments. Ice-root qi steadied her brush as she copied line after line. Halfway through the pile she froze; two glyphs collided in a loop that would have siphoned yuan energy back into the keystone and blown a crater in the south ridge. She redrew the segment, rotating one stroke forty-five degrees until the pattern balanced.

Elder Shou’s shadow fell across her page. “Why alter a certified survey?”

“Because it’s accidentally homicidal.” She slid the damaged rubbing beside her correction.

His eyes narrowed, but he grunted approval and dropped a fresher stack in front of her. Around the room, junior scribes began nudging their own scrolls her way. In return, they slipped her scraps of high-grade spirit ink “for practice.” Quid pro scroll.

The hush shattered when Inner Disciple Yang Lihua swept in, lavender robes swirling. She paused at Mingyue’s desk, gaze flicking over the neat red corrections.

“Impressive work—for a mushroom wrangler,” she murmured. “Care to demonstrate your genius in the arena tonight?”

“Sorry,” Mingyue said, blotting a rune. “Spinal realignment for disgruntled toads—booked solid.” Yang’s smile thinned before she pivoted away. Duel postponed, not canceled.

Released at noon, Mingyue met Li Mei and Chen Guang beside the noodle stall. Broth steamed in the chill air; rumors simmered hotter.

“Yang Lihua filed an official duel request,” Li Mei whispered.

“She wants your ice variant,” Chen Guang added. “If she cripples your meridians—”

“She gets my eternal sarcasm.” Mingyue slurped noodles. “We’ll handle it.”

Still, the thought nagged. A public fight meant spectators who might spot Xiao Zhu’s flame quirks or her split-root trick. Too messy.

Evening found her at Jiang Feng’s pavilion with a basket of mushroom-essence dumplings. He met her on the covered walkway, mask tucked away, hair loose.

“How fared the archives?” he asked.

“Educational. Also, Yang wants me pressed into a disciple-shaped pancake. Suggestions?”

“Decline and be called weak,” he said. “Accept and risk revelation.” He considered. “Offer a wager she can’t afford to lose.”

“So strategic gambling.” She grinned. “I can work with that.”

Inside, new strands of translucent jade hung from the rafters like a frozen waterfall. Jiang plucked one; a pure note shivered through the lattice. Ice-blue light rippled on one side, ember-gold on the other.

“They resonate with split-root flow,” he explained. “Your turn.”

Mingyue inhaled, guiding ice qi along the blue strand while Xiao Zhu supplied measured flame to the gold. The curtain blazed like dawn across fresh snow, the chord singing in her bones before fading to a steady hum. Meridians felt cleaner, wider.

“Practice daily,” Jiang said. “It will strengthen control and mask your companion’s scent.”

A lacquered envelope slid under the door, sealed six times over. Mingyue cracked it open:

The Formation Hall requests Disciple Shen Mingyue to demonstrate corrective glyphwork at tomorrow’s joint Mist Valley–Cloud Peak symposium. Honorarium: forty Contribution Points.

Forty points—enough to rent a private meditation chamber and still splurge on a mid-grade pill case.

“Accept,” Jiang advised. “Give Yang a puzzle she can’t solve; pride will force her retreat.”

“Weaponized academia.” She laughed. “Perfect.”

Back in the dorm’s abandoned washroom, she fired up her portable furnace. Xiao Zhu emerged, blinking, then perched on the rim like a tiny forge master. Together they refined a batch of Goldenleaf Calm-Mind pills, the chick providing precisely tempered heat.

She labeled the vials, tucked the symposium letter beside them, and stretched. Tomorrow she’d trade ink for points, points for freedom—and maybe convince a frost princess to chill.

Xiao Zhu chirped approval, curled into her Beast Space, and began snoring sparks while the valley night whispered of runes, rivals, and possibilities yet uncarved.