Chapter 20

Dawn slipped over Mist Valley in threads of rose-gold light, spilling through the bamboo that bordered Mingyue’s brand-new courtyard. For the first time in months she woke without the chorus of dorm-mates snoring in uneven harmony. Instead: birdsong, the faint creak of plum branches, and Xiao Zhu’s muffled cheep as he wriggled against her ribs for morning warmth.

She threw open the lattice windows. Cool air flooded in, scented with mountain pine and the wet loam of yesterday’s hard-won garden plot. A little thrill ran through her—home—and for a breath she stood still, letting it root inside her like a seed.

Time to make this place worthy of the name.

She began with the work-shed. Dust had already tried to reclaim the benches overnight; a swipe of Ice-root qi froze the motes mid-air, and a flick of phoenix heat turned them to harmless steam. Shelves were stocked with jars and crucibles scavenged from the dorm’s “unclaimed” corner (which technically counted as recycling). She arranged them by volatility rating, then hauled a sack of herb seedlings to the courtyard.

Beneath the crooked plum tree the soil was dark and soft—perfect for the feverfew, frost-mint, and three stubborn ginseng starts she’d coaxed from the greenhouse steward. Xiao Zhu waddled along the furrows, puffing tiny gusts of regulated flame to warm each patch. The chick hummed like a proud kettle.

Mingyue smoothed the last mound, sat back on her heels, and sighed in satisfaction—

—and felt a pulse under her palm.

Not from the tree. From below.

The sensation shivered up her arm: a slow heartbeat of yuan energy, faint but distinct. She pressed both hands to the ground, eyes half-closing, and sent a trickle of qi downward. It met an answering whirl—a buried formation, dormant yet intact.

Before curiosity could sprint into recklessness, a soft footfall sounded behind her.

Jiang Feng stood just inside the gate, clasping a covered basket. Early sunlight haloed his loose hair, and without the pavilion’s shadows he seemed almost ordinary— until one noticed how the air stilled to listen when he breathed.

“Breakfast inspection?” she teased.

“Preventive maintenance,” he said, offering the basket. Inside lay six snowy dumplings and a small clay pot of ginger broth. “You worked late. Eat before you faint in your garden.”

“Doctor scolded by patient—how novel.” She accepted a dumpling, bit into plush dough, and told him about the thrum beneath the plum tree.

Jiang Feng knelt, palm brushing soil where her hand had been. For a moment his lashes lowered, concentration rippling across his features. “Confluence node,” he murmured. “Ice and fire meridians crossed here decades ago—maybe longer. Your mixed roots woke it.”

“So I inherited a half-asleep spirit well?” Mingyue’s smile spread. “That explains the elegant ward skeleton.”

He nodded. “Left untended, it could twist the courtyard streams. But properly tuned…” His gaze lifted to hers. “It becomes an alchemist’s dream.”

A flush of ambition warmed her cheeks. “Let’s see what shape it’s in.”

They cleared earth with alternating bursts of ice and flame: her frost locking loam into neat tiles, his controlled heat evaporating moisture without scorching roots. Soon a stone cap revealed itself—octagonal, webbed with faded sigils similar to those on her gate. A hairline crack split the center.

Mingyue traced the line. “I can patch that, but we’ll need a stabilizing key. Silver-leaf ore or moon-steel—expensive.”

“I have contacts,” Jiang Feng said simply.

She arched a brow. “Your contacts keep silver-leaf in their back pockets?”

“Some of us plan for contingencies,” he answered, a wry tilt to his mouth. “Give me two days.”

They were still cataloging the sigils when a shrill yelp echoed outside. Chen Guang barreled through the gate, hair singed, face ash-smudged.

“Boss! Someone launched a saboteur glyph at your front ward.” He held up a charred talisman fragment, edges still smoking. “Slug of a rune tried to eat through the ink.”

Mingyue’s eyes narrowed. He Ruisheng, or maybe one of Yang’s admirers? Either way, the ink smelled like knock-off frostroot lacquer. Cheap, brittle, and dangerously unpredictable.

She took the fragment, studied its jagged remnants, then stepped to the courtyard threshold. Fine fractures spider-webbed through yesterday’s fresh lines—superficial for now. She breathed out, feeding a whisper of split-root qi into the matrix. Flame softened the cracked ink; ice cooled it, re-binding pigment to stone. The damage vanished with a gentle chiming note.

Across the path, bamboo rustled. A guilty silhouette ducked out of sight.

Chen Guang growled, gripping his broom like a halberd. “Let me at them!”

“Later,” Mingyue said. “First, we harden the wards.”

Jiang Feng unrolled a slim scroll from his sleeve: three meters of pale silk etched with a continuous, labyrinthine glyph. “A minor perimeter weave,” he said, as if describing a picnic recipe. “Anchors required at four corners.”

They worked in synchrony: he placed anchor stones in the bamboo, she chased the lines with phoenix-ash ink; his calm cadence matched her quick strokes. When the final rune sealed, the entire courtyard gave a contented hum—subtle and deep, like a bell under water.

Mingyue looked up, breathless. “Anyone flinging second-rate curses at my door is about to get an education.”

“If they’re brave enough to test it,” Jiang Feng said, handing her a fresh brush. Their fingers brushed; static sparked—not dangerous, but suddenly intimate.

Xiao Zhu let out a scandalized chirp. Mingyue cleared her throat and turned to Chen Guang. “Reconvene Team Jade Hollow after evening class. We’ll comb the outer ridge for anyone buying knock-off frostroot lacquer and trace the glyph’s script back to its maker.”

Chen Guang saluted, eyes gleaming with the promise of righteous snooping, and thundered off to spread the word (and, she suspected, an embellished tale of today’s heroic ward-weaving).

Afternoon sunlight slanted across the plum tree as Jiang Feng replaced the stone cap over the dormant node. “Until the stabilizer key arrives, keep qi flow minimal.”

“I promise not to drill into the spiritual water main,” she said. “Thank you—for everything.”

“You earned this ground,” he replied. “I merely ensured no one steals it while you nap.”

She chuckled, suddenly aware of how close they knelt. His mask rested in the pocket of his robe; nothing hid the fine scar tracing his jawline nor the softness in his dark eyes. Without thinking she reached to smooth an ink smear from his cheekbone. Her thumb brushed skin—cool and startlingly human.

His breath caught. The moment stretched, fragile as spun sugar.

Then a plum blossom dislodged overhead and drifted between them, breaking the spell. Mingyue lowered her hand, pulse skittering.

“Tea?” she offered, voice deliberately light.

“Later,” he said, gathering the remaining tools. “Meditate at dusk; your mixed roots still resonate with the node. I’ll monitor from the pavilion.”

She watched him leave through the bamboo, lantern catching on the late sun like a silver star bobbing away. Convenience, indeed.

Twilight settled. Mingyue lit paper lamps along the veranda, then set a cushion over the stone basin and crossed her legs. Xiao Zhu curled in her lap, feathers glowing faintly pink. She inhaled: ice in the right channel, flame in the left, threads meeting at her core in a balanced spiral. Under her feet the buried node pulsed in slow reply, as though recognizing her signature.

Breath by breath, the spiral widened until it brushed the plum tree’s roots, the edging wards, the quiet hum of Jiang Feng’s distant qi. Everything aligned for one exquisite instant—like standing in the still eye of a storm.

Xiao Zhu dozed, tiny ember breaths warming her palms. Leaves rustled lullaby-soft. Mingyue felt the shape of tomorrow unfurling: formation lessons at dawn, herb cuttings rooting in fresh soil, half-secret collaboration with an immortal lord next door, and whatever schemes the valley threw her way.

She smiled into the deepening night. The courtyard answered with a gentle chime, as though echoing her vow.

Whatever they built here would hold. And it would grow.