The Sanctuary in the Wilderness

In the Eastern Wilderness, where the Immortal Dao was in decline and human civilization barely flourished, only the ceaseless mountain ranges offered a wild, desolate beauty.

The Three-Unity Sword Sect was nestled deep within these mountains, in a region rarely trodden by human feet.

Perched on an unassuming hillock amidst these very mountains stood a courtyard, surprisingly spacious yet remarkably plain in appearance.

Its white walls and black tiles were so unadorned that, upon closer inspection, one could even discern the uneven plaster and the bricks beneath, matching the very color of the mountain stone.

Devoid of the grandeur typically associated with vermillion gates, and lacking the ethereal grace of immortal abodes, it diverged entirely from the architectural styles she commonly encountered, appearing instead like a dwelling belonging to an ordinary family.

This unpretentious dwelling was, in fact, Mo Tingbei’s residence within the sect.

Supporting the unconscious Lin Xiaoxiao, Ye Jinghuang had trudged for roughly half an hour, finally reaching this spot by following the ethereal guidance of Jiang Jinyue’s spell.

Unlike Jiang Jinyue’s Shuyu Valley, this place was not protected by a formidable defensive formation.

Given Mo Tingbei’s frequent need to attend to unforeseen events, the formations here had long since been deactivated, a permanent state owing to his aversion to unnecessary hassle.

Ye Jinghuang stepped into the courtyard with an almost unsettling naturalness.

After a brief survey of her surroundings, she moved with the familiarity of one who had visited countless times, leading Lin Xiaoxiao directly towards the southeastern annex.

Despite having been, only recently, an emperor whose every decree held absolute sway within a flourishing dynasty, she displayed none of the expected displeasure towards this humble courtyard; rather, an extraordinary sense of tranquility seemed to emanate from her.

This place was virtually identical to the courtyard she remembered from her previous visits to Mo Tingbei.

When she had first been brought here by that utterly unfamiliar elder sister, everything she beheld had struck her as alien and novel.

Within this unfamiliar world, to suddenly encounter such a familiar scene, even with the burdens still weighing heavily on her heart, caused her to instinctively exhale a breath of profound relief.

While the courtyard’s exterior exuded a rustic, antique charm, its interior was immaculate, pristine as if newly built.

This pristine state was entirely due to a dust-cleansing formation, powered by a spiritual stone embedded within the house, ensuring that even after its master’s eight-year absence, and with only an occasional visit from a young girl seeking a brief respite, this small sanctuary remained utterly unsullied by dust.

Ye Jinghuang gently settled Lin Xiaoxiao onto the divan, her movements precise and tender.

Ever since that wisp of Core Flame had been seeded in her Dantian by Master Mo, the nameless turmoil that had besieged her spiritual platform and tormented her mind for three long years had quietly, perceptibly, begun to abate.

Although her animosity towards Lin Xiaoxiao had not entirely dissipated, that once-eclipsed, dignified demeanor, which had previously garnered Master Mo’s approving nod, now seemed to reclaim its place within her eyes and brow.

‘Master Mo… he must surely appreciate women of broad-mindedness, mustn’t he?’ she mused.

‘Should my jealousy burn too fiercely, I fear I might once again displease him.’

She had, it seemed, entirely misunderstood, her mind independently weaving a tapestry of baseless conjectures.

Somewhere, a certain Sword Venerable named Mo, soaring homeward on the wind, let out an inexplicable sneeze.

Rubbing his nose, he mused to himself, ‘My life flame is nearing extinction; could it be that even a Dharma body, impervious to both heat and cold, can still succumb to a slight chill? I should record this for future generations’ reference.’

With a swift hand seal, he transmitted this minor discovery into his Cultivation Daily Record, housed within the Scripture Pavilion.

Just then, Mo Tingbei gently pressed down on his cloud, descending precisely before the small courtyard gate.

Within the confines of the sect, he typically refrained from employing the Shrinking the Ground into Inches divine ability, aware that doing so would invariably trigger anomalous warnings from the sect’s intricate formations.

As the saying went, the master of the house knows the cost of firewood and rice.

While the resource drain from a single anomalous warning might now seem trivial, for Mo Tingbei, who had only just assumed leadership of the Three-Unity Sword Sect fifty years prior, the cost of repairing formations disrupted by divine abilities had been an expense potent enough to rob him of his sleep and appetite.

From that moment onward, he had cultivated the habit of traversing the sect’s grounds solely by means of the most rudimentary wind-riding technique.

As he pushed open the slightly weathered wooden courtyard gate, a familiar scent wafted towards him, mingling with the unique, austere fragrance of the mountain wilderness, subtly alleviating the somber melancholy that had clouded his heart.

In one corner of the courtyard, a small medicinal garden flourished with vibrant life, several ordinary spiritual plants gleaming faintly, clear evidence of consistent, meticulous tending.

Mo Tingbei, of course, recognized whose devoted hand was behind this.

‘Xiaoxiao…’

‘This child possesses a truly resilient spirit; perhaps this very tribulation will, paradoxically, become her greatest fortuitous encounter.’

‘She merely needs to keep a distance from the Nine Nether Qi and recuperate properly for a while; within little more than a month, she will likely be able to completely shed the persistent shackles of her bloodline.’

‘Once she has fully recovered and successfully entered the Purple Mansion realm, it will be a natural, effortless progression.’

‘By then, with a Golden Core Dao Lord presiding over the sect, Purple Mansion True Sages offering external support, and a multitude of Foundation Establishment disciples on the cusp of their own breakthroughs…’

‘Such a flourishing prospect, I fear, might even surpass that of the top-tier sects in the Central Plains, those proudly ranked at the forefront of the Golden List.’

‘After all, consider the entire Immortal Alliance: with as many as three hundred and sixty sects, alongside the seven pavilions of the Immortal Alliance headquarters, how many truly perfected Purple Mansion cultivators have ever exceeded a mere thousand?’

Seated at the stone table in the courtyard’s heart, Mo Tingbei, while retrieving his customary tea set from the depths of his spatial sleeve, found his mind awash with myriad thoughts.

Suddenly, a faint, almost imperceptible creak echoed from the southeastern direction.

Mo Tingbei’s gaze instinctively followed the sound.

Ye Jinghuang carefully, almost stealthily, emerged from the annex room in the southeast corner, closing the door behind her with a gentle sweep of her hand.

As she turned, the hem of her skirt gave a soft, almost imperceptible flutter, reminiscent of a butterfly startled from its perch.

She, too, had evidently spotted him, her movements pausing for a fleeting instant before she quickened her pace towards him.

Her steps still bore the subtle grace of one trained in mortal palaces, yet the persistent sharpness and apprehension in her eyes had now yielded to a gentle, almost hesitant embarrassment.

She approached the stone table but remained standing, her gaze modestly lowered as she watched Mo Tingbei meticulously arrange his tea set, a collection so simple it verged on austerity.

“Master Mo,” she called out, her voice noticeably clearer than it had been lower down the mountain.

Gone was the deliberately cultivated imperial cadence, replaced instead by a glimpse of her natural tone.

Mo Tingbei hummed in acknowledgment, then lifted the kettle of freshly boiled mountain spring water from the small stove.

He scalded a cup, added the tea leaves, and poured the steaming water into the vessel, which immediately sent up a swirl of white mist, momentarily obscuring the space between them.

The tea was merely common wild mountain tea, not a spiritual plant by any means, but rather grew on the sun-drenched slopes of this very mountain.

He gathered it annually, and having grown accustomed to its flavor over the years, it had become an indispensable part of his life.

“Senior Sister Xiaoxiao has fallen asleep,” Ye Jinghuang murmured softly, her gaze drawn to the delicate unfurling of the tea leaves in the cup. “Her breathing is much more stable.”

“Her foundation was not laid firmly, but her spirit is remarkably resilient. This ordeal may well serve as a crucible for her.”

Mo Tingbei gently pushed a cup of tea towards her.

The white porcelain accentuated the healthy flush of his fingers, yet Ye Jinghuang could find no joy in the sight.

“And you,” he continued, “how do you feel now that a Core Flame has first settled in your Dantian?”

Ye Jinghuang instinctively placed a hand on her lower abdomen, where a comforting warmth now radiated, dispelling the chill and agitation of recent days.

It felt as though an invisible constraint had gently smoothed away her restless, churning delusions.

She looked up, meeting Mo Tingbei’s calm, unruffled gaze.

There was no scrutiny, no probing inquiry in his eyes, merely a casual question, as if he were simply asking about the day’s weather.

“Very well,” she replied, pressing her lips together, finally adding in a softer voice, “…Thank you, Master Mo.”

Mo Tingbei raised his own cup, blowing lightly across the surface.

The rising steam subtly blurred the somewhat lean contours of his jaw.

“There is no need to thank me. That was your fortuitous encounter to begin with; I merely acted in accordance with fate.”

He took a sip of the slightly hot tea, its initial bitterness giving way to a sharp, refreshing aftertaste, much like the passage of years in these mountains.

“Jinyue told me she sensed an aura on you that did not belong to you. Your impulsiveness, perhaps, was not truly your own doing.”

These words, spoken so casually, pierced Ye Jinghuang’s carefully maintained composure like a fine needle.

Her fingertips trembled imperceptibly, nearly upsetting the tea cup.