The mountain did not sleep that night.
Even when the disciples retreated to their quarters, even when the lanterns dimmed one by one, Azure Wind still felt awake — tense, wounded, listening.
Lan Qingyun stood alone in the main hall.
The fractured spirit valley lay beyond the open doors, its once steady mist now thin and uneven. Spiritual energy rose in pulses instead of streams, like breath forced through injured lungs.
Within three days, the disciples would feel it clearly.
Within seven, cultivation speed would drop.
Within a month, morale would begin to rot.
He did not need the system to tell him that.
His consciousness extended outward, brushing against the mountain's core formation. The array lines were still intact, but they were strained. The outer channel that once fed spiritual energy from the western auxiliary ridge had been severed when Crimson Cloud's elder struck the valley.
Not destroyed.
Severed.
Deliberately.
A warning wound.
He withdrew his senses slowly.
If he stayed on the mountain, he could maintain deterrence. His Mid Golden Core presence, coupled with Elder Wei's unstable Peak aura, still posed enough threat to prevent immediate invasion.
But deterrence did not repair fractures.
Deterrence did not produce spirit stones.
Deterrence did not keep a dying master alive.
He turned and walked toward the treasury.
The doors creaked when he pushed them open. Once, the room had been guarded day and night. Now only a thin barrier formation shimmered faintly across the entrance — more symbolic than defensive.
Inside, the shelves were sparse.
Eighty thousand mid-grade spirit stones remained after emergency expenditures.
Several low-grade pills.
Two damaged defensive talismans.
An outdated sword manual.
A pair of formation lamps with cracked cores.
This was not the treasury of a former top-five sect.
This was a room clinging to relevance.
Lan Qingyun walked slowly to the far wall and pressed his palm against a seemingly ordinary stone panel. Golden Core qi flowed through his meridians, circulating in a precise rhythm.
The sect master's seal embedded within his dantian responded.
A faint hum echoed through the chamber.
Dust drifted from unseen seams.
Then the wall shifted.
Stone slid aside with a grinding murmur, revealing a narrow recess beyond.
The air inside was still and cool.
He stepped in.
Four objects rested upon a single stone platform.
Nothing extravagant.
No towering weapon.
No mountains of wealth.
Emergency measures.
The last layer of pride a declining sect kept hidden even from itself.
His gaze settled first on the dull brown crystal resting in a carved jade cradle. It was cracked along one edge, veins of dim light pulsing faintly within.
The western auxiliary ridge.
Long ago, Azure Wind's main spirit vein had been supported by secondary nodes branching through surrounding peaks. When the ancestor vanished and enemies pressed inward, those outer nodes were gradually abandoned or surrendered.
This fragment had been extracted from one such node.
If reintegrated properly, it could stabilize disrupted flow.
Not fully restore.
But reinforce.
Enough to push output above sixty percent.
Enough to stop decline.
His fingers hovered above the crystal.
To activate it, he would have to access the abandoned node beyond the damaged valley — territory Crimson Cloud now believed theirs by intimidation.
If discovered, they would not call it stabilization.
They would call it provocation.
His gaze shifted.
Beside the crystal lay a humanoid puppet carved from black spiritwood. Intricate runes etched across its surface formed a delicate network of bloodline-bound sigils.
A substitution construct.
Once infused with his qi and activated, it would mirror his aura signature and basic movements within the sect's inner range for seven days.
Seven.
After that, the internal core would fracture and collapse.
Irreplaceable.
Next to it rested a thin talisman inscribed with layered concealment arrays. High-grade. Capable of suppressing Golden Core fluctuations to near invisibility — at least to casual probing.
Single-use.
Fragile.
The final object was a sealed scroll bound in pale jade thread.
He did not touch it.
Some reserves were meant for extinction-level decisions.
He stood there for a long moment.
Eighty thousand spirit stones outside.
A fractured mountain.
A dying master.
Enemies watching.
Seven days.
If he did nothing, the sect would decline slowly and inevitably.
If he left and failed—
The sect might collapse immediately.
His lips curved faintly.
So be it.
He picked up the Earth Core Fragment.
The crystal felt heavier than it appeared.
Then the puppet.
Then the talisman.
He left the rest.
When he stepped back into the main treasury, the hidden wall sealed itself silently.
The room looked poorer now.
But the decision had already been made.
—
Elder Wei was awake when Lan Qingyun entered the inner courtyard.
The old master lay propped against cushions, breath uneven but eyes clear.
"You opened it," Elder Wei said.
It was not a question.
"Yes."
"The western fragment?"
"Yes."
Silence settled between them.
The night wind rustled the old pine tree beyond the courtyard wall.
"You intend to restore the auxiliary node," Elder Wei murmured.
"Yes."
"Crimson Cloud believes that ridge abandoned."
"For now."
"They will sense disturbance."
"If I am careful, they will sense nothing."
Elder Wei studied him for a long moment.
"You will leave the mountain."
"I must."
"Your presence deters them."
"For the moment."
"And if they test the formation again while you are gone?"
"I will leave a deterrent."
Understanding flickered in the old master's eyes.
"The puppet."
"Yes."
A faint cough shook Elder Wei's frame.
Blood touched the edge of his lips, but he ignored it.
"You risk exposure."
"Yes."
"You risk the last spirit stones."
"Yes."
"You risk war."
"Yes."
Lan Qingyun did not soften the answers.
The old master's gaze did not waver.
"You finally stopped waiting."
Lan Qingyun inclined his head slightly.
"Yes."
For a moment, something eased in Elder Wei's expression.
"Good."
The old man's voice grew softer.
"Do not be reckless."
"I won't."
"You have seven days."
"I know."
"And Qingyun."
"Yes."
"If you are discovered… do not return here leading enemies behind you."
Lan Qingyun met his gaze steadily.
"I won't."
They both understood the meaning.
If compromised, he would divert pursuit elsewhere.
The mountain would not become battlefield again.
Elder Wei closed his eyes briefly.
"Go before dawn."
Lan Qingyun bowed once.
Deeply.
Then turned away.
—
Before first light, he summoned the disciples to the main hall.
Fifty figures knelt in ordered rows.
Their faces still carried the strain of yesterday's attack.
He let the silence stretch before speaking.
"The outer valley is closed."
Murmurs.
"We will consolidate cultivation grounds to the inner terraces."
A hand raised hesitantly.
"Sect Master… our resources—"
"Will be rationed."
Another disciple swallowed.
"Are we retreating?"
Lan Qingyun's gaze swept across them.
"We are rebuilding."
The tone left no room for doubt.
"For the next seven days, the sect enters closed cultivation. No one leaves the inner boundary without permission."
Eyes widened.
Seven days.
"You will repair the damaged halls and terraces. Re-carve broken formation lines. Reinforce outer walls."
A disciple frowned.
"But… cultivation—"
"Is meaningless without foundation."
Silence returned.
He continued calmly.
"If Crimson Cloud observes from afar, they will see activity. Stability. Confidence."
Understanding dawned slowly.
They were not merely repairing buildings.
They were projecting resilience.
"Senior Disciple Yuan."
A young man straightened.
"Yes, Sect Master."
"You oversee structural repairs."
"Yes!"
"Disciple Mei."
"Yes!"
"You reorganize herb gardens to compensate for reduced flow."
"Yes!"
Orders continued.
Clear.
Precise.
No panic.
When he finished, the hall felt steadier.
They bowed as one.
"Understood, Sect Master!"
He dismissed them.
Activity began almost immediately.
Wood being moved.
Stone being lifted.
Formation lines being redrawn.
From a distance, the mountain would not look crippled.
It would look… busy.
Alive.
—
He returned to his chambers as the first hint of dawn brushed the horizon.
The substitution puppet stood upright before him.
He placed his palm against its chest and circulated qi slowly, carefully aligning its internal array with his Golden Core signature.
The puppet's carved eyes glowed faintly.
Its aura rose.
Mid Golden Core.
Steady.
Indistinguishable.
He adjusted micro-movements, imprinting subtle posture and breathing patterns.
The construct shifted slightly, mimicking his stance.
Seven days.
No more.
He activated the concealment talisman next.
Thin threads of array light dissolved into his meridians, suppressing fluctuations. His Golden Core's presence dulled, compressed.
He felt smaller.
Contained.
He checked the spirit stone reserve he would carry.
Fifty thousand mid-grade equivalents.
Thirty thousand left behind for formation maintenance and medicine.
He did not take everything.
A strategist never emptied reserves entirely.
The puppet stepped toward the terrace as he withdrew into shadow.
From a distance, it would appear as though Sect Master Lan stood surveying the mountain as usual.
Calm.
Unmoving.
Deterrent intact.
Lan Qingyun moved quietly through lesser-used corridors, passing beneath overlapping formation lines to avoid triggering outer detection patterns.
At the rear boundary of the inner range, he paused.
The mountain breathed unevenly behind him.
For a century, he had remained within its protective embrace.
Waiting.
Enduring.
Holding.
Now he stepped beyond it not as a disciple, not as someone hoping fate would descend—
But as sect master making the first offensive move.
No wind stirred dramatically.
No omen appeared in the sky.
The stars faded slowly as dawn approached.
He adjusted his sleeves once.
Then crossed the boundary.
His aura suppressed.
His presence hidden.
Ahead lay the fractured ridge, the abandoned auxiliary node, and territory Crimson Cloud believed subdued.
Seven days.
Enough.
He did not look back.
The mountain would endure.
And when he returned—
It would breathe properly again.