Chương 43: The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Sect Leaders

My thinking runs in two directions simultaneously. Part of me sees the sword as an asset. Possibly more to a craftsman who could restore it. But the other part of me, the part that bowed three times and made a promise to a skeleton, says Frostheart trusted this blade. It sat beside him in that tomb for nine centuries, waiting for someone worthy. It deserves better than being sold to someone who'd lock it in a vault and count it among their treasures. So I've made a private decision.

If there's truly someone out there who will treasure this sword—like a survivor of the Azure Frost, or an allied sect—and I can make a fair profit from selling it? Fine. That's the ideal outcome. Everyone wins. The sword finds a home. The sect gets resources. But if not? If the lineage is dead or the inheritor is someone who only sees the price tag? Then I'll keep it. I'll find another way to restore it myself, even if it takes years. Even if I have to learn weapon-shaping from scratch.

Even if I have to sit with Frostbite the way Wei Song did, listening to what it needs, learning to understand it the way Ling'er understands plants. It's a legacy, nine centuries of waiting, of hoping, of holding onto something that mattered. And I refuse to be the one who turns that into coin. Frostheart trusted this blade to the right person. I intend to prove him right. At the very least, so I don't get cursed from the grave.

The secondary goal, strengthening Ling'er and arming her with knowledge while strengthening myself, is now less about finding a contact and more about the city itself. Technique manuals at higher grades. Cultivation resources suited to a mixed-element Foundation Establishment cultivator trying to advance past a ceiling that my own mediocrity built. The Frost Manual has taken me further than I expected, largely because Ling'er has been correcting my form for months.

I want to find the next stage of that path, or something that fills the gaps in it. This is personal. I want to become stronger not just for Ling'er's sake but for my own. I've been watching her surpass me for months. She went from mortal to Foundation Establishment Fifth Stage in less time than it took me to master the Frost Manual. The gap is vast, and it grows wider every day. But I've decided, somewhere in the quiet hours between training sessions and sect management, that mediocre is a starting point.

Just a place on the map.

'I want to move from that place.' The next morning, I gather the disciples.

"I'll be going on a journey," I announce.

"Ling'er will accompany me. We expect to be gone for a month—perhaps longer." They exchange glances. A month is longer than any trip I've taken since they arrived. But there's no panic or uncertainty in their faces. Even without my direct supervision, the sect can function now. But I'm not leaving anything to chance. The next three days are a flurry of preparation. I walk the perimeter with Lian, the youngest disciple who's shown a real interest for formations.

She's been studying the Formation Foundations manual since the tournament, and she's progressed faster than I expected. We check every flag, every node, every connection in the defensive array.

"This one's weak," she says, pointing to the flag near the ravine.

"The spirit stone is almost depleted."

"Can you replace it?" She hesitates.

"I've never done it alone."

"You won't be alone. Jun will be here. Mei Lin will be here. But I need you to know how." I hand her a fresh spirit stone.

"Show me." Her hands shake slightly as she works, but she doesn't break the formation. The new stone slots into place, and the flag hums back to life.

"Good," I say.

"Now do the rest." She spends the afternoon checking every flag, replacing stones where needed, making small adjustments to the alignment. By evening, the perimeter is stronger than when I arrived. The mortal guards are another matter. I've known some of them sleep on shift. The Gaze told me, and I've been meaning to address it. Now, with a month-long absence looming, I have no choice. I gather them in the main hall.

"You've all been paid well. You've been fed well. You've been given warm clothes and a place to sleep." I let my gaze settle on each of them.

"In return, I expect you to stay awake during your shifts." A few of them shift uncomfortably.

"I'm not going to punish anyone for the past. But going forward, if I hear that someone slept while they were supposed to be watching—" I pause.

"There will be consequences." Jun is standing at the back of the hall, watching. I catch his eye afterward.

"The patrols," I say.

"Make sure they're not lazy. And make sure the guards know you're watching." He nods.

"I can do that." The day before we leave, I do one last walkthrough. The mine is producing steadily. Old Zhao reports no issues. The herb garden is thriving; Mei Lin has expanded it since the tournament, and Song Li's constructed greenhouse is keeping the cold at bay. The freezer is stocked. The stores are full. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

Lian has set up a small formation near the main gate, something she designed herself, a simple alert array that will trigger if anyone approaches after dark. It's not powerful, but it's clever and she's proud of it. Jun has organized the patrol schedule, rotating the guards so no one has the same shift two nights in a row. He's also arranged for the disciples to take turns walking the perimeter at dawn and dusk. Mei Lin has taken over the supply accounts.

She's been watching me do it for months, and she's better at it than I expected.

"We have enough for two months," she reports.

"Maybe three, if we're careful." I nod.

"If we're not back by then, send word to Greenstone Town. Someone there will know how to reach me." She doesn't ask how, she just nods. The morning of our departure, I stand at the gates and look back at the sect one last time. Everything is in place. The defenses are strong, the disciples are prepared and the lazy mortals are watched.

'I've done what I can.' Ling'er stands beside me, her traveling cloak over her shoulders, her small pack on her back. She's been quiet all morning, watching me check and recheck, watching me delegate and instruct.

"Ready?" I ask. She nods. We walk through the gates. Mei Lin steps forward.

"We'll hold things down, Sect Leader."

"I know you will." She turns to Ling'er. For a moment, neither of them speaks. Then Mei Lin opens her arms, and Ling'er steps into the embrace. It's not a formal gesture. Not the bowing of juniors to seniors or the careful distance of cultivation hierarchy. Just two girls who have trained together, fought together, grown together. The tournament established something between them: not rivalry or deference, but respect and affection. The kind that comes from pushing each other to be better.

"Come back safe," Mei Lin says quietly. Ling'er pulls back, her eyes bright.

"I will." The other disciples gather around, offering their own farewells. Wei Chen claps Ling'er on the shoulder. Jun nods, the same deliberate nod he gave her after the tournament. The younger ones wave, less formal, more excited. Old Chen appears at the kitchen door with a wrapped bundle.

"Provisions," he says, pressing it into my hands.

"Thank you, Old Chen." Li Hua has mended Ling'er's traveling cloak, and she drapes it over the girl's shoulders with a quiet efficiency that says more than words. The sect gathers at the gates as the sun rises. Mei Lin stands at the front, her hand raised in farewell. Her expression is steady, the expression of someone who has been trusted with something important and intends to prove herself worthy of that trust. We walk in silence for a while, the sect shrinking behind us, the road stretching ahead.

The cold blade that sang when Frostheart held it, that dimmed when he died, that has been waiting nine centuries for someone who understands it. Perhaps in the city, we will find someone. The road continues. The sun climbs. The mountain fades behind us. We make it as far as Greenstone Town before stopping for lunch. The noodle stall is familiar. The chef brings steaming bowls and doesn't blink when Ling'er orders enough food for three people.

"Eat," I tell her.

"We have a long walk ahead." She eats. I watch the street, the merchants, the flow of people. Greenstone Town hasn't changed since our last visit. The same tired travelers passing through on their way to somewhere else.

"Celestial Jade City is different," I say between bites.

"Larger. More dangerous. More opportunities. We're looking for technique manuals; higher grades than anything we have. Things that can bolster your knowledge, fill the gaps the Bone can't bridge on its own. Your concealment must be perfect. There will likely be several Nascent Souls within the city." She nods, chewing.

"You're still the main focus," I continue.

"This trip is about strengthening you. Giving you more to work with, more patterns to draw from so you can reinforce our existing sect library. But it's also about strengthening me." She looks up. I set down my chopsticks.

"I can't just rely on you, Ling'er. You're our strongest defense. And that says a lot about me." She's quiet, waiting.

"I need to be able to contribute. Not just administratively or strategically. If something happens, if someone attacks, if we're caught in a situation where words won't work—I need to be able to fight beside you. Not behind you."

"You do more than just combat, Master."

"I know. But that's not enough. Not for what's coming." She considers this, then picks up her chopsticks and resumes eating.

"So we find manuals and resources. For both of us."

"For all of us." We eat in silence for a while. The noodle stall owner refills our tea. The afternoon sun warms the wooden tables. It's almost peaceful.

"The lead I have is nine hundred years old. A craftsman who might not have any living descendants. I'm going with a guess and a damaged sword and a hope that something remains." Ling'er sets down her chopsticks.

"What if nothing remains?"

"Then I keep the sword. We wait until we find another way to restore it." I shrug.

"But I want to try this way first. It's cleaner. Faster. And if the lineage survived, it's the right thing to do." She nods slowly.

"You're very thoughtful, Master."

"I've tried." The sect is in good hands. Mei Lin will manage. Jun will watch. Old Chen will feed everyone. The systems are in place, the resources are allocated, the defenses are active. For the first time in months, I feel something like relaxation. Not peace, I don't know if I'll find peace until Ling'er is strong enough to protect herself. The satisfaction of a plan well-made, even if the outcome is uncertain, eases me. Ling'er sets down her chopsticks. She doesn't say anything at first.

She's looking at nothing—the empty bowl, the grain of the wooden table, something I can't see. Her brow is furrowed. Her fingers press flat against the table, spread wide, as if she's feeling for something beneath the surface.

"Ling'er?" She doesn't answer. Her eyes are distant, unfocused.

"What is it?"

"Something is wrong." Her voice is quiet, almost a whisper.

"At home." I feel my chest tighten.

"Wrong how?"

"The threads… I can feel them, the ones connecting me to the sect. To Mei Lin and Wei Chen." She presses her fingers harder against the table.

"All of them are wrong." I'm already standing.

"Can you tell what?" She shakes her head.

"Not from here. The farther we travel, the thinner the threads become. But something changed. I felt it—" She touches her chest." Here." I look back toward the mountain. The sect is a long way behind us. With our physiques, we can cover ground quickly. But if something is wrong, if someone attacked, if the formation failed, if Feng returned—"We need to go back." Ling'er stands. Her bowl is still half-full. She doesn't look at it. I leave coins on the table and we run. Toward home.