“Alright, alright, stop chewing on worry like gristle. A whole tide from the sect went; nothing’s going to capsize.”

Nana Toki plucked a pear from the fruit plate like a moon off a branch and pressed it into Shuiqin Lin’s hand.

“If you’ve got time to fret, pour it into cultivation, like stoking a furnace till the iron glows.”

“But if I go cultivate, who’s going to look after you, Senior Sister?” Her voice wobbled like a reed in wind.

Shuiqin Lin pinched the pear, face twisted like a bitter gourd. “What if something happens?”

“…”

So my junior really thinks I’m some sheltered young miss in silk sleeves, carried like porcelain.

“I don’t need you babysitting me. Go do your thing.” Nana ruffled her junior’s hair, like smoothing down a fledgling’s crest, a sigh hidden under her smile.

What a silly girl. Toss her into the mortal world and some slick-tongued fox would trick her into being a wife before dusk.

“I gave you that Root-Building Balm before, didn’t I? Go shut yourself in for a short seclusion and try to hit Foundation Establishment.” Nana set the target like planting a flag on a hill.

“Huh? Foundation Establishment?”

At Nana’s words, Shuiqin Lin jolted, nearly pitching the pear into Nana’s face like a stone skipping the lake.

“Senior Sister, I’m just a fifth-stage Qi Refining scrub. You’re putting me on a very spiky spot here.”

“But you being this weak puts me on an even spikier spot.” Nana shrugged, as casual as a leaf on a stream, while her thoughts flashed like steel. If I’m carving my way across the cultivation world one day and she’s still doing chill, slow-as-moss cultivation, someone’s going to smash her head like a clay pot.

“At the very least, Master didn’t call you up to Stream Peak to be my handmaid, right?” Nana’s tone was light, a feather hiding a needle.

Though I wouldn’t mind if you were.

“…”

“Alright.”

Shuiqin Lin stared at the pear as if reading fate in its skin, then lifted her eyes, a stubborn shine rising like dawn. “I won’t let you down, Senior Sister. I’ll go cultivate now.”

“Good. Momentum’s a wind worth catching.”

Nana popped the last grape like a star into her mouth, then waved at Shuiqin Lin’s retreating back. “I’ll be here when you come out of seclusion.”

“…”

As Shuiqin Lin’s silhouette melted into Stream Peak’s paths like mist into pines, Nana sat at the stone table, then stood and stretched, a cat in sun, eyes drifting over the mountain’s green waves.

Without Shuiqin Lin, Stream Peak felt a touch emptier, like a courtyard after a festival.

She tidied the peels like fallen leaves and was about to head down to wander the sect when a speck in the sky arrowed closer, cutting the blue like a quill.

“Riding a weapon?”

Standing on the stone steps, Nana eyed the long sword under that figure’s feet and arched a brow. Could my bargain Master be back?

The air above Stream Peak stirred; Shrine Water had seen Nana on the steps. With a thought, her sword tipped like a swallow banking, then descended and kissed the earth with a soft thrum.

“Foundation Establishment?”

Her feet touched stone; before Nana could speak, Shrine Water’s voice flowed out, cool as spring water.

“Mm.”

Nana nodded, watching the sword draw a handsome arc through air and slide into its scabbard like a fish into a sheath of river. In her chest, a sigh rose.

Riding a blade just screams style.

When I hit Nascent Soul, should I try it with my beloved axe?

“Didn’t use the Root-Building Balm?” Shrine Water skimmed Nana’s spiritual roots with a glance as keen as a blade and found results beyond expectation.

“Didn’t get the chance.” Nana scratched her head, a sparrow ruffling feathers. Truth be told, the original owner had solid groundwork. I followed Feng Luo Luo’s old routine and slipped into Foundation as easily as stepping across a brook. The balm… never got to it.

“Not bad.”

Shrine Water’s nod was a pebble dropping into a still pond, ripples of approval faint at her lips.

Is she a disciple-obsessed type?

“Master, how did the trip to Demonfall Abyss go?”

Since Master was back, Nana shelved the idea of roaming the sect and simply followed her to the back mountain, steps threading shade and sunlight like fish through reeds.

If the heroine came from Demonfall Abyss, then that place brushes the main quest like thunder touching a ridge.

And so far, I’ve only got a main quest. No hidden quests have popped, which itches like an ant under armor.

“Why do you care?” By Stream Lake in a shaded pavilion, Shrine Water sat, her gaze curious as a needle glinting under lamp-light.

“Just… wondering if anything uncanny happened over there.” Nana slid in behind her and kneaded her shoulders, as dutiful as a little fox waving a fan.

I can’t just blurt, “So, is there treasure in there?”

“We cut down a few Golden Core Stage demonic beasts. Nothing else.” Feeling tingles like rain on tiles, Shrine Water narrowed her eyes in quiet enjoyment.

Didn’t expect my disciple to have massage skills up her sleeve.

That’s it? Just that?

Nana’s face pinched, a paper crane creased wrong. Even killing a few Golden Core beasts shouldn’t eat a whole month. Did the elders go fishing?

“Master didn’t go deep into the Abyss?” Nana pressed, kneading and probing, like testing a lock with a hairpin.

There’s something in Demonfall Abyss. I can smell it like thunder before a storm.

“The depths are too dangerous. Even Nascent Soul experts won’t step in lightly. We only swept the outskirts.” Shrine Water glanced back, her look a lantern turned on Nana. “Luo’er seems very interested. Did something happen?”

“…”

“Nothing.”

Nana fixed a polite grin, released her shoulders, and sat beside her like a little stone at the pond’s edge. “It’s just… you were gone long, Master. I worried.”

I can’t say I’m curious why Yiling Shen didn’t die down there.

“Ah, made you worry.” Shrine Water’s hand came down to ruffle Nana’s hair, warm as a spring sun on a cold day. “On the way back, I detoured through the mortal world. I didn’t send word, and that’s on me.”

“…”

Leaning on Shrine Water’s shoulder, feeling that head-pat like a soft broom sweeping the heart, Nana’s body went stiff, a bamboo stalk in wind.

She’s good to me—maybe too good. It feels like being raised as a daughter in a quiet courtyard.

System, did you forget to send me a plot flag again?

System: “…” Host, don’t slander me. I did nothing this time.

Sure you did nothing. Like a fox swearing off chickens.

“By the way, Master, you’ve been stuck at fifth-stage Nascent Soul a long while, right? I found a technique outside. Maybe give it a try.”

If the Abyss won’t open, change the subject like turning the sail on a lake.

“What’s this?” Shrine Water accepted the Azure Sea Tide Technique, her expression shifting like cloud over a mountain.

My disciple hasn’t left the sect. Where’d she fish up a technique?

“Picked it up by chance on an external mission. Thought it might suit you, so I brought it back.” Nana didn’t dare admit it came from the Inner Pavilion.

I’m not scared of Demonfall Abyss killing you, Master. I’m scared Cloudpeak Sect will, after I make you spit blood.

“Since it’s from Luo’er, I’ll cultivate it.” Shrine Water smiled, a petal drifting onto tea, and stowed the jade slip.

“In the days I was gone, Luo’er’s progressed quite a bit. Have you visited the Inner Pavilion yet?”

She’d nearly forgotten her disciple had reached Foundation. From here on, it’s a long road, and walking it barehanded is courting wolves.

“Yes, Master. I went.”

“Oh? Which technique did Luo’er choose?” Surprise flickered, a firefly at dusk. She’d picked out a set for Nana before leaving, planning to give it on return—yet her disciple outran the plan.

“Uh… this disciple’s eyes are clumsy. I picked the Fusion Flame Art.”

“Fusion Flame Art?”

At the name, Shrine Water’s willow brows knit, a storm gathering over still water.

“How did it end up being that…”

“What’s wrong, Master?” Seeing her Master’s murmur so heavy, Nana’s heart pricked like a thorn. Maybe this really is a problem technique.

Even Master looks like this.

“Luo’er, you might not know. The Fusion Flame Art was once called the Meltflame Art, created by a demonic powerhouse centuries ago. Its core method was to melt other people’s spiritual-root flames to fatten one’s own cultivation—a crooked path like drinking poison to quench thirst. Later, a genius of our Cloudpeak Sect revised it, changing the ‘melting roots’ into fusing with various spirit flames. That’s the version you saw. Even so, the art is still frowned upon across the cultivation world. To train it, you must fuse a great many kinds of spirit fire, and those who do are prone to qi deviation down the road, falling into inner demons like a moth into flame.”

“Besides, the Fusion Flame Art was lost in our sect centuries ago. How did Luo’er find it?” Shrine Water checked Nana’s spiritual roots again, her sense sweeping like moonlight. The strength was not what a typical Foundation cultivator would carry.

“It was right there on a shelf.” Nana blinked, as innocent as a cat. “I wondered why no one took such a fierce technique. Turns out it’s because it’s a shortcut to inner demons.”

“…”

My disciple’s heart is a rock on a riverbed—steady even under flood. Who else would shrug at ‘inner demons’ like a summer drizzle?

“But don’t worry, Luo’er. For the Fusion Flame Art, there is a way to resolve that hidden blaze.”