The moon hung high in the sky, precisely at midnight.

In the hall of Zhongzheng Pinghe, Yuanyuan Daoren was writing with a brush.

A wolf-hair brush rested in his hand; an inkstone filled with stone-smoke lay nearby. A young disciple ground the ink while parchment spread across the table. When Lu Yuan entered, this scene unfolded before him.

"Master," Lu Yuan bowed respectfully.

"Have you completed your task?" The sage asked blandly.

"Yes." Nodding, Lu Yuan wanted nothing more than to return for a long sleep. But as Yuanyuan Daoren commanded, "Come closer—watch old man's brushwork," the young disciple felt tears welling up in his eyes. Despite yearning for rest, he obeyed this elder who ruled Northern Peak, stepping behind him to observe the calligraphy.

Moments later, Yun Yi and Yun Ping returned having finished their own missions. The sage summoned them near as well.

Each stroke flowed like drifting clouds or rushing streams, seamless in its elegance. Soon more disciples arrived to report—some with successes, others with minor mishaps. Yet Yuanyuan Daoren's network proved flawless; every failure was swiftly compensated until the net tightened completely.

The old sage had been patient, waiting until just two nights before his grand birthday to strike. When he did act, it was like thunderclap from clear skies—hundreds of operatives deployed silently across the mountains. Now, with the final tangle loosened, countless fish floated up in his net. Such strategic patience and precision left no doubt: Yuanyuan Daoren indeed deserved his title.

Even as reports poured in, the sage continued writing. His brush traced every character from Li Bai's "Imperial Capital Ode"—"The Qinfen Valley holds our emperor's palace... jeweled palaces rise a thousand feet high..." Each stroke combined power with grace, gold gleaming within ink, jade shimmering between lines. The composition was grand yet refined, ancient in its poise.

Though setbacks occasionally emerged from the reports, Yuanyuan Daoren's face remained impassive. His hand never wavered as he completed every line of poetry until "cloud pavilions echo distant spring rain." With a final toss of his brush into the vase, he clapped and smiled. "You three young ones have kept this old man company through an entire night watching calligraphy. Let's return home now—the net is drawn completely tight."

By morning, the hidden forces of Yuan Ling had been utterly dismantled. Amidst these victories, teaching his top disciples composure in crisis proved a mere side bonus to the sage. Now Lu Yuan dragged himself away from the hall with yawns stretching across the courtyard, Yun Yi and Yun Ping silently thoughtful behind him.

What an incredible night, he sighed as dawn approached—countless battles beneath one moon. At last, sleep beckoned. May dreams bring peace now...

---

Waking at midmorrow revealed brilliant skies. Tomorrow would mark Yuanyuan Daoren's 500th birthday celebration.

After a light breakfast of congee with pickled cucumbers—comfortably filling yet simple—Ye Fang and Ye Yuan barged in shouting, "Come on! Let's see our sister Liu!"

"What?" Lu Yuan blinked.

"Little Liu!" Ye Yuan chimed in. "Ninth disciple from Sword Sect's East Peak—she's famous as the prettiest girl there. Honestly more beautiful than your Third Miss Ling."

Ling Yuzhu was already above average in looks, so hearing this conversation piqued Lu Yuan's interest. With a flick of his wrist to secure Yangwu Jian at his waist, he followed them out.

"By the way," he asked, "what exactly is happening?"

Ye Fang explained: The seventh disciple from Breath Sect's Wantu Peak—White Yubing—was challenging Liu Ye'er here. Though both were exquisite beauties, White Yubing was described as icy-cold while Liu Ye'er radiated innocent charm.

Reaching Northern Peak's Twenty-Four Floating Bridges—the scenic spot where arched bridges carved with lion motifs spanned a babbling stream—they found the area crowded.

Lu Yuan observed the scene: On one bridge stood White Yubing, tall and statuesque in white robes, her face as cold as snow. Her silver sash emphasized slender waistline, making her beauty almost unearthly. Opposite her was Liu Ye'er, shorter with rosy cheeks and untainted eyes that seemed to hold the purest light of heaven itself.

A Breath Sect disciple battling a Sword Sect sister—such conflicts were natural in their world. Did it truly matter who won between these two beauties? Watching them exchange strikes made Lu Yuan feel content indeed. Sometimes, this was precisely what being an inner disciple meant—better than midnight assassinations for sure. Life should be like this: warm sunlight on shoulders and the thrill of watching peers duel with blades...

Of course he knew darkness still lurked beyond these moments. But perhaps one could savor both light and shadow as long as possible.