He drew a long breath and felt the Metal Rend Leaf Gu — freshly formed, radiating its Rank 2 pressure from within his Aperture.
The profound sense of fulfillment that came with a qualitative leap in power was enough to make any Gu Master lose themselves in that moment.
Yet the immense satisfaction lingered in his eyes for only an instant before cooling rapidly, like a tide pulling back from shore.
He did not let that surge of power go to his head and recklessly reach for the remaining Gu worm materials to continue refining.
Hmmm...
The moment he tried to settle his mind, a sharp, stabbing pain erupted from deep within his skull. His vision doubled briefly.
It was his body's warning of severe exhaustion.
Over a dozen consecutive days of high-intensity closed-door cultivation — sleepless days and nights of Primeval Essence micro-control — and above all, the mental toll of forcing the Vital Gu refinement through at the razor's edge between life and death.
His nerves were stretched to the point of snapping at any moment.
"Gu refinement is tightrope walking at the best of times. In the state I'm in right now, forcing another attempt would be nothing short of courting death."
Lin Mu made the assessment with cold clarity.
He pressed his fingers against his throbbing temples, and with a thought, guided the Metal Rend Leaf Gu back into the depths of his Aperture.
He brushed the lime dust from his robe, stepped over the wreckage littering the floor, and walked to the entrance of the chamber. He needed air.
A current of cool, damp morning air poured down through the passage, flooding the underground chamber that reeked of scorched metal and damp earth.
Lin Mu squinted slightly against the harsh sunlight above and climbed the dark stairway step by step, returning at last to the world of the living.
He had not even fully adjusted to the long-missed fresh air — had not yet managed so much as a stretch — when it hit him.
"Deacon Lin! My dear brother! You're finally out!"
A hoarse, cracking voice drenched in barely-suppressed tears shattered the quiet of the courtyard in an instant.
Lin Mu turned toward the sound. His brow furrowed slightly.
In the center of the courtyard, Lin Ping was pacing in frantic circles like an ant on a hot pan. His hair, normally kept neat, was a disheveled mess.
His eyes were bloodshot from sleeplessness, dark circles carved deep beneath them. His entire bearing radiated the frantic energy of a man on the verge of total collapse.
The moment he saw Lin Mu step through the door, Lin Ping looked as though he had just laid eyes on a living bodhisattva descended to save him from suffering.
His legs nearly gave out beneath him. He barely stopped himself from dropping to his knees in the mud and weeping.
"What happened? Why are you in such a state?"
Lin Mu stopped, mildly puzzled.
"Did the sky fall?"
"The sky didn't fall — but the roof of the External Affairs Hall is about to get blown off!"
Lin Ping stumbled forward, swallowed a mouthful of saliva, his voice trembling. "Brother Lin, if you hadn't come out today, I swear I would have smashed that door down and dragged you out myself, punishment be damned!"
At those words, something finally shifted in Lin Mu's eyes.
He knew perfectly well how he had come to hold the title of External Affairs Hall Deacon. It was nothing more than a comfortable sinecure he had ridden in on Lin Feng's coattails.
In ordinary times, the post amounted to little more than overseeing peripheral procurement, issuing low-level assignments, and coordinating the odd-jobs workers.
During the Inner Disciple Tournament, he had been busy for a stretch — but had also used the opportunity to pocket a tidy profit. After the tournament, it was supposed to be a quiet, leisurely stretch.
For Lin Ping — normally the steadiest of people — to be pushed to the point of threatening to smash down a door and disturb even a supposedly idle Deacon like himself, the External Affairs Hall must have been hit by something catastrophic.
Everyone inside had been ground down to their absolute limit.
"What exactly happened?" Lin Mu walked to the stone table and sat down, his voice low and measured.
"S-something huge!" Lin Ping drew two sharp breaths and forced his trembling voice under control. He delivered the first piece of news.
"Three days ago, Li Mang — Patriarch of White Bone Stockade — sent an envoy delegation. He personally wrote a letter of invitation, written in the most humble terms imaginable."
"He proposed holding a 'Friendly Youth Exchange Tournament' between the two stockades, at the border between our territories."
"He said — in the interest of resolving years of accumulated grievances between our two clans — all venue construction for the tournament, and even the generous prize money and premium Gu worm rewards for the winners... would be covered entirely by White Bone Stockade."
"What?"
Lin Mu's hand paused slightly as he lifted his teacup. A flash of lightning-sharp light crossed his dark eyes.
The other side pays? We just provide the people? Lose and we're no worse off — win and we gain face and prizes?
What kind of windfall like this existed anywhere under heaven?
Especially when the other party was Li Mang — the strongman who had been ruthlessly squeezed for a hefty tribute during the tribute visit, forced to pay reparations and cut his own flesh.
This old fox should have been licking his wounds back in White Bone Mountain. Instead he was voluntarily walking up to offer money and take a beating?
Lin Mu's mind raced.
Countless pieces of intelligence collided and interlocked in his head — but the chain of logic still fell just short of closing into a complete loop.
"The Patriarch just advanced to Rank 4 and has been looking for an opportunity to firmly establish his dominance over the surrounding powers. An arrangement where the other side pays to get beaten, showcasing the might of Black Blood Stockade — the Patriarch laughed out loud three times right there in the great hall and agreed on the spot."
Lin Ping's face was a picture of misery.
"Not only did he agree — he issued an order that our External Affairs Hall must immediately begin preparing the highest-level reception arrangements. Under no circumstances can we let Black Blood Stockade's prestige suffer in terms of ceremony and display."
"And that's enough to send all of you into a panic?" Lin Mu set down his teacup. He had already seen through Li Mang's game, but his expression remained perfectly composed.
"If it were only that one matter, the Hall Master could still manage. But..."
Lin Ping's expression was more bitter than if he had swallowed raw coptis root.
He clawed at his hair in utter despair and delivered the second bombshell — the one that had truly pushed the External Affairs Hall past its breaking point.
"The very day after the White Bone Stockade envoys arrived, our relay station buried along the Southern Border trade route sent an urgent encrypted report..."
"The Jia Clan Caravan — which by all convention should not have passed through our Black Blood Stockade for another three months — returned to their base without stopping to rest, and instead set out immediately."
"They are departing a full three months ahead of schedule."
"By the time we calculate the travel distance, they will reach the outer perimeter of Black Blood Stockade in at most one or two weeks."
"And this time, the scale of the caravan appears to be significantly larger than any previous visit."
Even Lin Mu felt his heart lurch at that. A flicker of genuine shock crossed his eyes.
The Jia Clan Caravan. Arriving early.
He finally understood why the External Affairs Hall had collapsed.
On one side: the Inter-Stockade Friendly Tournament — a showcase of Rank 4 authority where not a single thing could go wrong.
On the other: the Jia Clan Caravan — wealthy enough to rival a nation, carrying countless rare treasures of the Southern Border, arriving at a scale that would require the mobilization of the entire clan just to receive and coordinate.
Two mountains. Falling at the same time. Crashing down on the External Affairs Hall — the department responsible for the clan's logistics and diplomacy — with the full weight of Mount Tai.
Receiving the envoy delegation. Housing the enormous caravan's personnel and pack animals. Managing the astronomical volume of supplies. Coordinating security. Facilitating high-level transactions.
Even guarding against the envious Demonic Path rogue cultivators lurking in the surrounding area...
This avalanche of work had descended like a sudden, overwhelming tidal wave.
"Never mind you, the supposedly idle Deacon..."
Lin Ping's face was the picture of funeral misery. He pointed in the direction of the External Affairs Hall.
"Our Hall Master — that fat old man who normally spends his days sipping tea and keeping birds — hasn't slept in three days and three nights. His mouth is covered in fever blisters. He looks like he's about to drop dead on the spot."
"The Hall Master has issued an iron order: every Deacon and manager in the External Affairs Hall — even those in the middle of sealed cultivation, even those with broken legs — is to be carried to the hall entrance and put to work."
Lin Mu stood at that. He straightened his teal Deacon's robe.
With two mountains like these bearing down, there was no room for even a nominal Deacon like himself to remain idle any longer.
But unlike Lin Ping's despair and near-collapse —
In Lin Mu's deep, dark eyes at this moment, two flames burned bright.