A Song For The Ages

As the dust began to settle over the Broken Rock Plains, Feiyin stepped away from the railing of the skyship, his hands tightening around the lacquered case at his side. Within it lay rows of small jade bottles, each filled with recovery pills he had refined over the past several days. They glowed faintly with warm hues, amber, deep green, soft white, a spectrum of purity and potency.

These weren't ordinary pills.

They were his own formulation, enhancements based on traditional recipes but tuned with his oscillation sense to target the body fatigue and regeneration, meridian strain, and essence depletion. Using high-grade Snowleaf Root and Firemist Nectar in exact proportions, paired with proper tempering, he had compressed the medicine into rapid-dissolving layers, ensuring immediate effect upon ingestion.

Now, it was time to put them to use.

Feiyin moved through the chaos of the post-battle encampment, his boots brushing through scorched grass and broken blades. Soldiers and disciples alike lay in scattered formations, many seated and panting, blood still drying on their robes. He stopped at the first group, a cluster of wounded beast tamers nursing gashes along their arms and legs.

"Don't move too much," Feiyin said gently, crouching beside one of them. He opened the case and pulled out a small, pale green pill. "Here, chew this slowly. Let it sit on your tongue."

The disciple blinked, recognizing him. "You're the alchemist... from the backlines."

"Cai Feiyin," he said with a soft smile. "Let me help."

The woman took the pill, grimacing at the pain in her shoulder. Within moments of swallowing, her eyes widened.

"It's... working already. My limbs don't feel like fire anymore."

Feiyin nodded, already handing another to the man next to her. "It'll stabilize your essence flow and reduce tissue inflammation. Just rest."

He moved from group to group. Saint Blood disciples with faint scarring around their veins; body cultivators collapsed from injuries; beast tamers still trembling from their effort. To each, he offered a tailored dose, sometimes a single pill, sometimes two, and quiet reassurance.

He stayed calm, efficient, never pausing too long, never drawing attention. But his efforts did not go unnoticed.

Ruan Lianhua watched from the shadows of a collapsed tent, her blood-soaked sleeves still clinging to her arms. She said nothing. Yet when he approached, she held out her hand in silence. He placed a pill in her palm. She swallowed it without a word and disappeared once again.

Feng Liu passed him as well, lips curled in an amused smirk. "The battlefield's little apothecary. You'll be popular in no time."

Feiyin gave only a polite nod. He kept moving.

The sun dipped lower on the horizon, bathing the ruins in red and gold. It was then, amid the broken standards and pools of drying blood, that Feiyin paused.

A body lay nearby, young, perhaps only a year older than him, one of Hu Zhao's soldiers. His arm had been severed. His eyes still stared at the sky, empty. Around him, the battlefield stretched on, littered with the dead, the dying, the broken.

Feiyin swallowed hard.

His fingers clenched involuntarily. The scent of iron filled his lungs.

And for a moment, the world shifted, not to what was before him, but what lived in his memories.

He saw his father.

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General Cai Feng, standing among the dead, face streaked with blood, not all of it his own. A saber in hand. Orders barking from his lips. Then later, after the screams had died down, his father sitting alone under a tree, washing his hands slowly, silently.

Feiyin's throat tightened. "So this... was your life."

He knelt beside the fallen soldier and closed the boy's eyes.

"I hope I don't become like you," he whispered. "But if I must… then let me do it on my terms."

By the time he returned to the skyship, the wounded were already stabilizing, and the cleanup was in full swing.

Campfires were being lit, corpses gathered and counted, scavengers driven off. Hu Zhao stood near the center, his blade sheathed and his armor smeared with victory. Flanked by inner disciples, he addressed the mercenaries who remained behind.

"We have taken the Broken Rock Plains! A decisive victory!" he bellowed, voice booming across the field. "Tonight, we feast. A banquet shall be held to honor our strength, and to remind all who watch that those who stand against us will fall!"

A cheer rose from the army, loud and savage.

Feiyin stood to the side, watching as crates of wine were unsealed and makeshift tables erected. Meat roasted on spits, laughter echoed, and soldiers began singing songs that hadn't been heard in years.

But the Red Lotus Mercenaries didn't linger, taking the opportunity to reconvene while the banquet was being prepared.

They returned to their skyships. There was work to be done.

In the main chamber of the central vessel, the inner disciples gathered, Ba Shanyue, Ruan Lianhua, Feng Liu, and Jue Qingling, joined by a handful of alchemists and formation disciples. Feiyin stood near the rear wall, hands behind his back, silent and observant.

A projection hovered in the center of the room, a glowing illusion map of the surrounding territories, Broken Rock Plains at its heart, flanked by warring city-states, neutral sects, and roving tribes.

"We've fulfilled the first half," Ba Shanyue said, arms crossed. "The mine is secure, and Hu Zhao holds the land."

"But the mission isn't conquest," Qingling reminded. "It's to keep the region unstable. Too much order, and the sect's hand becomes visible. We need sustained chaos."

Ruan Lianhua's eyes remained fixed on the map. "So we let him rule for now. But we embed pressure points into his foundation. Sabotage from within. Enough that his hold never solidifies."

Ba Shanyue nodded. "It'll attract outside aggression, force him to burn his strength defending it. We reap the conflict."

At this, Feng Liu chuckled, his voice smooth as silk.

"Already taken care of, in part. During the battle's peak, I isolated one of Hu Zhao's senior officers. Cast a veiled illusion and made him talk. Got plenty of intel on the other commanders, loyalties, rivalries, temperaments."

Ba Shanyue raised an eyebrow. "Where is he now?"

Feng Liu smirked. "I made sure he died with honor... right on the front lines. Speared through the gut before he could remember our little chat."

Feiyin's jaw tightened slightly.

"Subtle," Jue Qingling said dryly.

Ruan Lianhua finally spoke. "I marked several of their commanders with blood threads. I can track them. When the time comes, we can strike the ones Hu Zhao trusts most and blame it on internal betrayal."

Ba Shanyue nodded slowly. "Good. We'll let him build his kingdom on cracked stone. When it begins to crumble, we'll be the only ones who know where to place the last hammer."

Feiyin, listening silently, felt a chill crawl down his spine.

This was how people survived in the Saint Spirit Sect. This was the level of ruthlessness that allowed them to grow for so long and become inner disciples. And now, he was part of it.

The meeting concluded with quiet nods, each person returning to their chambers.

Night fell, and the banquet began.

The valley below came alive with music, dancing, and revelry. Fires blazed, wine poured like rivers, and cooked boar and oxen were torn apart by hungry hands. Soldiers sang, laughed, and raised toasts.

Feiyin stood beside one of the skyship rails, watching the celebration below. A cup of wine rested in his hand, untouched. Baiyu lay coiled nearby, her body warm after a good meal. She glanced up at him with lazy golden eyes.

"It's a celebration," he said softly. "But it smells like blood and smoke."

Baiyu flicked her tongue, then slithered closer, resting her head against his arm.

Feiyin's gaze remained distant, his expression calm, but behind his eyes, something shifted. A flicker of cold reflection, edged with understanding.

"I still have much to learn," he murmured, the words low and measured, a ruthless glint sharpening in his gaze, as he stepped down from the railing to join the festivities, plans forming in his mind.