Three days passed.
The quiet rhythm of Han Yu's daily life remained undisturbed during that time—at least on the surface. He cultivated each morning, sipped tea each afternoon, and occasionally made half-hearted attempts at tidying his already tidy courtyard, mostly to stave off boredom.
But beneath that calm exterior, he was restless. His thoughts often wandered to the talisman Meng Jueyan had given him—specifically, when it would activate.
Then, on the fourth morning, as the mist still curled like sleepy dragons over the Twin Leaf Peak, Han Yu felt it.
A faint tremor, no louder than a breath, no stronger than a feather—but unmistakable.
He was sitting cross-legged beneath the plum tree, letting the spirit qi of dawn filter through his meridians, when the talisman hidden within his inner robes suddenly pulsed once. Then again.
His eyes snapped open.
The talisman glowed faintly for a moment before going still again, but that was enough. Han Yu knew what it meant.
