The outer sect was waking up to a subtle change—one no one could quite put their finger on.
Li Xiyan moved through the morning bustle, her hands steady as she handed out herbal remedies to coughing disciples and patched small cuts with practiced care. She wasn't the brightest star in cultivation, but her quiet presence began to feel like a balm.
Whispers that once mocked her now carried a note of reluctant respect.
Even the stone-faced sword prodigy, Mu Chen, had started appearing near her corner of the sect—not to watch, but to help. He didn't say much, but his presence was a shield no one dared challenge.
Today, as she worked repairing the ancient formations in the back courtyard, a small crowd gathered—not of jeering disciples, but curious onlookers.
A rough voice broke the silence. "You're wasting your time on those old stones, Li Xiyan. They don't matter anymore."
Xiyan looked up calmly. "Small things build strong foundations. Without them, even the tallest towers fall."
The challenger scowled but said nothing more.
Nearby, a group of younger disciples approached quietly, eyes bright. They asked questions about herbs, cultivation techniques, even the little fox spirit that now roamed freely in the garden.
One timid girl spoke softly, "Miss Xiyan, can you teach me how to heal like you?"
Her heart lifted.
It wasn't just about power or recognition anymore.
It was about family.
As the sun climbed higher, Xiyan felt the warmth of more than sunlight—it was the warmth of growing loyalty, of lives touched and slowly mended.
She smiled, knowing this was only the beginning.
Because the true strength of her cultivation wasn't in her fists or spirit energy—it was in the hearts she quietly gathered, one by one.