Mistress Zhao Hansu led Niánmei through a series of increasingly opulent courtyards, each more secluded and fragrant than the last. The air here was thick with the scent of rare orchids and a cloying, sweet perfume that seemed to seep into the very stones. They passed other disciples, their faces a mixture of veiled curiosity and thinly disguised envy. Niánmei maintained a serene, almost detached expression, a perfect mask over Jianyu's calculating mind.
They arrived at a secluded wing of the Qianci Yuan, a structure that seemed less built and more grown. The walls were not stone, but a smooth, living tissue, veined with faint, pulsating lines of light. It felt warm to the touch, like skin, and a low, rhythmic thrum resonated from deep within its core. This was the Courtyard of Blooming Shadows, Hansu explained, reserved for "promising bodies" and those with unique spiritual potential.
Niánmei was ushered into a room. It was sparsely furnished, yet the living walls dominated the space. They pulsed with a soft, internal light, their intricate veins shifting and contracting like a slow, organic breath. The air inside was humid and heavy, carrying the same sweet, musky scent as the outside, but intensified. Other female disciples, already settled in their own rooms, cast sharp, assessing glances. One, the cold-eyed Lu Shimei from the trial, narrowed her eyes, a flicker of something unsettling in her gaze. She swore she'd seen Niánmei before, not in a garden, but in a morgue. Jianyu felt a cold thread of unease. His disguise had to be absolute.
Alone in the room, Jianyu began to explore. He ran his fingers over the pulsing walls, feeling the subtle vibrations of qi within them. They were organic, grown from some unknown plant-beast tissue, a testament to Qianci Yuan's mastery of bio-spiritual cultivation. He tested his control over pheromonal manipulation, releasing a subtle, almost imperceptible scent that would make him seem less threatening, more alluring, to any who might pass by. The System hummed, a low, satisfied thrum, registering his mastery.
As night deepened, the room's walls began to whisper. Not with words, but with a soft, insistent psychic hum. A subtle, invasive probe began to extend from the living tissue, a thin, spiritual tendril seeking to pierce his spirit root. It was a test, a subtle attempt to assess and perhaps control him.
Jianyu allowed it, for a moment. He felt the tendril brush against his spiritual core, a cold, alien touch. But before it could fully penetrate, his System flared. The invasive probe was not repelled; it was consumed. His System, like a silent, hungry predator, devoured the foreign qi, analyzing its structure, its properties, and then storing it away, a new weapon in his growing arsenal.
He spent the rest of the night modifying his inner bone marrow, using the absorbed spiritual essence. He felt the subtle shift, the bone cells re-aligning, beginning to produce spiritual toxins, a silent, internal poison he could unleash at will. It was a dark, unsettling power, a testament to the grotesque beauty of his altered body.
Just before dawn, a small, tightly folded note, tied with a single crimson thread, appeared on his bedside table. It was an invitation, written in elegant, flowing script, to the Inner Garden Banquet. A place where elites flaunted their partners, and where men, he knew, were auctioned. A dangerous opportunity.