Bai Zhi took her seat, her gaze sweeping over the cave dwelling’s furnishings. They were simple to the point of being shabby, yet her expression showed no surprise.

To a dedicated cultivator, material luxury was irrelevant.

As long as the space was habitable and allowed for peaceful cultivation, it was sufficient.

Chen Dashan hurried over with a pot of hot tea. The leaves were merely the dust of Tier 1 Spirit Tea—the cheapest available—but the water was drawn from a Tier 2 spirit spring.

Lin Shi followed, placing a small plate of vibrant green fruits on the stone table. They emitted a fresh, sweet fragrance.

“It is a bit crude,” Chen Ping said calmly. “Please do not take offense.”

Bai Zhi lifted the coarse pottery cup and took a small sip. The warm liquid slid down her throat, carrying a slightly astringent wisp of Qi.

“It’s good.”

She set the cup down, her eyes shifting to Chen Ping. The conversation drifted naturally.

“It is much better than I imagined. At least… it is quiet here.”

She paused, a faint trace of weariness shadowing her cool, elegant brows.

“Unlike my place. There, eyes are watching me every moment of the day.”

The two began to chat about the past, sharing light anecdotes and amusing memories.

Gradually, Bai Zhi steered the topic toward her family, sharing details that bordered on private. She genuinely regarded Chen Ping as a close confidant—a friend with whom she could lower her guard.

Chen Ping, however, remained largely unaware of the depth of her trust.

“My eldest brother… Bai Yuan. You know of him, right? He shines too brightly.”

Her tone was flat, but Chen Ping could hear the crushing weight of expectation beneath it.

“My family believes that because I bear the surname Bai, I must be his equal. When I should break through to the mid-stage of Qi Condensation, which high-level Arts I must master, which secret realms I must enter for tempering… It is as if they wish to carve my entire life onto a jade slip, forcing me to execute their script step by step.”

She sighed; a sound heavy with exhaustion.

“The ‘famous masters’ they invite come one after another, finding endless faults in my practice.”

She shook her head slightly, a bitter, self-mocking smile curling her lips.

“Sometimes, I truly feel as if I cannot breathe.”

Chen Ping listened in silence, offering no interruptions.

He could sense the turmoil in Bai Zhi’s heart.

It reminded him of the old days. They would sit together just like this—Chen Ping acting as the listener while Bai Zhi chirped away like a lark, filling the silence with her energy.

It seemed that as long as they were together, the topics were endless.

Chen Ping could feel her relaxing. It was a rare, unburdened sense of ease, as if she had finally set down a heavy load.

Perhaps it had been a very long time since she had felt this safe.

As Bai Zhi spoke, her accumulated frustrations found a vent. Her speech quickened, her voice rising in pitch.

“…The most infuriating part is that they always think I lack diligence! They say I am slacking off! But I clearly…”

Agitation seized her. Her arm swung out subconsciously, and her palm slapped against the rough stone table with a sharp smack.

The sound was not loud, but it instantly silenced the cave.

Bai Zhi froze. She stared at her hand resting on the stone, then looked up at Chen Ping’s slightly startled face, and finally at the concerned expressions of Chen Dashan and Lin Shi nearby.

A flush of embarrassment crept up her jade-like cheeks. But a moment later, she couldn’t help herself. She let out a soft snort of laughter.

“Pfft.”

The sound broke the brief awkwardness, carrying the carefree delight shared between familiar souls.

Unconsciously, Bai Zhi realized that tears had welled in her eyes, shimmering but not yet falling.

Chen Ping looked at her—so vivid, so alive in that moment—and the corners of his mouth curved upward involuntarily.

Although Chen Dashan and Lin Shi didn’t understand the context, seeing the two young cultivators laugh made them chuckle along warmly.

It was good to vent. Venting stabilized the Dao Heart and improved one’s state of mind.

For a cultivator, suppressing emotions was never a wise path.

It seemed Bai Zhi’s grievances could only find an outlet here, with him.

“It really is better here,” Bai Zhi said after her laughter subsided. Her beautiful eyes still glistened with unshed tears, her tone thick with nostalgia.

“I remember how it was back in the Hundred Herb Garden. Peaceful. Quiet. What you wanted to do, what you didn’t want to do… it was all your own business.”

Her gaze drifted past him, toward the open sky and the rolling green mountains outside the cave.

“I really feel like going back.”

Chen Ping did not respond.

He looked outside the cave. In the sunlight, his disciples Shan Yu and Yao Min were bent over, working efficiently in the Spirit Field. In the distance, Yuan Jingtian was clearing rubble to expand the clan’s territory. Beside him, his parents wore smiles of contentment and peace.

This green mountain, this newly established foundation… this was the stability he had fought with all his might to earn.

He cherished the warmth Bai Zhi had once given him, but he understood the reality far more clearly. He could never return to the days of the Hundred Herb Garden—living hand to mouth, his survival precarious, constantly watching others’ expressions and currying favor just to exist.

Everything he had now was crude, yes. But it was real. It was his.

Bai Zhi did not stay long.

The tea cooled, and the plate of crisp-heart fruits lay empty.

She stood up to bid farewell.

Chen Ping walked her to the stone platform outside the cave dwelling. The mountain breeze brushed their faces, stirring the hems of their robes.

“I should go.”

Bai Zhi gazed at the sea of clouds in the distance, her profile softened by the glow of the setting sun.

“I barely managed to complete the ‘assignments’ they set ahead of schedule just to steal a few days of leisure. Once I return, I must go into seclusion.”

She turned, her clear eyes locking onto Chen Ping with a trace of frank envy.

“If I don’t break through to Foundation Establishment, I fear it will be difficult for me to come out again. Chen Ping… you have walked ahead of me. That is truly good.”

Chen Ping met her gaze. His tone was calm, yet it carried an undeniable, ironclad certainty.

“Set your mind at ease. You will definitely cross the Foundation Establishment barrier. If you find yourself in need, I will spare no effort to help you succeed.”

Bai Zhi was slightly taken aback, then smiled gently.

The words sounded like comfort, yet also like a promise. Perhaps even a bit of the usual arrogance men often displayed to impress a woman.

After all, assisting someone in achieving Foundation Establishment was no small matter. It was a heavenly tribulation—a definitive milestone in a cultivator’s life.

Who would easily make such a weighty promise?

Only Chen Ping.

If anyone else had said it, she might have laughed it off or dismissed it as empty bravado.

But hearing it from Chen Ping, looking into his calm, earnest eyes… her heart inexplicably settled. It was as if she had been infused with a solid, steady strength.

She didn’t ask how he would help. She simply nodded.

“Mmm. I believe you. When the time comes, remember your words.”

Her plain white skirt fluttered in the wind as she turned and walked slowly down the stone steps.

Her tall, elegant figure gradually receded along the winding mountain path, eventually merging into the verdant shadows of the forest until she was no longer visible.

Chen Ping stood alone on the empty platform. The mountain wind swept past, bringing a chill that seeped into his bones.

The heavy weight in his heart—born from his cultivation Bottleneck and briefly dispelled by her arrival—seemed to quietly creep back.

He gazed in the direction where Bai Zhi had vanished, standing in silence for a long time.

In this life of Cultivation, seeking Immortality… how many true friends could one really have?

With this parting, who knew when they would meet again?

Chen Ping took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the untimely sense of reluctance and hollowness rising within him.

His Dao Heart had to be like a rock. Only then could he walk far on the path to Immortality. He could not allow fleeting emotions to sway his resolve.

The most urgent matter at hand was to solve his cultivation speed, which felt like trudging through a swamp.

Early the next morning, Chen Ping left the green mountain. Rising on a streak of cyan light, he headed straight for the core area of the Qingyun Sect.