Chu Wanning did not think that the quest for divine weapons would be so difficult and would hide a bloody story. He and his disciples were exhausted physically and mentally, but without getting proper rest, the elder locked himself in his pavilion and looked for a way to help Xue Meng get the weapon he dreamed of, but could not get. The candles within the library of the Red Lotus Pavilion flickered tirelessly, while the water clock dripped steadily, marking the relentless passage of time. Scattered across the table were inscribed bamboo tablets, remnants of a knowledge-fueled frenzy. At the heart of this archive, Chu Wanning’s weary visage was barely illuminated, paled by fatigue.

He took a draught of medicine and returned to his studies, yet a wave of dizziness washed over him when he lifted his head. The nausea was fleeting, dismissed as mere exhaustion. Deep into the night, he surrendered to slumber, brow furrowed above his dreams of weaponry, his head resting upon the wide sleeve of his robe, amidst a chaotic sprawl of scrolls and tomes. His garments cascaded to the floor like a wave of white upon water.

Throughout the residence, barriers stood sentinel, alerting to any intruders. Yet, unbeknownst to him, a gentle presence glided silently into his sanctuary, seeking to check on his well-being. Upon discovering him asleep at his desk, you whispered, “Shizun…” but received no reply. With tender care, you placed a cup of healing tea on the table and shed your dark robe, draping it over him like a soft, protective blanket.