"Every countermeasure was calculated," one elder whispered, shaking his head in amazement. "She accounted for every possibility. Without those strategies, we would have been slaughtered."

"To think she orchestrated this victory while barely able to stand," another muttered, surveying the battlefield. "And against an opponent like Shen Mu. The girl is terrifying."

Younger disciples, though battered, spoke with a mixture of reverence and humor.

"I thought we were dead, but Lady Meilin really had backup plans for her backup plans!"

"I actually feel bad for the enemy. They never stood a chance."

Despite the brutality of the battle, there was a shared, unspoken sentiment among them. They had survived the night.

Layla took in their words, watching the remnants of her forces regroup. Rebuilding.

For the first time since she had arrived in this world, she allowed herself a small, exhausted exhale. It was time to rebuild.

Bao, barely conscious, cracked open an eye as Daokan's hand hovered over him, a faint warmth spreading through his battered body. "So… we won, huh?" he rasped.

Layla, still sprawled in pain but ever the strategist, scoffed. "We won because that mystical grandmaster obliterated the enemy like swatting a fly. Otherwise, you'd be fertilizer by now."

Bao groaned. "Can't argue with that."

Layla then said with sincerity, "Thank you for saving me Bao, if you didn't become a punching bag for me..I probably would've died"

Bao just gave an approval of her sincerity as if it was the most natural thing for him to do. Layla observes this and thought to herself, he probably would've died for me if it came to it.

Daokan's fingers pulsed as he finished stabilizing Bao before moving to Meilin. "You, however," he said, turning to her, "have an unnatural way of grasping things beyond your understanding."

His tone was flat, but the snark in his words was unmistakable. It wasn't spoken like a compliment—it was the kind of remark an old master would throw at a particularly bold student who thought they had it all figured out. The slight tilt of his head, the measured pause before he spoke, the almost lazy way he assessed her injuries—it all screamed of a man who had seen too much and had the patience for very little.

Layla, still in pain, scowled. Was this old man mocking her? Layla arched a brow despite the pain. "Oh? You say that like you know me."

Daokan's lips curled slightly. "I do. I've been observing you for some time."

Layla's curiosity spiked, but before she could demand an explanation, Daokan continued whispering to only her, his voice carrying weight. "You show signs of something... unique. Something not entirely of this world's natural cultivation methods."

And then he said it loudly. His name. "I am Daokan of the Shrouded Peaks."

Meilin froze.

Wait. Wait. Wait.

The gears in her mind turned, clicking into place with horrifying speed. Memories of this body—its lessons, its history—came rushing forward.

Shrouded Peaks. The sect that trained only the most monstrous prodigies, the untouchables of martial society.

Daokan. A name spoken in whispers by scholars and warriors alike. The man rumored to be both a ghost and a legend.

Her expression shifted instantly. Without thinking—without hesitation—Meilin forced her aching body forward, threw herself onto the ground, and performed a perfect, pain-ridden dogeza.

A deep bow, forehead pressed to the dirt, despite her wounds screaming in protest. "Master Daokan! Please teach me!"

The silence that followed was deafening.

Lin Wuye pinched the bridge of his nose. Bao's jaw dropped. The surrounding warriors, despite their injuries, all burst into laughter. Even Daokan raised a bemused brow.

"You're injured, and yet you throw yourself to the ground?" he mused.

Layla, her face still firmly against the dirt, grit her teeth through the pain. "If you saw what I saw tonight, you'd be doing the same. I need that kind of power. I need you."

Daokan exhaled, shaking his head. "Hmph. You certainly are persistent. But power is not given freely."

Layla peeked up, hopeful. "So you're saying there's a chance?"

More laughter erupted around her, but Daokan only smiled faintly. "Rest first, ambitious one. Then we'll see."

As Layla slowly lifted her head, pain rippled through every fiber of her body, but that didn't matter—not now. Her mind was already working, already planning.

This was an opportunity she couldn't afford to lose. A man of Daokan's caliber wasn't just a powerful fighter—he was a force of nature. If she wanted true power, she needed him. No, she needed to bind him to her side, ensure he had no choice but to teach her. If it required selling her soul to the devil itself, then so be it.

As her mind spun with strategies, the battlefield finally began to settle. Exhausted warriors sank to the ground where they stood, some tending to their wounded comrades, others simply basking in the realization that they were still breathing. The night, which once carried the thick tension of looming death, now felt lighter, as if the very air had been purged of its suffocating dread.

Daokan remained awake while the others succumbed to exhaustion. The battlefield, once alive with chaos, had quieted into stillness. The scent of blood still clung to the air, mingling with the faint smoke of dying embers. Bodies of foe, littered the ground—a testament to the brutality of the night.

The warriors of the Silver Lotus Sect had collapsed into whatever rest they could find, their breath steady but their minds undoubtedly haunted by what had transpired. They had survived, but survival was merely the beginning. The true test would come with the dawn. The test of rebuilding.

Daokan stood at the edge of it all, his arms crossed, his gaze settling once more on Meilin. There was an unreadable weight behind his eyes, a thought left unspoken. He had watched her fight, watched her refuse to surrender even when she should have. Even without cultivation, even while broken, she had fought like a warrior hardened by countless battles.

It was an observation that did not sit easily with him.

He exhaled, almost as if speaking to himself. "The question is not whether I can teach you... but whether I can control what you are going to become."

Without another word, his form flickered—then vanished into the night, leaving only the rustling of the wind in his wake.

The wind carried his words away before Layla could hear them.