Lin Mu remained seated within the mobile courtyard, the faint hum of the spatial channel flowing endlessly around them like a silent river through the void. The Saintess stood across from him, her presence calm and unhurried, as if time itself had slowed in deference to their discussion.
What had begun as curiosity had now grown into something far deeper.
Lin Mu broke the silence first.
"If these fundamental constituents exist," he said, "then there must be some way to classify them. At least conceptually."
The Saintess nodded slightly, clearly having expected this line of thought.
"That was precisely what the ancients attempted," she replied. "Though their classifications varied greatly depending on era and school of thought."
Lin Mu leaned forward, his eyes sharp with focus.
"I know metals fit this idea well," he said. "Iron, copper, gold. Those are obvious. But even among metals, there are distinctions."
He paused, then continued.
"Brass and bronze are not true elements. They are mixtures. Alloys. That much is known even to mon blacksmiths and they have been making them from Copper, Zinc and Tin since times immemorial. They behave differently depending on position, which means they cannot be fundamental."
The Saintess smiled faintly.
"A correct inference," she said. "Many cultivators fail to make that distinction because they only care about results, not structure."
Lin Mu nodded.
"From what I can tell," he continued, "lead, silver, cobalt, nickel, titanium. These feel... singular. When refined, they do not change in nature unless something is added."
As he spoke, he conjured small illusions of ingots, arranging them in the air as if laying out pieces on a board.
"And then," Lin Mu said slowly, "there is something I overlooked before."
The Saintess raised a brow slightly.
"Coal," Lin Mu said.
Her eyes flickered with interest.
"In steel forging," Lin Mu continued, "iron is bined with charcoal or coal. The result is not just stronger iron. It is something fundamentally different. Steel has properties iron alone does not. It is stronger, flexible, and does not rust easily. And some forms of steel do not rust at all"
He frowned slightly as he spoke.
"Charcoal and mined coal are not the same substance. One is found in mines within the earth, and the other is made by burning wood. Yet both can be used. That means there must be a shared ponent between them. Something essential."
He looked at the Saintess.
"I do not know its name," he admitted. "But I know it exists."
The Saintess regarded him for a long moment, then nodded.
"You are correct," she said. "There is probably an element mon to both."
Lin Mu exhaled slowly, a hint of satisfaction appearing on his face.
"So my reasoning holds," he said. "Even if my terminology is inplete."
"It does," the Saintess agreed. "Names are secondary. Understanding is what matters."
They continued like this for hours.
Lin Mu proposed classifications, tentative groupings, patterns he sensed through observation and logic rather than direct perception. Metals that conducted heat and energy differently. Substances that bonded easily versus those that resisted bination. Materials that were stable in isolation and others that only existed briefly before reacting.
For a time, it felt less like cultivation and more like scholarship in its purest form.
Eventually, Lin Mu’s thoughts turned toward gases.
"This is where I am pletely lost," he admitted. "I cannot tell them apart at all."
The Saintess lifted her hand, and the air around them shimmered.
A small pocket of space was isolated, and within it, the air began to separate.
Lin Mu watched intently as faint layers formed. Some invisible, some with the slightest hint of color.
"These are different gases," the Saintess said. "At least several of them."
Lin Mu squinted.
"They look the same," he said. "Even knowing they are different, I cannot perceive how."
"That is normal," the Saintess replied. "Even I struggle to distinguish them clearly unless they are highly concentrated."
She paused, then added, "And to plicate matters further, not all gases are elemental. Some are binations of multiple fundamental constituents."
Lin Mu felt his head ache slightly.
"So even air is... layered," he said.
"Yes," she replied. "What cultivators casually call air is an incredibly plex mixture."
Lin Mu let out a low laugh.
"This is absurd," he said. "The world is far more intricate than we give it credit for."
"That is why most do not pursue this path," the Saintess said calmly. "It does not grant immediate power. It demands patience without promising reward."
Lin Mu’s eyes gleamed faintly.
"That only makes it more appealing," he said.
Their discussion stretched on, uninterrupted by the passage of time. Day turned to night within the spatial channel, though neither truly noticed. Lin Mu proposed theories, refined them, discarded others. The Saintess occasionally corrected him, occasionally admitted she did not know either.
For the first time in a long while, she felt something akin to intellectual refreshment.
It was not often she encountered someone who asked questions for the sake of understanding rather than advantage.
As their conversation finally slowed, the Saintess found herself studying Lin Mu with renewed interest.
She thought of the decision she had made long ago.
Head of Scholar Peak for the Serpent Moon Sect... Her Sect.
At the time, it had been an intuitive choice. Now, she felt quietly vindicated.
Even within the Celestial Realm, individuals with such hunger for knowledge were rare. Perhaps fewer than ten she had encountered across millennia.
Power seekers were mon.
Scholars were not.
Knowledge, she knew, was never wasted. Even if its application was not immediately apparent, it shaped the foundation upon which everything else stood.
Eventually, silence settled between them.
Lin Mu’s expression softened, his thoughts turning inward once more.
Then he spoke again.
"There is something else I want to ask," he said.
The Saintess inclined her head.
"Go on."
"Was what I did... right?" Lin Mu asked quietly.
He did not need to specify.
She had seen everything.
The city. The confrontation. The overwhelming force.
The Saintess answered without hesitation.
"Yes," she said. "It was right."
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