The remainder of the day passed in a contemplative blur for Long. After tending the gardens with Zhou Wei, he excused himself to explore the temple grounds further. His wanderings took him to the Hall of Quiet Reflection, a small library adjacent to the Hall of Somnolence. Elder Lin had graciously granted him access, and Long sought any writings that might shed light on the sect's predicament.
Inside the hall, dust motes danced in sunbeams slanting through lattice windows. Shelves of bamboo slips and a few bound tomes lined the walls. The smell of old ink and faint incense hung in the air. It was peaceful, save for the distant chirp of birds outside and the occasional muffled yawn of the acolyte librarian at the desk.
Long perused the titles on the spines. Many were treatises on dream interpretation, manuals for meditation techniques, and records of disciples' dream visions over the years. As he ran a finger along the spines, one title caught his eye: On the Precipice of Clarity. He carefully pulled out the slim volume and opened its yellowed pages.
The text was a philosophical musing, penned by a past sect elder. Skimming, Long found passages describing the state of consciousness they strove for. "Clarity is the perfect stillness of the mind's waters, a mirror lake reflecting the truth of Heaven. In Clarity, all veils of illusion are parted, and one's spirit may ascend unbound by mortal tether..." It sounded beautiful, but there was a warning in the subtext: "Yet one must shore the banks of the mind, lest the waters of the self spill into that endless clarity and be lost."
Long frowned thoughtfully at that line. It seemed even generations ago, they knew of the danger—losing oneself in the pursuit of perfect clarity. The writing implied the need for caution and proper boundaries when delving deep. He wondered if the current Patriarch had grown overconfident, pushing his disciples past those safe limits.
He continued reading, hoping for hints of any solution or countermeasure. One section mentioned the use of anchors—familiar scents, sounds or spiritual talismans that could guide the soul back to the body. The sect apparently traditionally used a Resonance Bell rung at the end of each meditation session to call back wandering minds. Long had indeed heard a soft bell during the morning assembly's end, perhaps the same instrument.
Satisfied he had gleaned what he could, Long replaced the tome. As he exited the library, the young acolyte at the desk was, true to form, fast asleep atop an open scroll. Long shook his head with a rueful smile and gently closed the door behind him to avoid waking the man.
The sun dipped low, and dusk cloaked the temple in a purple hue. Long spent some time feeding and playing with the wolf cub by the guest house. Despite the serious matters weighing on his mind, he found comfort in the cub's simple joy chasing after thrown twigs or snapping at fireflies that began to twinkle in the growing dark. The cub's refusal to nap even after their earlier romp was notable—it remained energetic, almost restless as night fully fell, while elsewhere in the temple, lamps were being lit and yawns echoed faintly.
After a simple evening meal delivered by a sleepy novice monk, Long sat on the wooden steps outside his quarters. He scratched the wolf cub behind the ears, his gaze drifting to the main courtyard. A few disciples were moving in that direction, lanterns in hand. Some looked apprehensive.
Zhou Wei hurried up the path to Long, carrying two thin cushions under one arm and a small brass bowl in the other. He looked more alert now, nerves evident in the tightness of his smile. "Senior Long," he said quietly. "I was hoping you'd join us this evening for our meditation. At least as an observer. Elder Lin gave permission—she thought it might be beneficial to have a stable outside presence." He held up the cushions. "I brought a seat for you... and one for your little friend, if he stays put."
The cub sniffed at the cushions curiously. Long nodded and stood. "I'd be honored to observe. Are you sure it's alright? I wouldn't want to intrude on your sect's internal practice."
Zhou Wei waved off the concern, lowering his voice. "Officially, outsiders aren't normally included, but exceptions are made for allied cultivators or special circumstances. Elder Lin trusts you, I think. And the others... well, they won't mind as long as you don't interfere." He hesitated. "Though, between us, if something starts to go wrong, I want you to interfere."
Long placed a hand on his shoulder. "Understood. I'll do what I can if needed."
They proceeded to the Hall of Somnolence, the cub trotting along at Long's heel. Inside, the hall was arranged for the night's meditation: dozens of round cushions placed in concentric circles on the polished wooden floor. The air was heavy with a sweet scent—likely burning dream lily incense. At the front, on a low dais, stood Elder Lin, and beside her, Elder Sui who was fighting a losing battle against drooping eyelids.
About twenty-five disciples filed in, each finding a cushion. Long noticed some faces missing—perhaps those were the ones still trapped in slumber, or those too frightened to join tonight. Disciple Gan was notably absent; Long wondered if he had quietly withdrawn from participating. Gan struck him as too wary to risk it now.
Elder Lin greeted everyone, her gaze lingering a moment on Long at the back, where Zhou Wei had set an extra cushion for him just outside the outermost circle. Long gave her a respectful nod. The wolf cub curled up at Long's side, tail around its body, but its eyes remained open and watchful.
"Tonight," Elder Lin spoke gently, "we continue our journey toward collective Clarity. Fear not the shadows on the path; remember, we walk it together. The Patriarch watches over us in the realm of dreams, guiding our steps."
A few disciples exhaled audibly in relief at those words. Long could sense the palpable tension in the room, hidden beneath reverence. They were afraid—afraid of what might happen, but also afraid to show it.