Dawn arrived with the particular self-importance common to mornings that know they've been assigned ceremonial significance. The sky blushed pink with celestial anticipation as disciples gathered in the central courtyard, their ceremonial robes creating a sea of blue and silver that rippled with each collective movement.

  Xiaolong observed the proceedings with the anthropological interest of someone who had witnessed ten thousand similar ceremonies over the millennia and still found human ritual both quaint and strangely compelling.

  Dragons marked cosmic events through individual contemplation or, on particularly momentous occasions, by rearranging mountain ranges into more aesthetically pleasing configurations.

  This elaborate social choreography—with its color-coordinated garments and synchronized movements—remained distinctly, fascinatingly human.

  "The vessels have been properly attuned through overnight meditation," Ming Lian explained, appearing at her side with his ceremonial robes somehow simultaneously perfect in arrangement and yet giving the impression they might spontaneously untie themselves at any moment. "Each gathering party will depart following the Separating Waters blessing."

  At the courtyard's center, seven large formation arrays had been meticulously drawn with luminescent powder, each depicting the unique spiritual signature of one sacred water source.

  Elder Wei stood at the convergence point where all seven patterns met, arms raised as he conducted ambient spiritual energy into the formations.

  "Water divides to seek its perfect level, only to reunite with greater strength," he intoned, his voice carrying the particular resonance cultivators developed after centuries of ceremonial announcements. "Seven sources, seven essences, seven paths to understanding. Gather with purpose; return with insight."

  At his gesture, seven senior disciples stepped forward—Song Bai among them—each carrying a small silver bell. They positioned themselves at the outer edge of each formation array and rang their bells in perfect harmony, creating a crystalline tone that hung in the air like suspended dew.

  "First gathering: Misty Vale Pond, led by Senior Sister Chen."

  "Second gathering: Cascading Falls, led by Elder Brother Li."

  "Third gathering: Stone Echo Spring, led by Elder Brother Tao."

  "Fourth gathering: Mirror Pond, led by Senior Sister Song."

  "Fifth gathering: Cloud Capture Basin, led by Elder Brother Wei."

  "Sixth gathering: Midnight Deep Well, led by Senior Sister Lin."

  "Seventh gathering: Azure Source Cavern, led by Master Zhen."

  As each location was announced, the corresponding formation array glowed brighter, and disciples arranged themselves behind their assigned leaders.

  Xiaolong noticed the assignments followed no obvious pattern of seniority or cultivation level—some groups contained mostly junior disciples, others a mix of experience levels.

  "The assignments balance spiritual affinity with developmental needs," Li Feng explained quietly as he prepared to lead his group. "Some waters respond better to innocence than experience; others require distinctness above natural talent."

  Xiaolong found herself directed toward Song Bai's Mirror Pond group, which consisted primarily of mid-level disciples with a few juniors who watched the proceedings with barely-contained excitement.

  Song Bai acknowledged Xiaolong's arrival with a perfect bow that somehow managed to convey both formal respect and the subtle suggestion that Xiaolong might spontaneously combust during their journey, which Song Bai would find regrettable but not entirely unexpected.

  "Fellow Daoist," Song Bai greeted her. "Mirror Pond lies three hours' journey east, nestled in the valley between Twin Dragon Peaks."

  The name sent an involuntary shiver through Xiaolong's human form.

  Cultivators had an unfortunate habit of naming geographical features after dragons with no consideration for whether actual dragons might have claimed said territory.

  In this case, the name appeared coincidental, but such carelessness had sparked numerous unfortunate incidents throughout history.

  After final instructions from Elder Wei, the seven gathering parties dispersed through different gates of the sect compound. Xiaolong's group followed a winding path that descended through mist-wrapped forests before gradually climbing the lower slopes of the eastern mountains.

  As they walked, the disciples began singing traditional Water Gathering songs—melodic recitations of cultivation insights interspersed with surprisingly ribald verses about the adventures of previous gatherers.

  Xiaolong listened with growing fascination as the current verse described a historical Elder's encounter with a "valley spirit maiden" who had apparently taught him several non-standard applications for water circulation techniques.

  "—and that's why Elder Feng couldn't sit properly for a month!" concluded a freckled junior disciple with particular enthusiasm, prompting laughter from his companions.

  "The songs preserve sect history too informal for official records," explained a soft-spoken female disciple walking near Xiaolong. "Each year, new verses are added based on that gathering's experiences."

  "An effective mnemonic technique," Xiaolong observed. "Dragons employ similar methods, though our historical songs typically run for centuries and frequently end with mountains being reduced to rubble." She immediately realized her error and added hastily, "According to ancient texts I've studied, that is."

  The young disciple nodded earnestly. "The Dragon Cycle epics! Senior Brother Ming has fragments of those translations in the library archives. Is your sect's tradition connected to those legends?"

  Before Xiaolong could formulate a response that wouldn't further complicate her cover story, Song Bai interrupted from the front of the group.

  "Mirror Pond approaches. Prepare your vessels and minds for proper collection."

  The path opened into a perfectly circular valley surrounded by sheer rock faces that did, with some imagination, resemble twin draconic profiles in eternal face-off.

  At the valley's center lay Mirror Pond—a body of water so perfectly still it created the uncanny impression of a circular hole in reality revealing another sky below.

  "Legend holds that a falling star landed here five thousand years ago," Song Bai explained as the group arranged themselves around the pond's edge. "Its impact created this perfect basin, and its celestial essence infused the waters with reflective properties beyond mere physical mirroring."

  The disciples murmured appreciatively at this recitation, though Xiaolong knew the actual origin was considerably less poetic. A minor earth dragon had napped here briefly during the Third Celestial Convergence, and the residual energy from its scales had altered the local spiritual topography.

  The crater was simply where its tail had idly tapped against the ground during a particularly satisfying dream.

  "Mirror Pond reflects not merely physical appearance, but glimpses of spiritual essence," Song Bai continued, her eyes briefly meeting Xiaolong's with pointed significance. "What one sees in these waters reveals aspects of one's true nature usually hidden from conscious awareness."

  This explanation sent a chill of genuine concern through Xiaolong.

  If the water truly possessed such properties, her reflection might reveal scales, horns, or other distinctly non-human features. Most cultivators would attribute such manifestations to symbolic representations of spiritual essence, but Song Bai was already suspicious enough to potentially recognize the truth.

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  "We will proceed with the collection ritual in sequence of seniority," Song Bai announced. "Junior disciples will observe from the perimeter until called forward. Senior disciples will demonstrate proper form."

  The collection process involved a series of graceful movements reminiscent of the most elementary water circulation techniques, culminating in the ceremonial vessel being lowered to the pond's surface while the collector focused on perfect spiritual stillness.

  Each senior disciple performed the ritual with precisely, their reflections in the pond showing subtle variations—one wreathed in gentle flames representing hidden passion, another shadowed by illusory wings suggesting freedom of thought.

  These reflective embellishments fascinated Xiaolong, who observed how each disciple reacted to their reflection—some with surprise, others with knowing acceptance of qualities they recognized within themselves.

  The water was indeed revealing inner nature, though in subtle, metaphorical ways rather than literal transformations.

  As her turn approached, Xiaolong contemplated strategies to minimize whatever draconic elements might manifest in her reflection. Perhaps by focusing intensely on her human form, or by deliberately clouding her spiritual essence...

  "Fellow Daoist Xiaolong," Song Bai called, interrupting her planning. "Please demonstrate your sect's water collection technique."

  Several disciples murmured with interest. Throughout the journey, Xiaolong had fielded numerous questions about her supposed "tradition," forcing her to construct increasingly elaborate explanations based on fragmentary human understandings of draconic principles.

  "In my tradition," Xiaolong improvised smoothly, "we emphasize harmonious reception rather than active collection." This was, technically, true—dragons simply commanded water to come to them rather than performing elaborate rituals to request its cooperation.

  She approached the pond's edge, acutely aware of every eye upon her. The water's surface remained perfectly still, a flawless mirror reflecting sky and surrounding mountains with unnatural clarity.

  Taking a deliberate breath, Xiaolong began a series of movements adapted from the water circulation patterns Li Feng had taught her, modified to appear distinctive enough to represent a "different tradition" while remaining recognizably based in water cultivation principles.

  As her vessel lowered toward the water's surface, Xiaolong focused her awareness inward, attempting to project only her human aspects into her spiritual signature.

  For a moment, it seemed to work—the water's surface rippled gently, accepting her vessel without unusual reaction.

  Then, as her focus wavered briefly, the pond's entire surface shimmered with prismatic light.

  Her reflection remained ostensibly human but surrounded by a subtle aurora of shifting colors that corresponded precisely to the chromatic spectrum of her scales in dragon form. The effect lasted only seconds before subsiding, but the gasps from observing disciples confirmed they had all witnessed the phenomenon.

  "Remarkable spiritual resonance," Song Bai commented, her tone carefully neutral despite the intensity of her gaze. "The waters recognize something quite... unusual... in your essence."

  "Every cultivation path leaves its unique imprint," Xiaolong replied with equal care, withdrawing her vessel which now contained water shot through with barely perceptible threads of prismatic light.

  Song Bai's eyes narrowed fractionally. "Indeed. Some paths leave more significant impressions than others." She turned to address the junior disciples. "Observe how the waters respond differently to each cultivator's essence. This reflection represents a core principle of our sect's philosophy—true understanding comes through recognizing one's authentic nature rather than imposing external expectations."

  The irony of this statement was not lost on Xiaolong, who was actively attempting to suppress her authentic nature to meet external expectations.

  Yet something in Song Bai's words resonated uncomfortably with her ongoing transformation. Was her journey of reverse cultivation ultimately about discovering authenticity rather than simply changing form?

  As junior disciples took turns collecting their own samples, Xiaolong found herself approached by a small, serious-faced girl who couldn't have been more than twelve years old.

  "Immortal Sister," the child whispered with wide-eyed wonder, "your water glows like the stories of ancient spirit beasts. Are you from the celestial mountains?"

  The innocent question, while not directly naming her nature, still struck uncomfortably close to the truth.

  Xiaolong smiled carefully. "All mountains are connected at their roots, little one. Just as all waters eventually find the same ocean."

  Before the conversation could continue, Song Bai appeared beside them, her expression sharp and attentive. Nothing escaped her notice.

  "Junior Sister Min, have you completed your collection meditation?" Her tone was not unkind, but carried unmistakable authority.

  The girl bowed hurriedly. "Not yet, Senior Sister!"

  "Then perhaps you should focus on your assigned task rather than distracting our guest with fanciful questions." Song Bai's eyes flicked between the child and Xiaolong, missing nothing. "The waters of Mirror Pond require complete concentration to reveal their true insights."

  When the girl scurried away, Song Bai remained, her gaze fixed on Xiaolong's vessel with its distinctive prismatic threads.

  "Celestial mountains," she repeated thoughtfully. "An interesting choice of words from one so young."

  "Children often speak in metaphors they themselves don't fully understand," Xiaolong offered neutrally.

  Song Bai's eyes narrowed fractionally. "And yet, those innocent observations frequently cut closer to truth than our most careful examinations." She gestured toward Xiaolong's vessel. "Your collected water exhibits properties I've seen described only in the most ancient manuscripts—predating our sect's founding. Most would attribute this to superior cultivation technique."

  "And what do you attribute it to, Senior Sister Song?"

  "I find myself increasingly curious about your... tradition," Song Bai replied, her emphasis making it clear she doubted the entire premise. "Our sect records contain references to beings who could command rather than cultivate elemental essence. Beings whose very nature resonated with primordial forces in ways humans can only imitate through lifetimes of practice."

  The statement hung between them—not a direct accusation, but far more dangerous than the child's innocent question. Song Bai wasn't dismissing anything; she was methodically building a case based on observation and sect knowledge.

  "Every tradition offers unique perspectives," Xiaolong replied carefully. "Perhaps when the festival concludes, we might exchange insights on different approaches to water essence."

  The ghost of a smile touched Song Bai's lips. "I look forward to such an... illuminating exchange. A core principle of water cultivation is that surfaces often conceal depths worthy of patient exploration."

  With that remarkably unsubtle statement, Song Bai returned to supervising the remaining collections, leaving Xiaolong to contemplate how quickly her carefully constructed disguise was unraveling.

  The irony did not escape her—she had spent centuries ensuring humans never discovered her true nature, yet now, when actively attempting to understand humanity, her draconic essence became increasingly difficult to conceal.

  As the gathering concluded and the disciples prepared for the journey back to the sect, Xiaolong examined her collected water. The prismatic threads had neither dissipated nor intensified, remaining suspended in perfect equilibrium within the crystal vessel. Like her current existence—neither fully dragon nor truly human, suspended between contradictory natures.

  "Water from Mirror Pond reveals what we are becoming as much as what we have been," said a quiet voice beside her.

  Xiaolong turned to find Li Feng standing nearby, his own gathering group having apparently completed their collection at Cascading Falls and joined paths with her group on the return journey.

  "Your water shows unusual harmonics," he observed, studying her vessel with scholarly interest rather than Song Bai's suspicious intensity. "Seven distinct resonance patterns perfectly balanced—most rare, even among elders."

  "Seven," Xiaolong repeated softly, remembering Hui Yun's warning about seven scales and what their loss would mean.

  Li Feng nodded. "Seven elemental resonances in perfect harmony—earth, metal, water, fire, wood, and the rarer void and spirit frequencies. According to sect texts, such balance appears once in a generation at most."

  Before she could respond, excited calls from other disciples pulled their attention away. Ming Lian's group had also arrived, creating a joint company for the return journey. As the combined groups set off down the mountain path, disciples eagerly compared their collected waters and experiences.

  Xiaolong found herself surrounded by young cultivators peppering her with questions about her "tradition" and the unusual properties of her collected water. Unlike Song Bai's pointed inquiries, their curiosity carried no suspicion—only the earnest desire to understand something different from their familiar teachings.

  "In your tradition, do the waters speak to you directly?" asked one particularly imaginative boy. "Senior Brother Ming says some ancient techniques allowed cultivators to hear the voices of elemental spirits!"

  "Water communicates through resonance rather than words," Xiaolong replied, finding herself oddly enjoying these exchanges despite the risk. "Though certain mountain springs near volcanic formations can become quite... opinionated."

  This prompted delighted laughter and further questions, creating an atmosphere more akin to an eager study group than a formal cultivation ceremony.

  Even Song Bai, walking at the group's edge, seemed to be listening with reluctant interest.

  As they descended toward the sect compound, Xiaolong found herself experiencing an emotion dragons rarely encountered—genuine belonging within a community. Not based on hierarchy or power, but on shared curiosity and mutual respect.

  Her water vessel caught the afternoon light, prismatic threads glinting like hidden promises within the crystal container.

  Mirror Pond had indeed revealed something of her true nature—not just what she had been, but what she was becoming.

  The question remaining was whether that transformation represented loss or liberation, a question whose answer remained as shifting and iridescent as the prismatic threads suspended in perfect balance within her vessel.