《I just want permanent death》


 Prologue: The man who wants death

    The void stretched infinitely in every direction, a sea of nothingness where time did not move and space did not exist. In the heart of that void stood a figure¡ªno, something that had long since ceased to be human. She has no name.


    Names were things of the past, relics of mortality, of an existence bound by flesh, pain, and fleeting hope. She had been called many things throughout countless cycles. Queen. God. Evil. Goddess. Demon. Monster. A concept beyond understanding. She was boundless, untouchable by mortal constraints, beyond any force, even those who claimed dominion over all.


    But before all of that, she had been a woman.


    And before that, she had been a victim.


    She remembered the first life. The one before she became what she was now. The one before the cycle of suffering turned her into an entity beyond life and death.


    A girl born to a once-proud cultivation clan, her fate had been written the moment she took her first breath. She was the daughter of a declining sect, a child carrying the shattered legacy of her ancestors. She remembered the cold marble floors of the sect¡¯s great hall, the faces of elders filled with disdain, the murmurs that she was a burden¡ªborn too weak, too late, too useless to change their fate.


    When the enemies came, they did not meet resistance.


    Steel met flesh. Blood splattered across jade pillars. The once-lofty sect crumbled into nothing but embers and ruin. She was too young to fight, too powerless to protect. They took everything from her¡ªher home, her kin, her dignity.


    Enslavement was a kindness compared to what they truly intended.


    She learned the depth of cruelty that men could inflict upon a powerless girl. She learned the horror of betrayal, the taste of blood and bile, the feeling of fingers gripping her throat as she choked on her own suffering. In every life, she had learned, and in that first life, she had learned despair.


    But she did not break.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    She searched for strength¡ªnot from sects, not from masters, not from fleeting mortal power, but from something older. Forbidden knowledge, whispered between the cracks of reality.


    In the deepest abyss of despair, she found it.


    A ritual. A severance. A price paid in pain greater than any physical agony. She burned away her mortality, stripped herself of her name, her form, her past. She ceased to be human, ceased to be bound by life and death. The heavens screamed, the laws of the world fractured, but she was no longer theirs to command.


    She had become something else. Something unimaginable.


    She had become hatred incarnate.


    She became boundless.


    She had become the reason he could not die.


    Time had no meaning in her existence. She wandered between realms, between realities, a shadow watching civilizations rise and fall. She had no purpose. No goal. Until she met him.


    A simple man.


    A mortal, a mere businessman in a medieval world, insignificant in the grand scale of existence. Yet, even when his strength was non-existent, even when he was nothing more than a frail human, he resisted.


    She had broken kings, crushed armies, devoured worlds, Gods, universes and yet, this man, this pathetic lowly merchant, had found ways to fight her. When he had no power, he used his mind. When he had no tools, he built them. When he had no allies, he adapted.


    Even when he was just a human with insignificant power, even when his body was nothing more than fragile bones and skin, he found a way. Even if for a fraction of a second¡ªHe defied her.


    And one day, he hurt her. In his millions of lives, he managed to hurt her.


    It was a single moment. A mere flicker of time, but he had done what no one else had ever achieved. He had touched her.


    Grazed her hair.


    And in that moment, she felt it¡ªfear.


    And in that moment, she knew.


    He was hers. He would suffer. He would endure everything she had endured, and more.


    Even if it took eternity.


    999,999,999 lives had passed.


    He had grown stronger & wiser


    She had devised countless ways to break him.


    But he had also grown beyond what she had foreseen.


    They were both beyond comprehension now, their intellects unmatched, their strength exceeding that of even the most unfathomable beings. And still, he fought her.


    But now, the game had changed.


    This was his one-billionth reincarnation. And this time, he had returned to a world unlike any other.


    A world where the rules were different.


    A world where he and the entity would have a final dance


    But the entity¡ª


    She is absolute. A God.


    Her power was untouched. Unfathomable. Boundless.


    And she was waiting.


    A world called Earth.


    And the cycle was about to begin again.

 The Awakening of the Sovereign

    The void was silent.


    It always was.


    ''Look at the stars, Layla,'' Yasmina had once told her. ''Do you know what Ibn al-Haytham wrote? He said that the universe is written in light, and that those who read its language can decipher fate itself.''


    Layla had scoffed at the time. She had ruled through steel and cunning, not superstition.


    But now, as she drifted between death and whatever lay beyond, she wished she had listened more carefully.


    A negotiation room, dimly lit by lanterns, the scent of ink and spice thick in the air. Layla sat with the same poise she had always wielded, a blade hidden behind silk. She had not been born into power¡ªshe had seized it, carved it out with wit sharper than any steel. A queen, not by divine right, but by sheer force of will.


    She had been nothing at first. The forgotten daughter of a noble too unimportant to remember. A child born into a world that did not love her, cast aside by parents who had only wished for sons. She had been tolerated, ignored, treated as little more than an obligation¡ªa girl who should never have mattered.


    Her father had ruled a minor province, a bureaucrat clinging to power through false alliances and carefully played deceptions. Her mother, a woman obsessed with status, saw Layla only as a bargaining piece, a future bride to be traded away for political advantage. Her older brothers? They had seen her as nothing but a burden, an unnecessary competitor in their hunger for inheritance.


    She learned early that love was conditional. That kindness was currency. That the world would never hand her anything freely.


    So she took. Yet she had learned early that power was not given to the meek¡ªit was taken. When the throne had been left vacant, torn apart by warring factions, it was she who had maneuvered, whispered, and outplayed every rival. She had turned enemies against each other, made the strongest warlords dance in her palm, and when the dust settled, it was her name that was whispered in reverence and fear.


    The nobles who had scorned her? Gone. The siblings who had mocked her weakness? Eliminated. The father who had once declared she was ''unsuitable'' to lead? He had bowed before her in his final days, too broken to resist the storm she had become.


    ''You always had sharp eyes, Layla,'' he had wheezed from his sickbed, ''but I never thought you would turn them on your own blood.''


    She had looked down at him, expression unreadable. ''Neither did I.''


    Regret? No. She had done what needed to be done. The world had given her nothing, so she had taken everything.


    She had ruled the greatest empire in the known world, not by birthright, but by making herself indispensable.


    Her reign had not merely been one of survival, but of revolution. The laws that once silenced women had been rewritten under her decree. Child marriages, once a common practice, were abolished. Women were given the right to own businesses, to be educated, to hold power¡ªtrue power, not borrowed from fathers and husbands. She had fought for these changes, and she had won.


    But it had come at a cost. The noble houses had resisted her, calling her unnatural, a deviation from tradition. They had whispered of her arrogance, of her refusal to submit. They had called her dangerous.


    Jinhai had once told her, during a late-night negotiation, ''You forced history to turn its gaze upon you, Layla. Most rulers let the tide of tradition guide them. You rewrote the course of the river itself.''


    She had smiled, sipping her tea. ''And you disapprove?''


    ''I admire it,'' he had admitted, though his voice was laced with the weight of his own constraints. ''But my empire is not ready for such things.''


    And yet, despite his reluctance, he had always listened to her. Always watched, fascinated, as she tore down the walls that bound her people.


    She had done more than rule. She had built. She had introduced public sanitation, the first large-scale bathhouses, and the earliest forms of city planning. It had been her idea to refine scented oils into what would later be known as perfume, turning the art of fragrance into a booming industry. And in secret, she had begun drafting blueprints for a new invention¡ªan engine. The first of its kind, incomplete, but the beginning of something greater.


    She sat across from Emperor Shen Jinhai of the Eastern Celestial Dynasty, a man as cold as the mountain winds. Between them, a parchment bearing terms of peace¡ªa treaty that could unite two powerful empires. Yet, in the flickering candlelight, their gazes lingered just a little too long, the silence between words heavier than mere diplomacy. It was not the first time they had shared such moments. Over the years, their paths had crossed time and again¡ªformal visits, feasts veiled as political maneuvers, quiet moments stolen in grand halls where they discussed not war, but poetry, philosophy, and the burdens of sovereignty.


    ''You always hesitate before signing, Layla,'' Jinhai murmured, fingers tapping against the parchment. ''Why is that?''


    She exhaled, a soft, nearly imperceptible smile touching her lips. ''Because treaties are easy to sign. Harder to uphold.''


    Jinhai chuckled, low and knowing. ''You don¡¯t trust me?''


    She studied him in the dim light, recalling the long years of their interactions. The stolen conversations between court feasts. The nights spent in quiet negotiations, where they spoke less like rulers and more like weary souls who understood one another.


    ''I trust you more than I trust most,'' she admitted finally. ''But trust is not the same as certainty.''


    ''I trust you,'' she admitted. ''I do not trust history.''


    For a moment, there was only the sound of the crackling lanterns. The unspoken truth hung between them¡ªthey were both rulers bound by duty, both aware that what existed in these fleeting interactions could never be. Not truly. It was unspoken, a forbidden understanding¡ªadmiration, respect¡­ perhaps something more.


    There had been moments¡ªsmall, fleeting, but impossible to ignore. The way he had once reached to adjust the heavy golden clasp of her ceremonial robe before thinking better of it. The night they had walked the palace gardens, discussing the weight of leadership, when she had allowed herself the rare indulgence of imagining a world where things had been different.


    ''Perhaps in another life,'' he had once murmured.


    ''Perhaps,'' she had replied. But there had never been another life. Only duty. Only war. Only fate pulling them apart before they had ever truly come together.


    ''You speak of prosperity,'' Jinhai had said, his sharp eyes searching her own, ''but can your people accept foreign rulers?''


    Layla had smiled then, weary but resolute. ''We do not need conquerors, nor do we need division. We need unity. Trade, knowledge, strength¡ªour worlds are more alike than you admit, Your Majesty.''


    But neither of them would ever see the future they envisioned.


    The first sign of betrayal had been the bitter taste in her tea. The second had been the way Jinhai clutched his throat, his eyes widening in shock.


    A single, deadly poison¡ªadministered to them both. A cruel, poetic fate for two rulers who had, against the tide of history, dared to find kinship in one another.


    Layla, even as her vision blurred, calculated. The dosage, the delivery, the precise moment¡ªnone of this was random. Yasmina had always spoken of poisons as tools, their timing as vital as the blade that followed. But something was wrong¡ªJinhai was collapsing too fast.


    Her mind raced, assessing, calculating. If the poison took full effect before Jinhai hit the floor, his head could strike the stone with enough force to rob him of what little dignity he had left in death. She had seconds¡ªseconds.


    Summoning her last reserves of strength, she reached across the table, knocking over a small silk pillow just in time to break his fall. A meaningless act? Perhaps. But dignity in death mattered. Even if she could not save him, she could offer him that final mercy.


    Yet, even through her pain, her mind latched onto one final puzzle: who?


    The tea had been inspected. Every precaution taken. And yet¡­ it had still reached them.


    Her mind sifted through the last moments, recalling three figures who could have orchestrated this.


    First, Minister Halim¡ªher most trusted adviser, a man with a reputation beyond reproach. But had his loyalty waned? Had he grown tired of serving a ruler who refused to be a puppet?


    Second, Lady Zafira¡ªa concubine turned diplomat, once loyal but increasingly frustrated with Layla''s rejection of certain ''traditions.'' She had reason, she had access.


    And lastly¡­ the unassuming servant, Jinhai''s own cupbearer, a boy who had been with him since childhood. The least likely suspect. But was that not the mark of a true assassin?


    Her breath slowed as she accepted the bitter truth¡ªtrust had been her greatest weakness.


    As the world blurred, Layla had reached out¡ªnot to the treaty, not to her crown, but to Jinhai himself. ''They will rewrite history,'' she had whispered, even as her vision darkened. ''They will make it seem as if we never tried.''


    The last thing she heard was the sound of a goblet shattering against the floor.


    Jinhai''s face twisted with a mixture of emotions¡ªgratitude, regret, and something deeper, something heavier. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. His eyes, dark and unwavering, locked onto hers, silently conveying the apology he could not voice.


    Layla understood. He had been a ruler first, a man second. Bound by duty, by expectations, by the weight of a thousand unspoken rules. And yet, in this moment, he was neither.


    His fingers trembled, lifting slightly from the table, as though reaching for her¡ªtoo late. Always too late.


    She exhaled a bitter breath, her strength fading. ''Don''t apologize, Jinhai,'' she whispered. ''We both knew this was how it would end.''


    A tear traced down his cheek. Whether for himself or for her, she would never know.


    And then¡ªa whisper, barely a breath against the darkness.


    ''I''m sorry, Layla¡­ This is all I could do for you¡­''


    Faint, distant, yet unmistakable. A voice she had not heard in years. But there was something else¡ªanother presence.


    A second voice, layered beneath Yasmina''s, barely above a whisper. Foreign, unknowable, yet strangely familiar.


    ''It is not yet your time, you are more than this''


    Her heart clenched. Who was that? The words held a weight she could not place, a significance that chilled her bones. A name she had never heard, yet it coiled in her mind like a long-forgotten memory.


    Then, like an ember igniting within the abyss, consciousness returned.


    She awoke.


    The first sensation was that of breath¡ªnot the shallow, rattling breath of death, nor the tormented wheeze of one gasping for air, but true breath. Deep. Steady. A sign of life.


    And for the first time in an eternity, she felt warmth.


    ¡®Where¡­ am I?¡¯


    Memories flooded her mind¡ªnot of endless torment or cycles of suffering, but of warmth, of kindness, of a time when she had believed in goodness. Something pure. Something¡­ human.


    She remembered being Sovereign Layla al-Zahira, Queen of the Eternal Crescent, ruler of a vast Middle Eastern empire that had commanded both fear and reverence. A woman of untouchable grace, cunning intellect, and yet¡­ she had never truly held power. Her reign had been one of intrigue, of navigating treacherous courts filled with vipers in silk robes.


    She had fought for her people, striving to protect them from the ever-looming forces of greed and war. She had built roads, strengthened alliances, educated women in sciences and arts¡ªall in pursuit of a future where power was wielded wisely, not selfishly.


    But even wisdom was no shield against betrayal.


    And then¡­


    She had died.


    Not by war. Not by revolution. Not by a rival monarch¡¯s blade.


    It had been poison.


    A slow, creeping agony disguised as a gentle sleep. No blade to fight, no enemy to face¡ªjust the quiet betrayal of something unseen, something ingested, something meant to make her fade without a sound.


    Her people never knew the truth. The court wept for their queen while the guilty raised their goblets in silent triumph.


    Yet now, she was here.


    And this body¡ª


    Her eyes snapped open. A new world greeted her.


    The Celestial Continent.


    A land of boundless qi, where the heavens dictated one¡¯s fate and only those who reached for the divine could escape mediocrity. This world was not ruled by kings and emperors but by sects, grand pillars of cultivation that dictated the very balance of existence.


    Mountains stretched into the heavens, their peaks wreathed in clouds, standing like sentinels of eternity. Ancient rivers shimmered with ethereal energy, their waters carrying the whispers of the past. The land itself pulsed with qi, an omnipresent force woven into the very fabric of reality.


    And above all, there were the Immortals.


    Those who defied the heavens, who carved their names into eternity. They were not simply warriors, but scholars of power, philosophers of divinity, architects of fate.


    She knew this world.


    She had learned of it long ago, from a woman named Yasmina, a wandering scholar who had once graced her court. Yasmina had spoken of a land beyond the deserts and the seas, a place where warriors did not merely wield steel but bent the very fabric of reality to their will.


    ''Your world is bound by kings and borders,'' Yasmina had once told her as they stood beneath the arched ceilings of the grand library. ''But in the Celestial Continent, the heavens themselves decree one''s fate. There, a beggar may rise to the throne, and an emperor may be reduced to dust if they lack the strength to hold their power.''


    Layla had listened intently, fascinated by tales of sects that ruled not with armies but with sheer might, of mountains that reached into eternity, and of rivers imbued with wisdom. ''And what of justice?'' she had asked.


    ''Justice is but the will of the strong,'' Yasmina had replied, her amber eyes filled with both reverence and sorrow. ''To seek fairness is to seek power first.''


    Now, standing in a world she had once thought only myth, Layla realized the truth of those words.


    A lump formed in her throat. ''Yasmina¡­'' she whispered to the silence. ''I was a fool to doubt you.''


    She had dismissed Yasmina¡¯s tales as romanticized exaggerations, the fantasies of a wandering scholar desperate to make foreign lands sound grander than they were. But Yasmina had spoken the truth, and Layla had never taken the time to tell her how much she valued her.


    ''If only I could see you again, just once,'' she murmured, her voice thick with regret. ''If only I had one more chance¡­'' But Yasmina was long gone, lost to time and the cruel hand of fate. Or was she?


    A chilling thought slithered into her mind. What if this was not a different world, but the same one in another form? What if the empire she had ruled still stood, but history had merely shifted its course? Could it be possible? Could her own past be written somewhere in this world''s history?


    Her heart pounded. She had to know.


    Here, strength was truth.


    Power was the only absolute.


    Yet despite all its grandeur, all its vast, unfathomable wonders, she smiled.


    A soft, wistful smile. Not of amusement, nor excitement, but of understanding.


    Because she had once believed in a better world.


    And now? Now, she had a new life¡ªone that she would dedicate to something greater than herself, to creating rather than ruling, to guiding rather than conquering.


    She rose from the bed, her new body foreign yet familiar.


    The sensation of qi thrummed beneath her skin, potent but untamed. And it terrified her.


    Her breath caught in her throat. Power¡ªreal, tangible power¡ªcoursed through her veins, something she had never experienced in her previous life. She clenched her hands into fists, but the sensation did not dissipate. It coiled within her, an unfamiliar force pressing against her very being.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    She staggered back, her heart pounding. This was beyond her understanding. In her world, power had been influence, words, and diplomacy. Here, it was something intrinsic, something woven into existence itself.


    ''What... what is this?'' she murmured, panic creeping into her voice.


    The knowledge surfaced¡ªnot from her own experiences, but from the lingering memories of the body''s previous owner. A girl named Meilin. A disciple of the Silver Lotus Sect. A sect that, in its prime, had been a beacon of enlightenment, but now stood on the precipice of oblivion. It was weaker than what she had once wielded as a sovereign, yet it was hers. A foundation to build upon, a canvas upon which she would reshape destiny.


    She walked to the mirror, and for the first time, she truly saw herself.


    The reflection that gazed back was that of a young woman, perhaps sixteen at most. Her hair, long and ink-black, cascaded past her waist like a river of midnight. Her eyes¡ªonce filled with the golden fire of imperial decree¡ªwere now a deep crimson, as though the blood of an empire had been sealed within them. Her skin, pale as porcelain, bore no blemish, no imperfection.


    She was flawless.


    A beauty that could topple cities, that could reduce even the most steadfast warriors to kneeling worship.


    Yet, behind that beauty, behind the delicate features and ethereal grace, there was something more.


    Something resilient.


    Something determined.


    She stretched out a hand, feeling the flow of qi, testing the limits of her new form.


    A rush of energy surged within her veins, untamed but potent.


    This body¡­ It was weak for now.


    But that would change.


    Her lips curved into a small, knowing smile. A world governed by power, ruled by cultivation?


    She had once been the ruler of an empire, the unchallenged sovereign of a world without equals.


    And now?


    Now, she would make the most of this life.


    But first, she needed to understand the world she had been reborn into. She needed knowledge.


    Because knowledge, as always, was the foundation of all power.


    And then she noticed it¡ªthe emblem on the sleeve of her robes.


    A withered lotus, embroidered in silver thread.


    The dying symbol of a sect on the verge of collapse.


    The Silver Lotus Sect.


    Once a respected name, now a crumbling relic of the past. A remnant of a golden age long since faded, its members dwindling, its resources strained, its enemies encroaching.


    In this world, sects lived and died like shifting tides. Those without power were swallowed whole, their legacies erased, their lands devoured by the strong.


    And she¡­


    She had been reborn into ruin.


    Her body was not alone.


    A distant voice trembled through the air. ''Meilin¡­!''


    A sob. A desperate gasp. Then arms¡ªwarm, trembling arms¡ªwrapped around her, a sensation so foreign it sent a shock through her core.


    She stiffened.


    Another pair of hands grasped her shoulders, another tear-streaked face pressing close. ''Our child, our Meilin! She''s awake!''


    Layla didn¡¯t know how to react. Never, in her past life, had anyone touched her like this¡ªnot out of love, not out of relief. She had been a queen, a ruler adored by her people, but never held as if she mattered beyond her title.


    ''Why¡­ are they crying for me?'' The thought was foreign. In her world, power was survival, affection was a tool, and sincerity was a liability.


    But here, in this dying sect, these people¡ªher parents¡ªwere holding her as if she were their entire world.


    Something deep inside her stirred, unfamiliar and terrifying.


    But ruin was just another word for opportunity.


    She would not seek domination, nor conquest, nor revenge.


    She would rebuild.


    The first step?


    Reviving the Silver Lotus Sect.


    And from there¡­


    She would begin her ascension.


    The murmurs around her were hesitant, laced with uncertainty. Her parents¡ªtheir warmth was overwhelming, but the unfamiliarity gnawed at her. Could she afford to trust? No. But she could adapt.


    As she lay there, eyes fluttering open, she began assessing. The room, the people, the emotions on their faces. Her mind, honed through years of ruling, dissected every detail as though preparing for war.


    Her father¡ªgrief-stricken, but not weak. His hands trembled as he held hers, yet his grip was firm. A man who had seen too much loss.


    Her mother¡ªtears streaming, relief and exhaustion written in every line of her face. But there was nothing deceitful in her expression¡ªonly pure, overwhelming love.


    Layla¡¯s breath hitched. This was different. Unconditional.


    In her past life, affection had always been transactional. But now? Her mother¡¯s sobs were not for a lost heir or a failed alliance. They were for her, Meilin, the daughter they had thought lost.


    Love, real love, was foreign to her.


    Had they known something? Had they hidden something from her? No, not yet. Not enough information.


    Her voice, measured and steady, broke through the air. ''How did I¡­ survive?'' she asked, tilting her head as if still disoriented. ''And the sect¡­ how is the Silver Lotus Sect faring?''


    The room fell silent for a moment before her father spoke, voice thick with worry. ''You¡¯ve been in an unwakeable slumber for weeks, Meilin. We feared¡­'' He swallowed hard. ''We feared we had lost you.''


    A calculated pause. Then Layla¡ªMeilin¡ªnodded slowly, as if letting the realization sink in.


    Processing. Analyzing. Every word, every hesitation.


    ''But I am here now,'' she murmured, offering a small, reassuring smile. ''And I will not let our sect fall into ruin.''


    Even as she comforted them, her mind was already working. This will take years to piece together. But I will learn everything.


    When she next spoke, her voice was careful, calculated. ''The great empires beyond these lands¡­ the ones far to the west. Who rules them now?''


    Her father hesitated, exchanging glances with the others. ''The western lands are foreign to us, daughter,'' he admitted. ''But we have heard of a great empire beyond the deserts, one that fell to turmoil some generations ago. Its name, however, is lost to time.''


    Layla''s breath hitched. Her empire? Lost to time? The weight of it settled over her like a heavy cloak, suffocating and final.


    But she had one more question. A final test.


    She inhaled deeply, voice even. ''Who rules the Celestial Dynasty now?''


    The moment the words left her lips, the air in the room changed. The warmth fled. Her parents tensed, their hands trembling. Even the attending disciples went pale, their gazes darting to the door as if fearing eavesdroppers.


    Her mother gasped, covering her mouth. Her father, usually composed, visibly shook.


    ''Never¡­'' he whispered, gripping her hand so tightly it almost hurt. ''Never speak that name carelessly, Meilin.''


    The silence stretched, suffocating.


    And Layla knew.


    The name she had uttered was not just known¡ªit was feared.


    Years had passed.


    Far away, beyond the reach of the western empire and the sects of the east, a ruler sat upon a throne of cold jade, his face hidden in the flickering candlelight. The air was thick with the scent of incense, though it did little to mask the underlying stench of blood.


    The ruler had survived.


    Not by his own strength, nor by the will of fate, but by her.


    In those final moments, he had felt himself slipping into the abyss, the poison working its way through his veins, his limbs numbing. He had braced for the sharp, inevitable impact against the marble floor¡ªbut it had never come. The softness beneath his head, the way his breath still lingered in his lungs long enough for his physicians to arrive, all of it was her doing.


    ''Layla...'' he had thought in that moment, the weight of realization pressing down on him heavier than death itself. She saved me.


    But why?


    The thought haunted him still, years later. Every night he traced the fine silk of the pillow she had moved beneath him, the same one that had softened his fall in those final moments before the poison could steal his life entirely. It had been her last act, her final mercy, and he hated how much it haunted him. The air was thick with the scent of incense, though it did little to mask the underlying stench of blood.


    Emperor Shen Jinhai had survived.


    Or at least, that was what the world believed. But was this truly the same man who had once spoken of unity in the candlelight, who had admired Layla''s defiance even as he refused to follow in her footsteps? Or had time, paranoia, and grief twisted him into something else? A shadow of the ruler he had once been?


    His fingers traced the fine silk of the pillow he had once rested upon, the same one that had softened his fall in those final moments before the poison could steal his life entirely. It had been her last act, her final mercy, and he hated how much it haunted him.


    ''Her name¡­'' he murmured, his voice almost reverent.


    The courtiers around him dared not meet his gaze. The great hall was lined with kneeling figures¡ªnobles, servants, officials¡ªall who had been present that night. One by one, their heads bowed lower, waiting for their fates to be decided.


    ''Who among you,'' he said softly, dangerously, ''knew of the poison before it touched my lips?''


    No one spoke. The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring.


    Then, with a flick of his wrist, justice¡ªor paranoia¡ªtook its course.


    He had become ruthless. Every shadow was a threat. Every whisper was treason. And yet, in the privacy of his chambers, he traced the embroidered pattern of that silk pillow, his fingers lingering as though it held a warmth long since lost.


    He had loved her. Or perhaps, he had merely admired what he could never have. It no longer mattered. What mattered now was finding the truth.


    And so, the bloodshed continued.


    Yet, in the darkest hours of the night, as he sat alone, staring at the silk pillow she had placed beneath him, a flicker of doubt gnawed at his mind. Would she have looked at him now with disgust? Pity? Would she have called him a fool for chasing ghosts through rivers of blood?


    Yet as the years passed, whispers of an unfinished creation from the lands of the west reached his ears.


    Deep beneath the surface of a land untouched by war, hidden within labyrinthine tunnels of carved stone and metal, workers toiled under the dim glow of enchanted lanterns. Machinery, archaic yet ahead of its time, lay half-built, gears rusting from abandonment yet still waiting for completion.


    This was the vision of a queen long buried by history.


    ''Our world moves on the backs of beasts and the will of men,'' Yasmina had once said. ''But what if we could break free from such constraints? What if movement did not require suffering?''


    The first engine, its blueprints painstakingly drawn by Layla¡¯s own hand, rested here. Unfinished. Forgotten. But not abandoned.


    Standing before it was a tall muscular woman cloaked in dark silk, her expression hard, her eyes filled with unyielding determination and besides her was a scrawny young man who is barely her height named.


    Zafira had not met Emery through war or revolution¡ªno, she had stumbled upon him in the most mundane of circumstances, yet it had changed everything.


    She had needed spices¡ªyes, spices¡ªnot for herself, but for the men under her command who wouldn''t stop whining about the bland food. And so, she had gone to the market, expecting a simple trade.


    Instead, she had found him.


    A scrawny foreigner, wearing spectacles and arguing¡ªno, lecturing¡ªa merchant over the principles of leverage. She had rolled her eyes, thinking him another fool who mistook words for power. But then she had listened.


    And she had realized she had never met a man who spoke like him.


    He had spoken of numbers and equations, of the way the stars moved instead of stood still. He claimed that water spiraled differently depending on which side of the world it flowed from. He had written books¡ªbooks!¡ªon something called gravity, on motion, on the very fabric of space.


    She had thought he was mad. She had thought he was brilliant. And she had thought, more than anything, that she needed him.


    ''You¡¯re saying the stars don¡¯t just hang there? They¡­ fall?'' she had asked, utterly bewildered. ''That¡¯s ridiculous. Everyone knows the heavens are eternal.''


    Emery had sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. ''No, they don¡¯t just hang. They are in motion, pulled by an unseen force. Everything that rises must fall¡ªit¡¯s not magic, it¡¯s physics. You drop a stone, it falls. You shoot an arrow, it arcs. The stars follow the same rules, just on a much grander scale.''


    Zafira had crossed her arms, unconvinced. ''Sounds like nonsense. How do you know they move? Have you been up there? Have you fallen from the sky yourself?''


    Emery had given her a long, exhausted look before muttering, ''And yet, here you are, listening.''


    Now, standing beside her in the underground halls, he was no longer an eccentric scholar talking about the stars. He was her engineer, the one who would take Layla¡¯s vision and turn it into something real. He was praising how amazing this engine looked and looking it up to down while murmuring to himself.


    Even if he still insisted on saying the most ridiculous things.


    Zafira watched him, arms crossed. ''You speak of her like a disciple worshiping his master.''


    Emery didn¡¯t deny it. ''Because I am.''


    She scoffed, tilting her head. ''And what exactly did she do to earn your devotion?''


    Emery adjusted his spectacles, fingers tracing the rusted edges of the unfinished machine. ''I studied everything she left behind¡ªher writings, her diagrams, even her failed attempts to implement sanitation systems in the western capitals. She changed the world once, and had she lived longer, she would have done it again.''


    Zafira exhaled, her gaze darkening. ''Yasmina envisioned a world where suffering was no longer the cost of progress. Where men did not break their backs pulling carts, where travel was not dictated by the speed of a dying horse. She wanted to free people from the chains of labor, so they could pursue something greater.''


    She stepped forward, placing a hand on the machine¡¯s rusted frame. ''Layla was the one who made it possible. She turned dreams into reality. Yasmina dreamed of progress; Layla built the means to achieve it.''


    Emery chuckled, shaking his head. ''And now you want to turn it into a weapon.''


    Zafira¡¯s voice was cold. ''Now I want to finish what they started.''


    She turned to the gathered workers, her voice rising. ''This is not about war. This is about justice. What was stolen from them¡ªwhat was stolen from us¡ªwill be repaid in full.''


    She had inherited Yasmina¡¯s cause, but more than that, she has Layla''s her fury.


    ''We do not build to live in the shadows,'' Zafira al-Rahim¡¯s voice rang through the underground halls, her words sharp as tempered steel. ''We build so that our names are never erased. So that history does not forget what was stolen from us.''


    The workers before her¡ªengineers, scholars, rebels¡ªlistened with rapt attention. They had long since cast away their old allegiances, drawn to her by a cause greater than themselves.


    ''What they did to Layla¡­ what they did to Yasmina¡­'' Zafira''s fingers curled into fists. ''We will return their suffering tenfold. The east has a ruler who does not deserve his throne, and the west is ruled by ghosts. We will shape the future with our own hands.''


    She turned, facing the massive unfinished machine at the heart of their underground facility. The engine, decades ahead of its time, designed by Layla¡¯s own hand but left incomplete by her untimely death.


    ''We finish this, and the world will bow not to emperors, not to sects, but to us.''


    ''''They will answer for what was done to you,'' she whispered. Her name was Zafira al-Rahim,, and she would see the man responsible for their suffering burn.


    Even if it meant completing the engine herself¡ªand using it as the weapon to bring Jinhai to his knees.


    Emery adjusted his spectacles, his fingers brushing against the cold steel of the unfinished engine. His mind raced, piecing together the fragmented blueprints, the calculations, the principles far ahead of their time. This was not a machine built for war.


    Zafira¡¯s voice rang through the chamber, filled with fury and conviction, but he barely heard her. The more he studied Layla''s work, the more something gnawed at him. The sheer efficiency, the ingenuity of design¡ªLayla had not been crafting destruction.


    ''Zafira,'' he finally spoke, his voice even, but laced with doubt. ''You claim this is a weapon, but Layla did not design it as one. If she wanted destruction, there are a hundred simpler ways she could have done it.''


    Zafira¡¯s sharp gaze snapped to him. ''And what do you think she intended, Emery?''


    He inhaled, his mind racing. ''I don¡¯t know yet. But I do know that this¡ª'' he gestured to the machine before him, ''¡ªwas never meant to be a tool for vengeance. Layla wasn¡¯t building a future of war. She was building something else.''


    Zafira scoffed, her fists tightening. ''You think I care what she intended? I care about what I can do with it now.''


    Emery narrowed his eyes, realization dawning. ''So that¡¯s it? This isn¡¯t about Layla, or Yasmina¡¯s dream. This is about you. About revenge.''


    Zafira didn¡¯t flinch, but something flickered in her gaze.


    ''You weren¡¯t there, Emery,'' she whispered, voice dark with restrained fury. ''You didn¡¯t watch them erase her. You didn¡¯t hear how they rewrote history, how they called her a failure, how they made the world forget her name.''


    The workers behind them listened in silence, the weight of her words settling over them. Some nodded in agreement, others shifted uneasily.


    Emery started to doubt her words. Was that truly what had happened? He had read so many accounts, studied so many conflicting reports, but the truth had always been elusive.


    History was written by the victors¡ªbut what if neither Layla nor Jinhai had truly fallen that night?


    His mind raced. He had assumed Layla had perished, that Yasmina had been lost, but if Layla had time to act¡ªto push a mere pillow beneath Jinhai¡¯s head¡ªthen she had time for more. What if she had prepared an antidote? What if she had accounted for treachery long before the poison had ever touched her lips?


    And then there was Jinhai. The emperor should have died that night, yet he had lived. Why? He had been poisoned, just like Layla. If one had the means to counteract it, wouldn¡¯t the other?


    His fingers curled slightly, his mind calculating probabilities. It made no sense for one to survive while the other perished unless¡­ unless one of them had planned for both to live.


    But which one? And why?


    Poison is efficient, but not absolute.


    Emery sighed, turning his gaze back to the engine. His fingers drummed against the cold steel, mind spinning through calculations, probabilities, and contingencies. Layla had seen further than any of them, her vision stretching beyond the limitations of war and vengeance. And now, that vision stood on the precipice of being repurposed for destruction.


    But for what? Would this truly be justice?


    Or would it be the next step in burying her true vision beneath the weight of history?


    And so his mind sharpened, visualizing the mechanics of what had to be done. Gunpowder¡ªa mix of potassium nitrate, sulfur, and charcoal. Ratio? 75:15:10, the optimal balance for combustion without catastrophic instability. He sketched out the process mentally, ensuring stability in every step. The barrels? Hardened steel, forged at precisely controlled temperatures to withstand the pressure of igniting powder. Rifling¡ªsubtle spiral grooves inside the barrel to stabilize projectiles. Ignition? Matchlock? Flintlock? No, too rudimentary. Something better, something reliable.


    His fingers twitched, instinctively mapping the weapon¡¯s design. The barrel¡ªlong and cylindrical. The firing mechanism¡ªspring-loaded, striking a percussion cap to ignite the charge. The projectile¡ªa lead ball encased in copper for stability. A semi-automatic function? Impossible without industrial-grade machining. A repeating mechanism? Achievable.


    His hand moved before he could stop himself. With practiced precision, he grabbed a piece of charcoal and began sketching on a worn wooden board. The room fell into silence as they watched, some in awe, others in sheer confusion. The foreigner, the scholar, the man who spoke of stars and gravity, was now drawing something none of them could quite comprehend.


    Zafira narrowed her eyes, arms crossed. She didn''t understand the intricacies of whatever he was doing, but the way his hands moved¡ªdeliberate, confident, like a child lost in his own world¡ªunnerved her.


    ''This man speaks of theories no one else grasps, and now he moves as though building something from nothing,'' she thought. ''Does he even see us anymore?''


    He sketched rapidly, almost feverishly. First, the barrel, its dimensions meticulously measured. He scribbled rapid calculations beside it, noting spin rates and bore diameters. Then, the firing mechanism, each spring, each hammer carefully designed for efficiency. His lips moved slightly as if running through equations, his fingers twitching with the need to refine, to perfect. Then, the ammunition¡ªconical, aerodynamic, ensuring range and lethality.


    By the time he stepped back, brushing dust from his coat, the entire schematic had been laid bare. The murmurs grew louder. Even the most hardened rebels among them found themselves drawn in, uncertain but fascinated.


    ''If war is what you want,'' Emery finally murmured, adjusting his glasses, ''then let¡¯s give you a war machine. But not one that will wipe out cities in a single blast. No. We need something efficient, practical, and reproducible. Something that will change the battlefield without turning the world to ash.''


    He turned to the gathered engineers, his voice sharp, deliberate. ''We shift our focus. Forget large-scale destruction. Instead, we make something that can be produced rapidly¡ªsomething that can be placed in the hands of every soldier, every fighter. A force multiplier.''


    Zafira¡¯s brow furrowed. ''What are you suggesting?''


    ''Firearms.''


    A ripple of murmurs spread through the room. Emery tapped the metal frame of the unfinished engine. ''This machine¡¯s greatest strength isn¡¯t destruction¡ªit¡¯s production. We use it to mass-produce something smaller, something that will tip the scales of war without erasing entire nations.''


    Zafira crossed her arms. ''And how exactly do you propose we make these¡­ firearms?'' she sounded confused but interested as she always has


    ''We need a stable propellant¡ªgunpowder. A mixture of saltpeter, sulfur, and charcoal. Then we need steel, precisely forged for barrels, mechanisms that can handle repeated firing, a system of ignition¡ªperhaps a wheel lock or flintlock mechanism. It¡¯s complex, but achievable. The engine can streamline the process, cut down inefficiencies. If we do this right, we create an army that doesn¡¯t need to rely on brute strength or cultivation alone. We give them power in their hands.''


    The room was silent as Zafira considered his words. She was no fool¡ªshe knew that mass-producing weapons would fundamentally shift the balance of power. But Emery could see the conflict in her eyes. She wanted something grander, something catastrophic.


    And that was exactly why he had to push this direction. He needed to control what they built.


    She exhaled sharply. ''You think this is what Layla intended?''


    Emery¡¯s fingers curled slightly against the engine. ''I think Layla wanted progress. I think she wanted change. And I think she understood that power doesn¡¯t always come from the loudest explosion¡ªbut from the quiet, relentless force of innovation.''


    Zafira narrowed her eyes, but after a long pause, she nodded. ''Fine. We begin the research.''


    Emery inclined his head. He had won this battle¡ªbut the war was far from over. He would need to find a way to shift their efforts even further, to ensure that Layla¡¯s legacy wasn¡¯t twisted beyond recognition.


    But he needed to be smarter than Zafira. Than all of them. Layla saw further than any of them. And now, her creation stood on the edge of being repurposed for war.


    Emery tapped his fingers against the cold steel of the engine, his mind spinning through every possible move. Zafira was blinded by fury, her resolve unshakable, but she wasn''t stupid. She could be reasoned with¡ªif she believed she was getting what she wanted.


    He needed to buy time. Needed to shift the direction of this project without her realizing it.


    ''Fine,'' he said finally, adjusting his spectacles. ''If you want a weapon, we will make a weapon. But we do it properly¡ªtesting, refinement, full control over its capabilities. If we rush this, we risk sabotaging ourselves before we ever strike. We take our time.''


    Zafira eyed him, wary. ''And you, the scholar from the west, will oversee this?''


    ''Who else here understands Layla¡¯s blueprints like I do?'' Emery countered. ''You want this to work, don¡¯t you? Then let me ensure it does.''


    He watched as her jaw tensed, weighing his words. Then, finally, she nodded.


    Emery exhaled silently. The first step was complete. Now, he just had to make sure the weapon they built would never be used the way Zafira intended.


    As the workers dispersed, he remained behind, tracing his fingers over the edges of the unfinished engine. His mind drifted to Layla¡ªwhat had she truly envisioned? What had she hidden beneath these layers of innovation?


    Then, something caught his eye.


    Beneath a set of rusted schematics, buried among old parchment, a single page stood out¡ªdelicate, aged, written in ink that had faded over time. A note, signed in Yasmina¡¯s handwriting.


    Emery¡¯s breath hitched as he read the words silently to himself:


    ''The foundation of all things is movement, but the greatest power is not speed¡ªit is time itself. If we succeed, we will not only change the world¡­ but the very fabric of fate.''


    His grip on the paper tightened.


    Layla hadn¡¯t been designing a machine for war.


    And as he tucked Yasmina¡¯s note away into his coat, he knew one thing for certain¡ªthis machine was never meant for war.


    And neither was he.


    She had been designing something far greater.

 Art of Power

    The name she had uttered was not just known¡ªit was feared.


    Her father¡¯s reaction had been instinctive, visceral. The very mention of the Emperor¡¯s name sent a ripple of fear through the room. Layla saw the way the disciples stiffened, the way her mother turned away, as if shielding herself from an unseen threat. Even her father, a man who carried the weight of a dying sect upon his shoulders, had trembled.


    This was not the man she had known in her past life. Something had changed.


    She lowered her gaze, schooling her expression into one of innocence. ¡°Forgive me,¡± she murmured, forcing hesitation into her tone. ¡°I did not know his name carried such weight.¡±


    Her father hesitated, then let out a heavy sigh. ¡°It is not your fault,¡± he said at last. ¡°You have been asleep for so long... There are many things that have changed since you last walked among us.¡±


    Layla tilted her head. ¡°Then,¡± she asked carefully, ¡°what has not changed?¡±


    A shadow crossed his face, but he did not avoid her question. ¡°The world still belongs to the strong,¡± he said. ¡°And those without strength are destined to be swept aside.¡±


    Layla let the words settle, then, after a pause, asked, "And what of my siblings?"


    Her mother flinched. Her father¡¯s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as if weighing whether to speak the truth or conceal it. "They..." He hesitated. "They have carved their own paths."


    Layla¡¯s fingers curled slightly. "And what paths are those?"


    Her father let out a long sigh, standing from his seat and walking to the window. The lantern light flickered, casting elongated shadows along the wooden walls. Outside, the sect¡¯s courtyard stretched before them, a relic of better days. The training grounds, once filled with eager disciples, now lay barren, save for a few determined students practicing stances beneath the cold moonlight. Cracked stone pillars, moss creeping along their bases, whispered of a time when this place had been respected.


    Finally, he spoke. "Your elder brother, Jian, serves within the Imperial Court. He has pledged himself to the Emperor."


    Layla kept her expression neutral, but inside, her mind churned. "A court official?"


    Her mother¡¯s voice was quiet, almost pleading. "It was the only way for him to survive. After the war, after... everything, he had no choice."


    Her father¡¯s lips thinned. "Perhaps he saw it as a way to preserve what little we had left. Or perhaps he simply saw no other road but to kneel."


    Layla remained silent. Her elder brother, Jian, had once spoken of honor and dignity. To think that he now stood in service of the man whose name struck fear into even the elders of the sect¡ªit was almost laughable.


    "And my younger sister?" she asked at last.


    This time, the answer did not come immediately. Her mother glanced away, while her father¡¯s grip tightened around the wooden frame of the window. "No one knows where she is," he admitted. "She left years ago, refusing to accept our decline. Some say she sought refuge in another sect. Others whisper that she turned to the Demonic Cults."


    Layla narrowed her eyes. "And you? What do you believe?"


    Her father¡¯s shoulders slumped, as though the weight of his years had doubled. "I believe she is alive. But whether she is the same girl you once knew... that, I cannot say."


    The room felt colder. Layla let the silence stretch, absorbing the revelations. Her siblings¡ªone in servitude to a tyrant, the other vanished into the unknown. Once, they had been family. Now, they were nothing but pieces in a grander game.


    She exhaled softly and looked up at her father. "Then it seems I have much to learn. If I am to reclaim what was lost, I must understand the power that rules this world."¡± he said. ¡°And those without strength are destined to be swept aside.¡±


    1. Qi Cultivation


    ¡°Qi is the foundation of all power,¡± he said. ¡°It flows through our bodies in energy circuits known as meridians. Through meditation, refinement, and tempering, one can expand their internal reserves and strengthen their core.¡±


    Layla absorbed this carefully. ¡°Is qi something one is born with?¡±


    ¡°Yes and no,¡± her father said. ¡°All beings have qi, but some are born with a greater affinity. However, talent is not absolute. A dedicated cultivator with determination can surpass a genius who lacks discipline.¡±


    Layla filed that information away. So, like in my past life, hard work could overcome birthright.


    ¡°The ranks of Qi Cultivation are as follows:¡± He lifted his fingers, marking each stage as he spoke.


    Foundation Establishment ¨C The beginning of all cultivators. The stage of refining and stabilizing the body¡¯s connection to qi.


    Qi Condensation ¨C The first step toward true strength. The cultivator compresses qi into a denser, more potent form.


    Core Formation ¨C The cultivator forms a golden core within themselves, a source of boundless energy.


    Nascent Soul ¨C The core evolves into a soul-bound entity, giving the cultivator deeper control over energy and thought.


    Spirit Ascension ¨C The cultivator sheds their previous limitations, becoming a force that can influence reality itself.


    Divine Manifestation ¨C A realm beyond mortals, where a cultivator¡¯s will can shape the world itself.


    Her father paused, then continued, his tone heavy with reverence.


    ¡°Many have walked these paths before you,¡± he said. ¡°Some rose to greatness, their names etched into history as paragons of cultivation. Others... succumbed to the allure of power, their legacies drowned in blood and madness.¡±


    He lifted his gaze to meet Layla¡¯s. ¡°Let me tell you of them.¡±


    Famous Cultivators


    ¡°There was Zhao Wujin, the Jade Dragon Immortal. They say he reached Divine Manifestation at the age of thirty, his golden core so dense with qi that he could reshape entire landscapes with a flick of his sleeve. He was a man of wisdom, one who sought to uplift weaker cultivators instead of crushing them beneath his feet. His greatest feat? Holding back the collapse of the Eastern Celestial Mountains by weaving qi into the very air, creating an unshatterable equilibrium that still holds to this day.¡±


    ¡°Then there was Lady Xuanyin of the White Lotus, who pioneered the art of dual-core cultivation, allowing her to wield both Yin and Yang qi in harmony. With her mastery, she could heal the gravest wounds or unleash destruction in equal measure. It was said that during the Warring Sects Era, entire battlefields fell silent at her arrival, knowing that either salvation or annihilation would soon follow.¡±


    Layla listened intently, committing their names to memory. But then her father¡¯s expression darkened.


    Infamous Cultivators


    ¡°But not all who reach the pinnacle of cultivation remain just. Some fall into ruin, consumed by their own ambitions.¡±


    He exhaled, then spoke the first name in a whisper. ¡°Hei Long, the Abyssal Tyrant.¡±


    Layla frowned. She had never heard the name before, but the weight of it in the air was enough to send a chill down her spine.


    ¡°Once a prodigy, once a hero,¡± her father said bitterly. ¡°They say he was the first to reach Spirit Ascension in an era where others barely touched Nascent Soul. He sought absolute control over the flow of qi in others, turning warriors into lifeless puppets. When he attacked the Holy Monasteries, he enslaved thousands, using their very life force to sustain his own. The heavens struck him down in the end, or so the legends say. But there are whispers... whispers that his techniques did not die with him.¡±


    Layla remained silent as her father continued.


    ¡°And then, there was Mo Cheng the Devourer. He did not cultivate qi¡ªhe stole it. His techniques drained others, siphoning years of hard work in an instant. He fed upon the meridians of weaker cultivators, draining them to fuel his own power. He became so feared that entire sects abandoned their lands rather than risk being his prey.¡±


    Layla exhaled slowly. For every legend of honor and wisdom, there were those of terror and ruin.


    Her father studied her face carefully. ¡°Power does not make a person just, Meilin. Remember that.¡±


    2. Martial Techniques


    ¡°Qi alone does not make one powerful,¡± her father continued. ¡°Without refinement, it is like possessing an ocean but lacking the ability to wield a sword.¡±


    Layla nodded. Discipline and technique over raw strength.


    ¡°There are three primary combat styles:¡±


    Pure Martialists ¨C Those who refine their bodies through relentless training, capable of splitting mountains without ever using qi.


    Qi Warriors ¨C Those who blend martial arts with qi, using enhanced techniques to perform supernatural feats.


    Dao Seekers ¨C Those who dedicate themselves to the understanding of the world¡¯s principles, wielding reality itself as a weapon.


    ¡°The strongest warriors walk multiple paths,¡± her father said. ¡°One who refines only their qi will fall against a master of combat. One who hones only their body will break against true power. Balance is the key.¡±


    Famous Martial Artists


    ¡°There have been many who stood at the pinnacle of martial arts,¡± he continued. ¡°Legends who shaped the world not with raw qi, but with technique honed to perfection.¡±


    ¡°Shen Tian, the Heavenly Spear, was a warrior so refined in spear arts that his strikes could pierce through reality itself. It is said that at his peak, his spear could travel beyond space, striking down enemies before they even realized they had been attacked. He never relied on overwhelming qi, but on precision, footwork, and mastery of angles.¡±


    ¡°Then there was Jiang Yue, the Flowing Moon, a woman whose swordplay was like water¡ªimpossible to predict, yet endlessly adaptable. She defeated entire sects without ever being touched, flowing between their attacks like a phantom. Even when faced with cultivators wielding immense qi, her blade always found the gap between their defenses, striking where no amount of energy could protect them.¡±


    Layla listened, intrigued. These were not cultivators who relied on sheer power. They turned martial techniques into an art, a philosophy.


    Infamous Martial Artists


    Her father¡¯s expression darkened.


    ¡°But not all who perfect their techniques use them for honor.¡±


    ¡°Wu Xun, the Thousand Hands Executioner, was said to have mastered every form of hand-to-hand combat, his strikes so fast that he could tear through armor like paper. But instead of becoming a protector of the weak, he became a butcher. He sold his skills to the highest bidder, wiping out entire clans in a single night. Some say his techniques still live on, hidden within the underworld, passed down among assassins.¡±


    ¡°And then there was Bao Shuren, the Laughing Demon, whose fists could break mountains, but whose mind was even more terrifying. He believed that suffering created strength, and so he crushed countless challengers just to watch them rise again. He left behind no students, only ruins. Some say his spirit lingers in cursed battlefields, whispering forbidden secrets to those desperate enough to listen.¡±


    Layla exhaled slowly. To master martial techniques was to walk a path of discipline and refinement, but it was also a path that could lead to unchecked destruction.


    Her father studied her carefully. ¡°Strength is not defined by power alone, Meilin. It is defined by how it is used.¡±


    3. Dao Comprehension


    ¡°And then,¡± he said, his voice quieting, ¡°there is the Dao.¡±


    Layla frowned. ¡°The Dao?¡±


    ¡°The Way of All Things.¡±


    Unlike qi and martial techniques, which could be measured and practiced, Dao Comprehension was enlightenment itself.


    ¡°To understand the Dao is to understand existence,¡± her father explained. ¡°Each cultivator seeks a different truth. Some comprehend the Dao of Fire and wield flame as an extension of their will. Some follow the Dao of the Sword, making their blade an unbreakable law of the universe. Others follow the Dao of Nothingness, fading into oblivion beyond the reach of time.¡±


    Layla considered this carefully. The Dao was not just power. It was the philosophy of the world itself.


    Famous Dao Seekers


    ¡°Many have glimpsed the true nature of reality,¡± her father continued. ¡°But only a few have ever dared to embody it fully.¡±


    ¡°Master Tianlu, the Whispering Wind, understood the Dao of Emptiness. He could erase his presence from existence so completely that even the heavens could not record his presence. It is said that he walked between battlefields unseen, his enemies falling as if struck by fate itself.¡±


    ¡°Then there was Lady Yunqing, the Ocean¡¯s Reflection, whose mastery of the Dao of Mirrors allowed her to create infinite reflections of herself. Each was as real as the original, indistinguishable and deadly. She once fought an entire sect alone, her illusions turning every enemy against each other, until none remained standing but herself.¡±


    Infamous Dao Seekers


    His expression grew grim.


    ¡°But not all who seek enlightenment use it for wisdom.¡±


    ¡°The Black Sage, Xu Mo, followed the Dao of Decay, believing that all things must return to nothingness. He did not fight wars¡ªhe simply touched cities, and they crumbled. He whispered words, and entire bloodlines withered. Even now, the ruins of his passage are places where no life dares to grow.¡±


    ¡°And then, there was Gao Lan, the Thousand Truths, a man who glimpsed the fundamental laws of existence. But instead of guiding others, he sought to reshape reality itself. His Dao of Dominion allowed him to impose his will upon the world, twisting nature to obey his thoughts. When he was finally defeated, it took seven Grandmasters and the sacrifice of an entire sect to bind his existence into an eternal prison.¡±


    Layla exhaled. The Dao was not just strength¡ªit was knowledge. And knowledge could be the greatest weapon of all.


    Her father watched her carefully. ¡°To walk the Dao is to glimpse the truth behind the illusion of power. It is to wield the fabric of reality itself.¡±


    She tilted her head slightly, feigning uncertainty. "If all cultivators must progress through the known stages, and if even the strongest can fall, then where do I stand? What level have I reached?"


    Her father exhaled, studying her carefully. "You have been in an unwakeable slumber for weeks, Meilin. Your meridians should have withered, your qi should have stagnated."


    He reached out, pressing two fingers against her wrist. Layla braced herself, expecting to feel a surge of energy, a remnant of some hidden power.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    But there was nothing. No hum of boundless strength, no comforting wave of qi flowing through her veins. Only the faintest flicker of energy, weak and dormant, like dying embers struggling to reignite.


    Her father frowned, withdrawing his hand. "Your cultivation... it is not gone, but it is fragile. Whatever put you in that state has severed your progress. You will need to start again."


    Layla let out a slow breath, pushing aside any lingering delusions of an easy return. If she had truly retained her strength, then why did she feel so... unrefined? Her body did not pulse with overwhelming energy, nor did she sense any newfound power coursing through her meridians.


    She clenched her hands. If anything, she felt weak.


    Her father watched her carefully before speaking again. "Regaining what was lost will take time. Effort."


    Layla straightened, her voice firm. "Then I will train. I will restore what was lost and rebuild our sect."


    The air in the room grew heavy. Her father looked away. Her mother, who had remained silent for most of the conversation, exhaled shakily. The few elders lingering in the background averted their gazes.


    "Meilin..." her mother finally spoke, her voice tinged with sorrow. "There is nothing left to rebuild. The world has moved on. We are a dying sect."


    Layla met her father¡¯s eyes. "But not dead."


    He hesitated. "Not yet. But we are hanging by a thread. Resources are scarce, our numbers dwindle, and the other sects do not see us as a threat."


    "Then that is an advantage," Layla said immediately. "If they do not see us as a threat, they will not see us coming."


    Her father sighed, rubbing his temples. "This is not just about strength, Meilin. It is about time, about resources, about whether those who remain have the will to fight. Tell me, do you think a starving man who has lost everything will have the strength to wield a sword again?"


    Layla remained silent, but inwardly, her mind raced. She would find a way. She had to.


    Her mind worked rapidly, calculating possibilities, drawing from her past life as a ruler. What does a fallen nation need to rise again?


    First¡ªstability. The people needed food, security, and a reason to believe in the sect again. A dying sect did not attract disciples, and without new blood, the Silver Lotus Sect would wither into obscurity.


    Second¡ªresources. If cultivation was the foundation of power, then herbs, weapons, and training grounds were the pillars supporting it. They had neither the land nor the backing of any major factions. Would trade be an option? Or would they have to seize what they needed?


    Third¡ªstrength. A sect¡¯s power was judged by its strongest warriors. She had none. If they were to survive, they needed cultivators who could stand against the tides of destruction.


    Fourth¡ªalliances. No kingdom, no empire, no sect survived alone. If the Silver Lotus Sect had no allies, then Layla would create them. By force or by persuasion.


    Her fingers twitched slightly, the echoes of a past life guiding her instinctively. A dying kingdom and a dying sect¡­ are they truly so different?


    She turned to her father, ready to speak, when the doors to the hall burst open.


    A figure staggered in, covered in blood, his robes torn, his face barely recognizable beneath the bruises and cuts. Gasps filled the room as disciples rushed forward, but the man¡ªbarely standing¡ªforced himself to speak.


    "Sect Leader¡­" he rasped. "They''re coming. The Crimson Serpent Sect¡­ they intend to annihilate us."


    Silence fell, thick and suffocating. Layla swore internally, a sharp pulse of frustration running through her. Damn it. This changes everything. All her careful planning, her measured steps¡ªit meant nothing if they didn¡¯t survive the night. She had been strategizing a future, but now the present was threatening to erase them entirely.


    She clenched her fists beneath the table, nails digging into her palms. Obsolescence was not an option. If she couldn¡¯t act, if she couldn¡¯t turn this around, then all her grand ideas were worthless. She would not be worthless.


    Around her, the room was sinking into despair.


    The elders exchanged grim glances, their shoulders heavy with resignation. One of them, an old man with hollowed-out cheeks, shook his head. "So it has come to this at last."


    Her mother covered her mouth, her eyes glassy. "We cannot fight them. We barely have twenty capable disciples left. Even if we resist, it will only delay the inevitable."


    Layla glanced at her father, searching for defiance, for something other than helplessness. But his face was unreadable, his silence more damning than words.


    The battered disciple coughed violently, blood staining his lips. "They gave us an ultimatum," he wheezed. "Surrender and dissolve the sect... or be slaughtered."


    A sharp, rattling inhale filled the room. Someone stifled a sob. Another disciple sank to his knees, shaking his head as if he could will away the reality of their situation.


    Fear spread like a disease. Layla could see it¡ªfraying the last threads of resolve, wrapping around throats like an unseen noose.


    Hopelessness.


    She had seen this before, in another life. In the eyes of generals who realized the battle was lost. In the voices of rulers who knew their cities would burn.


    But she had never let it stop her before.


    And she wouldn¡¯t now.


    And she wouldn¡¯t now.


    Layla inhaled sharply, locking her emotions away. Panic is the enemy. Fear is the first defeat.


    Her gaze snapped to the wounded disciple. "How much time do we have?" Her voice was steady, sharp.


    The man swayed but forced himself to answer. "A day... two at most. Their vanguard was already moving when I escaped."


    A day.


    Layla''s mind burned with calculations. Not enough time to mount a full defense. Not enough resources to hold a siege. Not enough warriors to fight head-on.


    Layla hesitated for the briefest moment, considering the weight of what she was about to do. Should she take command? She was not the sect leader. Her father was. The elders had more experience. Yet, in this room filled with despairing faces, no one had stepped forward. No voice had risen in defiance.


    She understood human nature¡ªfear paralyzed, uncertainty killed before the enemy even arrived. They were waiting. For someone, for anyone to tell them they were not doomed.


    If no one else would take that role, then she must.


    But by doing so, she would reveal something else entirely. Something unsettling.


    They would see her not as Meilin, the daughter they had known, but as something else. Someone else.


    Then they wouldn¡¯t.


    She turned sharply, barking orders without hesitation. "Get him to the infirmary¡ªnow. Clean his wounds, apply a pain suppressant, and make sure he lives. We will not lose another soul today."


    The room jolted, startled by the authority in her voice. Even her parents looked momentarily stunned.


    This was not their Meilin. The quiet, obedient daughter who had once hesitated behind their protection was gone. In her place stood something else entirely¡ªa ruler, forged in fire.


    And yet, as her voice rang through the hall, something darker stirred within the room.


    The way she spoke, the raw command, the sharpness of her words¡ªit was too reminiscent of him.


    Her father¡¯s fingers tensed at his sides. The elders exchanged wary glances, unease creeping into their gazes. They had heard this kind of authority before, this kind of unyielding will. And it had come from the very man they feared.


    The tyrant.


    Jinhai.


    For a fleeting second, doubt flickered in her mother¡¯s eyes. Not recognition¡ªno, not yet¡ªbut something that made her look at Layla as if she were seeing a stranger wearing their daughter¡¯s skin.


    Layla felt her chest tighten, her body still weak from her slumber, but she pushed through it, stepping forward. "Those who are uninjured, gather what supplies we have! Rations, medicine, weapons¡ªanything usable. We do not have the luxury of waste!"


    No one moved. The weight of despair still clung to the room, suffocating, paralyzing. They had already accepted death.


    Layla gritted her teeth. Fine. If they would not move, then she would force them to.


    She took a deep breath, and then she shouted.


    "DO YOU WISH TO DIE AS CATTLE, OR AS WARRIORS?"


    Her voice was raw, powerful, tearing through the air like a war drum. Pain lanced through her throat, her weakened body screaming in protest, but she did not stop.


    "THE CRIMSON SERPENT SECT THINKS WE ARE NOTHING! THEY THINK WE WILL KNEEL, THAT WE WILL WAIT FOR THE EXECUTIONER¡¯S BLADE! BUT I TELL YOU NOW¡ªTHEY ARE WRONG!"


    The torches flickered. Something shifted.


    Disciples who had slumped in despair now sat straighter. The elders, once filled with silent resignation, looked uncertain. Even her parents¡ªwho had seen her as nothing more than their daughter¡ªstared at her with something unreadable in their eyes.


    Layla pressed on, forcing her voice to hold firm. A commander does not waver. A leader does not break.


    "We have one day before the Crimson Serpent Sect arrives. One day to decide whether we kneel and wait for slaughter or rise and carve our own path!"


    Her body trembled from the exertion. Damn this weakness. Damn this body for failing her. But she planted her feet, straightened her back, and lifted her chin.


    She had been a ruler once. She would be one again.


    She turned to her father, her voice quieter now but no less powerful. "Give me one day. One day to prepare, to rally, to turn this battlefield into our advantage. If by nightfall tomorrow we are still standing, then you will see what the Silver Lotus Sect is truly capable of."


    A heavy silence. Then her father exhaled slowly. "One day."


    The decision had been made. Layla clenched her fist at her side. Now, let¡¯s see if I can make them believe it.


    Unnoticed by her, her mother turned slightly, whispering to her father, "Meilin¡­ she¡¯s never spoken like this before."


    Her father did not respond. He only watched his daughter, a shadow of unreadable thoughts behind his gaze.


    Crimson Serpent Sect


    The chamber was suffocating with the mingling scents of blood, incense, and damp stone. Torches flickered against the cavernous walls, casting grotesque shadows that danced with the dying embers of the fire pit at the center. Above it all, seated atop an obsidian throne adorned with serpent motifs, Shen Mu observed his captive with a lazy, almost indifferent gaze.


    The half-dead disciple of the Silver Lotus Sect hung from iron chains, his face battered beyond recognition, his body bearing the cruel artistry of meticulous torture. His breaths were ragged, but he still lived¡ªfor now.


    "You made it far," Shen Mu murmured, swirling a goblet of spiced wine in his hand. His tone was almost admiring, but laced with mockery. "But not far enough."


    The disciple coughed weakly, blood splattering onto the stone floor.


    Shen Mu leaned forward. "You know why we are coming, don¡¯t you? It is not just for land, not just for resources."


    He crouched, gripping the disciple¡¯s chin between his fingers, forcing their gazes to meet. "It is because your sect harbors something far more dangerous than weakness. Hope."


    He stood, his voice carrying across the chamber. "Hope is a disease. It spreads like wildfire, infecting even the most broken of people. It convinces the weak that they can defy the strong. That is why we must eradicate them."


    He turned to his trusted lieutenants, his voice taking on a sharper edge. "But let¡¯s not pretend this is merely about philosophy." His gaze darkened. "Your sect leader¡ªLin Wuye¡ªhe cost me dearly years ago. He was a thorn in my father¡¯s side before I tore that old bastard¡¯s heart out myself. I will not suffer the same mistakes. The Silver Lotus Sect should have been wiped from history long ago, but the old man refused to die. Now I will correct that."


    A messenger entered, bowing low. "My Lord, our spies report movement in the Silver Lotus Sect. They have not fled. They are preparing to fight."


    Shen Mu smirked. "Oh? How unexpected. Perhaps they have found their courage after all. No matter. We will teach them what happens when the weak mistake desperation for strength."


    He turned to a hooded figure standing near the edge of the chamber¡ªsilent, unmoving. "Ensure the message reaches our informants. Let it be known that the Silver Lotus Sect is resisting. And ensure the Underlord of the West receives this¡­ personally."


    The figure did not bow. Did not speak. He simply turned and vanished into the darkness.


    Zafira, Underlord of the West


    Beyond the endless dunes and jagged ridges of the western frontier lay a bastion of steel and ambition¡ªa hidden outpost standing at the edge of civilization. A place of trade, refuge, and unseen dealings.


    This was no grand city, no gilded empire of courts and politics. It was a waystation of necessity, a lawless borderland where gold and power spoke louder than names. Merchants came to barter. Mercenaries sought employment. Smugglers whispered secrets behind closed doors. And above it all, deep within its fortified heart, the great engine was being built.


    From the worn stone paths leading to its gates to the towering scaffolds surrounding its core, the outpost thrived in organized chaos. Every brick, every beam of steel was another step toward something greater¡ªa machine unlike any the world had seen before. A creation that would either forge a new era or be lost to the sands of time.


    And at its center, seated within a dimly lit chamber lined with maps and ledgers, Zafira al-Rahim ruled.


    No deal was made, no caravan moved, no war erupted without her knowing. Her spies were not merely paid informants¡ªthey were merchants, beggars, scholars, soldiers. They were everyone and no one.


    The latest reports lay before her, scattered across a worn oak table. Prices of rare alchemical reagents fluctuating in the east. A war brewing between two sects in the north threatening trade routes. A noble family in the empire purchasing vast quantities of refined steel. The emperor¡¯s scholars seeking rare metals for something undisclosed.


    And then, the most curious report of all¡ªthe Silver Lotus Sect had chosen to resist.


    Zafira''s eyes flickered with interest. The Silver Lotus Sect, a name that once commanded respect, had been a crumbling relic for decades. Its disciples were few, its resources dwindling, and worst of all¡ªit had no successor worthy of its name.


    Lin Wuye, the current sect leader, was a man respected for his wisdom, not his strength. A father before a warrior, a teacher before a ruler. He had spent more time nurturing his disciples'' minds than sharpening their blades. His decision to lead with compassion rather than fear had left the sect vulnerable, a lamb amongst wolves.


    For years, their decline had been predictable, their fate seemingly sealed. But now¡­ resistance? Why?


    Zafira tapped a finger against the parchment. This was not the behavior of a dying sect. Something¡ªor someone¡ªhad changed the equation.


    The emergence of a new leader? A secret alliance? A weapon, perhaps? No, too sudden. There had to be a catalyst, a shift that had reignited the embers of defiance in a sect that had long been written off.


    A calculated smile curled her lips. "Interesting."


    She traced a gloved finger over the parchment, reading it once, twice. A slow, calculating smile curled upon her lips. "Interesting."


    A figure knelt before her, head bowed low. "The message was delivered as requested."


    Zafira leaned back in her chair, eyes half-lidded. "And the one who sent it?"


    The spy hesitated. "Unknown. The message changed hands several times before reaching us."


    Zafira¡¯s smile thinned. Clever. Someone didn¡¯t want her knowing who pulled the strings.


    "And yet," she mused, tapping a finger against the parchment, "it still found its way to me. How very considerate."


    She let the thought settle, filing it away. If someone wished to obscure their involvement, that meant there was more at play than a simple sect extermination.


    But she would uncover the truth in time. She always did.


    She shifted her attention back to the table, where a second report lay¡ªa list of materials requested by Emery Voss. Sulfur, saltpeter, refined steel, precision instruments. The foundation of something grander than war, if his theories held.


    From the far end of the chamber, beyond the columns draped in silk and reinforced steel, Emery was hunched over a workbench, etching calculations into papers and his quill. His brow furrowed as he muttered under his breath, adjusting his sketches¡ªschematics of a weapon unlike anything this world had seen before.


    "Your materials are being arranged," Zafira called to him without looking up.


    Emery barely acknowledged her, his focus unwavering. "Good. The refining process will take time. Precision is everything."


    She glanced at him, amused. "I thought you only concerned yourself with discovery. Since when did you care about precision in war?"


    Emery finally turned, adjusting his spectacles. "Discovery without precision is nothing but wasted potential. Besides¡­" His eyes flickered to the discarded message on her table. "If war is inevitable, I¡¯d rather not let brutes like Shen Mu dictate how it unfolds."


    Zafira tilted her head slightly. He had heard. He observed me through the smallest movement. He was always listening, always thinking. Always putting pieces together.


    She smiled. "So tell me, scholar. If Shen Mu is playing his game, and the Silver Lotus Sect refuses to fall¡­ what do you think happens next?"


    Emery exhaled, glancing back at his notes. "That depends," he murmured. "On who truly holds the pieces."


    His fingers drummed against the wooden surface of his workbench as his mind began weaving through the possibilities. Why now?


    The Silver Lotus Sect had been in decline for years. A failing sect with no prodigal successors and no great warriors to their name. Their leader, Lin Wuye, was no tactician, no warlord¡ªmerely a scholar who had clung to old ideals for far too long. If Shen Mu¡¯s forces had already been pressuring them, then logically, surrender or retreat would have been their best options. And yet¡­ they resisted.


    Was there an outside influence? Another faction backing them? No, the sect had been isolated for too long, with no known allies willing to stake their own standing for a dying cause. A new benefactor? Possible, but unlikely. A sudden breakthrough in cultivation? No, power did not come overnight.


    Which meant¡ªsomething changed internally.


    His mind cycled through the possible catalysts.


    A hidden expert resurfacing? Unlikely. There were no known grandmasters from the Silver Lotus Sect who had vanished rather than perished. A forbidden technique, a final gamble? That would be a desperate move, but not an impossible one. His mind, however, did not stop there. His thoughts drifted, shifting gears from war to something more fundamental¡ªresources, sustainability. If war was inevitable, then supplies would be paramount. He glanced at the scattered parchments on his workbench, the cost calculations, the sheer amount of leather and silk being consumed for record-keeping alone.


    His fingers tapped absently against the desk as he stared at the scattered parchments before him. The ink smudges on his fingers, the half-dried quill lying discarded at the edge of his workbench¡ªit was inefficient, frustrating. Knowledge was meant to be recorded, refined, expanded upon. Yet here he was, confined by the limitations of ink and paper, constantly rewriting entire sections when a simple correction was needed.


    "This is absurd," he muttered. "There has to be a better way."


    Zafira, watching him with idle amusement, arched a brow. "Why the sudden fuss?."


    Emery reached for a piece of charcoal, rolling it between his fingers. "Paper is fragile. Ink is permanent. Corrections are messy, and rewriting information over and over again is a waste of time and resources. What if there was a way to record knowledge temporarily¡ªsomething reusable, something that doesn¡¯t require endless stacks of parchment?"


    He sketched a quick design on the table, his movements precise and calculated. "A slate board¡ªcoated in a fine layer of dust or mineral-based residue. Write with a chalk-like substance, erase with a simple cloth. It would allow for rapid note-taking, teaching, calculations¡ªwithout the need for ink or wasted parchment."


    Zafira¡¯s fingers stilled against the parchment she had been idly tracing. Her business-minded intuition flared. "You mean to tell me that all this time, scholars have been wasting resources because no one has thought to use something temporary for writing?"


    Emery smirked slightly. "No one has needed to. Until now. But if I can refine the process¡ªfind the right materials, ensure durability¡ªit could change everything. Education, engineering, logistics... even military strategy."


    Zafira leaned forward slightly, her gaze calculating. "And can you do it?"


    Emery adjusted his glasses, his mind already spinning through the possibilities. "Given the right minerals and a stable surface? Of course. The only question is how long it will take to perfect."


    Zafira exhaled, then let out a low, knowing chuckle. "And here I thought you were just a scholar obsessed with weapons. Turns out, you might be the most dangerous man in this room."


    Emery said nothing, only smirking slightly as he returned to his sketches. The world was on the brink of war, and he was about to change it¡ªnot with swords or cultivation, but with the stroke of chalk on slate.


    Emery''s mind is always running and right now he is thinking again about the Silver Lotus situation.


    The Silver Lotus Sect. A failing sect, a weak leader, a history of steady decline¡ªnone of it made sense. Why now? Why resist?


    He exhaled sharply, adjusting his spectacles. Cultivation, as far as he was concerned, was little more than glorified mysticism. People claimed to refine ''qi'' and comprehend the ''Dao,'' but at the end of the day, strength was determined by the same rules governing everything else¡ªbiology, physics, strategy. The strongest warriors were the ones with discipline, knowledge, and the ability to adapt. No divine forces, no fate, just cause and effect.


    And yet, here they were, dealing with a sect that should have already crumbled yet had chosen to stand its ground. The logical part of his mind rejected the idea of some ''miraculous resurgence.'' There had to be something tangible behind it. Was it a last desperate act? Or had something truly changed?


    His fingers tapped against the table as he considered the possibilities. A sudden shift in leadership was the most plausible. But leaders did not appear out of thin air, especially not in a sect on the verge of ruin. If someone had stepped forward, that meant they had power¡ªnot necessarily cultivation, but influence, intelligence, or the ability to make others believe in them.


    A tactician? A war strategist? He scoffed at the notion. Such a mind would have been noticed long before now. Unless...


    Unless they had been underestimated. Hidden in plain sight.


    His smirk faded slightly. If that were the case, then the Crimson Serpent Sect might be walking into something far more dangerous than they anticipated.


    Emery shook his head. "People don''t change overnight. And sects don''t rise from the ashes without reason. Keep an eye on them, Zafira. See who comes out on top. That will tell us everything we need to know."

 Chapter 3: The Art of War

    The Gathering Storm


    Before returning to the war chamber, Layla had taken a solitary journey beyond the sect¡¯s walls. She needed time¡ªnot just to gather supplies, but to retrace the memories of her past life, to ensure her understanding of the terrain was not clouded by flawed recollection.


    Her steps were measured, deliberate. She pressed her fingers against the cold stone of the valley¡¯s edge, feeling the jagged texture beneath her fingertips. This place had once been a battlefield, one she had walked before, though not in this lifetime. The echoes of old conflicts rang in her mind, guiding her sight as she assessed every inch of land.


    She moved toward a narrow crevice between two towering cliffs, running her hand over the rough surface. A bottleneck. If the enemy came through here, it would be their grave.


    In the distance, an ancient riverbed stretched beneath the mountain pass, now dried and cracked. She knelt, scooping the coarse dirt between her fingers. This terrain is unstable. If we set cultivators that has enough firepower here, a controlled collapse could sever their formations.


    Her mind crafted plans as she walked¡ªsome she would share with her sect, others she would keep to herself. What they don¡¯t know, they can¡¯t betray. Even those she trusted most could become liabilities if their minds were too burdened with the full weight of her strategy.


    Then, as she reached a small outcrop shrouded in wild thorns, she noticed it.


    Nestled between the roots of a gnarled tree lay a single stalk of Bloodveil Orchid¡ªa rare herb potent enough to paralyze a warrior in moments. She crouched, running her fingers along its crimson petals, memories flooding back. A weapon hidden in nature. If the boy fails to obtain the requested poisons, this will suffice. If not for Shen Mu, then for another contingency.


    She plucked it carefully, storing it within her satchel before making her way back.


    Before she could take another step, something in her stirred¡ªa sensation she had never consciously tapped into. A slow, deliberate inhale, and suddenly, she could feel it. Qi. It was faint, but present, like a slow-moving current running beneath her skin. She had heard of cultivation, seen it practiced, but she had never attempted it herself. This body, new yet familiar, was reacting to the flow of energy around her.


    Layla closed her eyes, allowing the sensation to deepen, trying to understand what it meant. She focused on channeling the energy, attempting to guide it through her fingertips. There was no instruction, only instinct. She extended her palm toward a tree, releasing a faint pulse of energy.


    Nothing.


    She frowned, recalibrating, then turned her focus to a nearby boulder. This time, she pushed harder, willing the energy outward. A dull thud echoed as the stone barely shifted.


    Layla sighed. Pathetic.


    Then she turned away.


    Master Daokan stood at a distance, his form partially concealed by the shadows of the towering trees. He had been observing Layla¡¯s actions in silence, his aged eyes narrowing as he watched her movements. To her, he was nothing more than a flicker in the corner of her vision, a silhouette swallowed by the night. She had no time to pay him any mind¡ªthere was a war to win, and distractions had no place in her thoughts. The elder cultivator had been walking the outskirts of the sect grounds when he sensed an unfamiliar ripple in the flow of qi. Drawn to the anomaly, he followed it to the clearing where Layla had trained.


    At first, he had dismissed her efforts¡ªher qi reserves were pitifully low, almost negligible. Any ordinary cultivator would have struggled to influence even a leaf with such a minuscule pool of energy. And yet, what she had truly done defied explanation. How could someone with barely any qi cause such devastation? The logical conclusion was that her technique was not one of overwhelming power, but of something far more insidious¡ªprecision. Destruction that took root within, unseen until it was too late when he saw the tree she had barely touched moments ago was now blackened from the inside, its veins crumbling into rot. Even the air around it felt¡­ wrong.


    His breath hitched. This was no ordinary qi manipulation. This was something far more sinister.


    "Internal destruction¡­ but not like anything I¡¯ve seen before," he muttered. His fingers trembled slightly as he knelt beside the tree, pressing his palm against its surface. The moment he made contact, a faint pulse of residual energy lashed at his senses, sharp and invasive. He withdrew his hand quickly, unsettled.


    "This is not normal," he whispered.


    Master Daokan had seen countless forms of qi cultivation in his lifetime, had fought warriors who bent energy to their will in extraordinary ways. But this¡­ this was different. This was not the destruction of force, but corrosion from within. A silent, creeping death. The worst kind of power¡ªone that gave no warning before it was too late.


    He turned his gaze toward where Layla had disappeared, his expression grim. If she did not understand what she had just done, if she did not learn to control it¡­


    The consequences could be terrifying.


    Master Daokan exhaled slowly, his breath shaky. Without taking his eyes off the corrupted tree, he subtly gestured with two fingers. Hidden within the darkness, two figures shifted¡ªthe disciples he had brought with him, silent and unseen until now.


    "Find out everything you can about her," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "But do not alert her. Not yet."


    The two figures vanished as quickly as they had appeared, slipping into the night like ghosts. Daokan remained for a moment longer, his expression grim.


    Whatever this was, whatever Layla-Meilin had become¡ªhe needed to understand it before it was too late. "The sect must be warned¡­ but how do you warn them of something you don¡¯t even understand?"


    The Engineer¡¯s DilemmaThe narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Hundreds of miles away, Emery Voss hunched over his workbench, frustration simmering beneath the surface. The latest firearm prototype lay disassembled before him, a reminder of his stalled progress.


    Flintlock? No, too inconsistent. Matchlock? No, too slow. Percussion caps? Too advanced for the materials available.


    He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "This is absurd. If only I had the resources, I could revolutionize warfare."


    Then he stopped himself. No. Warfare is not my goal. The engine is. His focus had drifted too far into the realm of destruction. His true purpose was not battle¡ªit was progress. Quiet, inevitable progress.


    A voice interrupted his thoughts. "Losing your mind again, Emery?"


    He looked up to see Callum Renshaw, his assistant, leaning against the doorway with a knowing smirk. Callum, a man of logic and quick wit, had an uncanny ability to keep Emery grounded.


    "Not losing my mind," Emery muttered. "Just recalibrating."


    Callum strode over, glancing at the sketches. "You¡¯re stuck on ignition mechanisms again?"


    "Among other things," Emery admitted. He tapped a separate blueprint¡ªa rough sketch of the chalkboard device he was designing for efficient note-taking. "This will work. The firearm? Not yet."


    Callum raised an eyebrow. "Then why not shift your focus? You¡¯re not building an army, Emery. You¡¯re building the future."


    Emery exhaled, nodding. "You''re right."


    Yet, even as he redirected his thoughts, another problem weighed heavily on his mind. His chalkboard invention was nearly complete¡ªbut something else had surfaced.


    A separate message had arrived from his informants, bearing news not of science but of war. The conflict between the Silver Lotus Sect and the Crimson Serpent Sect was reaching a critical point, but his network was not as extensive as Zafira¡¯s. What he did know, however, was troubling. The Serpents were moving in ways that defied conventional strategy. Someone¡ªperhaps Shen Mu himself¡ªwas adapting.


    A carrier pigeon had returned, a note tied securely to its leg. Emery retrieved it, recognizing the seal of one of his informants. He unfolded the parchment with careful fingers, scanning its contents. His breath hitched.


    Someone¡ªsomewhere¡ªhad supposedly discovered the laws of continuity.


    That shouldn¡¯t be possible. He had only begun theorizing about such concepts himself. No one else should have even considered it, let alone found proof.


    His fingers tightened around the parchment. "Who¡­? And how?" His mind raced through possibilities. A hidden scholar? An unknown sect? Or... something else entirely?


    Callum crossed his arms. "You¡¯re still stuck on that report, huh?"


    Emery handed him the paper. "Someone cracked the laws of continuity before I could even solidify the theory. It¡¯s impossible."


    Callum skimmed the text, lips pursed. "Maybe not impossible. Just improbable. You want me to track this down?"


    Emery nodded. "Yes. Get me every record, every rumor. And while you¡¯re at it, check with Zafira¡ªsee when ''that'' is arriving. We¡¯ll need it sooner than expected."


    Callum grinned. "Got it. But if I find something ridiculous, you owe me a drink."


    Emery smirked. "If you find something at all, I might owe you more than that."


    As Callum left, Emery turned back to his work, his thoughts consumed by possibilities. If someone had truly discovered the laws of continuity, then everything¡ªscience, technology, even the foundations of this world¡ªwas about to change.


    And Emery intended to be at the centre of it.


    The Midnight Battle Begins


    The moment had arrived.


    Layla stood at the highest balcony of the main hall, the cold night air brushing against her face. Below her, the warriors of the Silver Lotus Sect stood in formation, their eyes locked on the darkness beyond the valley. The sound of distant marching reverberated through the air, a steady drum of impending conflict.


    A young disciple rushed toward her, bowing deeply. "Lady Meilin, the poison has been successfully mixed and delivered."


    Layla nodded. "Good, Bao. Now prepare the sedative contingency. If this battle extends beyond five minutes, we may need to escalate."


    Bao hesitated. "Five minutes, my lady? That seems¡ª"


    "If it takes longer than that, it means their numbers are far greater than expected." Layla¡¯s gaze hardened. "In that case, we move to Plan C. The boulders."


    She had only managed to spend a few hours ensuring their placement along the cliffs, hastily coordinating with the few cultivators she had to move the boulders into position. It was a sloppy job, rushed and imperfect, but it would have to suffice. If the enemy was too large to outmaneuver, they would be crushed beneath the weight of the mountain¡ªor so she planned.


    Bao nodded swiftly and vanished into the shadows, carrying out his new orders.


    Layla descended from the balcony, making her way toward the war chamber where the remaining elders awaited. The moment she entered, murmurs filled the room¡ªdoubt and unease lingered in their expressions. "We need a fallback if Plan C fails," one of the elders stated. "What if they break through before the boulders drop?"


    Layla exhaled. "Then we fall back to the northern ridge and use the terrain to create a bottleneck. I already stationed cultivators there for reinforcement."


    Her father, Lin Wuye, watched her carefully before speaking. "That is only half of the truth, isn''t it? You have a true plan beyond these contingencies. What is it?"


    Layla met his gaze, weighing her words carefully. "If they push us too far, we lure them into the abandoned ruins east of the valley. The structures there are unstable. If we bring them down at the right moment, it will cut their forces in half."


    A silence stretched in the room before an elder finally muttered, "Risky."


    "Necessary," Layla countered. "We cannot afford to lose this battle. We must control the flow of the fight, no matter the cost."


    Layla inhaled deeply, her inner clock counting each second as she watched the battlefield below. Five minutes. No more.


    The Serpent''s Perspective


    Shen Mu stood at the front of his formation, the scent of damp earth thick in the midnight air. The oppressive silence was unsettling, broken only by the faint rustle of armor and the muted shuffle of his soldiers¡¯ boots.


    He had anticipated resistance, but something about this battle felt wrong. There were no torches lit along the enemy¡¯s walls, no frantic shouting of orders¡ªonly the cold, whispering wind.


    Shen Mu smirked. Are they hiding in fear?


    His forces advanced cautiously. He had devised multiple plans for breaching the Silver Lotus Sect¡¯s defenses, yet none had accounted for this eerie absence of immediate resistance. A feint? A retreat? Or are they setting a trap?


    Then, as they reached the valley¡¯s entrance, he saw it¡ªa lone figure standing at the centre of the open terrain.


    One cultivator.


    He blinked, uncertain. Is this a bluff? An envoy? A fool? His instinct screamed at him, but before he could act, the lone figure raised an arm.


    A deafening rush of wind exploded across the battlefield.


    Gale Severance.


    The gust struck with the force of a collapsing storm, tearing through the first wave of his soldiers, sending them sprawling backward. Shen Mu¡¯s eyes widened as he steadied himself, struggling to maintain balance.


    Then came the shadows.


    Figures darted between the trees and ridges, striking with impossible speed before vanishing once more into the night. The battle had begun¡ªnot as an open clash, but as a massacre of precision.


    Guerrilla warfare.


    Shen Mu gritted his teeth. So this was their game.


    In just thirty seconds, his perfect formation was already starting to unravel.


    The enemy was drawing closer.


    Shen Mu sneered as he observed the eerie silence ahead. Cowards. Was this how the once-respected Silver Lotus Sect intended to fight? Hiding in the shadows, refusing to face him with honour? He gritted his teeth, the thought igniting a simmering fury within him. War was meant to be a clash of wills, of strength against strength. Not this. Not tricks and deception.


    And yet, as he scoffed at their cowardice, an unsettling thought slithered into his mind, one that mirrored the mind of his unseen opponent. He''s probably thinking this is dishonourable.


    Layla, watching from above, smirked. But honour never won a battle!


    A cold wind swept past her, and at that moment, a nearby bird let out a startled cry before taking off frantically into the night. Even nature itself seemed to shudder at her expression.

 The Battle of Two Commanders

    The Battlefield Countdown


    One minute.


    Layla''s breath was steady, her mind running through every moving piece of the battlefield like a grand game board. Her soldiers moved swiftly between the trees and cliffs, darting in and out of view. From the north, archers rained hell upon the Serpent Sect¡¯s front lines, forcing them to hesitate. From the east, traps hidden beneath the underbrush activated, spikes impaling unsuspecting warriors.


    Everything was proceeding as she had predicted.


    Two minutes.


    In the sect¡¯s ranks, murmurs turned to confident cheers.


    "Look at them scatter!" One warrior laughed as he drove his blade into a fallen enemy. "Like headless chickens in a storm!"


    "And to think they thought they''d outlast us!" Another scoffed, twisting his spear free from a writhing foe. "Meilin planned for everything. We could be drinking by sunrise!"


    "Someone get Shen Mu a map," a younger disciple jeered, loosing an arrow into the chaos. "He looks lost."


    To them, the battle was unfolding precisely as Meilin had orchestrated. They could win this.


    And then¡ª


    The enemy forces had started to panic, their tight formations disrupted by the guerrilla tactics. Her cultivators struck hard and retreated, never staying long enough for retaliation. Shen Mu was gathering his bearings, standing amidst the chaos like an unmovable pillar. He had underestimated her¡ªexpected a war of attrition, not a slaughter in the shadows.


    Layla''s fingers curled around the hilt of her blade. He¡¯s starting to realize.


    Three minutes has passed.


    I have two minutes left before we win this war. This is easier than-


    A pulse of raw energy surged through the battlefield, sending chills down Layla''s spine. What?


    She turned her gaze toward Shen Mu, and what she saw made her stomach twist.


    The air around him wavered like a mirage, his qi condensing into an almost physical force. The ground cracked beneath his feet as he let out a deep, guttural roar. His body twisted unnaturally, his arms flexing as veins bulged across his skin. A sickly crimson aura bled from his body, like steam rising from fresh blood.


    Then he moved.


    Like a beast unchained, he tore through the battlefield, his fists crashing into the earth with enough force to shatter stone. This is not normal qi usage. This was something else¡ªa martial art so brutal and unrefined that it seemed almost self-destructive.


    Layla''s breath hitched as she saw him tear through her forces, his fists pulverizing soldiers, his kicks sending bodies flying into trees. He was not just fighting¡ªhe was consuming everything in his path with sheer force.


    For the first time in a long, long time¡ª


    She felt fear.


    Shen Mu¡¯s eyes locked onto her.


    Then, he leaped. Straight towards her tower.


    A powerful strike sent the entire structure crumbling, debris crashing down around her. Layla braced herself, but before the full weight of the collapse could crush her, a figure slammed into her, pushing her clear of the falling wreckage.


    Bao.


    His body shielded her, his breath ragged. Layla stared in disbelief, but before she could even react¡ª


    Shen Mu was there.


    A blur of motion¡ª


    A sickening crack¡ª


    Bao¡¯s body hurled across the battlefield, slamming into a shattered pillar with a sickening crunch. Agony exploded through his ribs as he felt something crack¡ªhis breath came in ragged, shallow gasps. His left arm hung uselessly at his side, his shoulder dislocated from the impact. Blood trickled from his forehead, blurring his vision, yet he forced himself to move, even as his body screamed in protest. Every inhale was a stab of fire in his lungs, every twitch of his muscles sent searing pain through his nerves. Yet, even through the haze of suffering, his eyes sought Meilin¡ªwas she safe?


    Layla''s vision locked onto Bao. A sickening coldness spread through her limbs as she screamed his name. She barely registered what was gonna happen next as she tried to move,  her instincts screaming at her to dodge. But before she could react, before even another sweat of hers drop


    A foot collided with her stomach.


    The force of Shen Mu¡¯s kick sent her flying, her ribs fracturing on impact. A grotesque crunch echoed in her ears as her back slammed against the ruins of her tower. Pain flared through every nerve, stealing the air from her lungs. Her mouth opened, but no sound came. She gasped¡ªonce, twice¡ªbefore finally coughing, red mist spraying from her lips. Her inner qi was scrambling to keep her alive. She could feel her body energy no longer being stable.


    Her arms trembled as she tried to push herself up. She couldn''t.


    Shen Mu stalked toward her, his crimson aura seething with unrestrained malice. Every movement sent fresh agony through her broken body. Her vision swam, her head throbbing from where debris had struck her skull.


    She had never felt this fragile before.


    She had never felt so close to death.


    And as Shen Mu loomed over her, grinning like a beast eyeing its wounded prey¡ª


    She felt something she had abandoned long ago.


    Fear.


    The Desperate Escape


    Emery ran.


    This is ridiculous. Absolutely, painfully ridiculous.


    It had started as a simple errand. He had gone out to procure additional materials for his latest project¡ªone that, in theory, would revolutionize small-scale combustion mechanics. But of course, nothing could ever be simple.


    The vendor had tried to overcharge him. And being Emery¡ªlogical, meticulous, and utterly unwilling to be scammed¡ªhe had done what any reasonable man would do.


    He lectured the vendor.


    For five minutes.


    In excruciating detail. Citing economic principles, material costs, and the merchant¡¯s own incorrect arithmetic.


    "I don¡¯t know what kind of half-wit clientele you usually deal with," Emery had said, crossing his arms. "But I assure you, I will not be extorted like some clueless farmer¡¯s son. Your prices are as inflated as your ego, and quite frankly, an insult to basic market integrity."


    It was only when the vendor''s face darkened and a man in the back cracked his knuckles that Emery began to suspect he had miscalculated.


    The vendor¡¯s lips curled. "You talk too much."


    Then, with an almost casual flick of his fingers, he muttered something to a shadow lingering behind the stall.


    "Kill him."


    And that was how Emery found himself sprinting through the dark, clutching his life¡¯s work, praying to every scientific principle he had ever respected that he wouldn¡¯t die because of a damn overpricing dispute.


    His breath burned in his throat, his legs screaming for relief. His satchel, filled with his life¡¯s work, slammed against his back with every desperate step.


    Behind him, the pursuer was gaining.


    Think, damn it. Think!


    His mind raced through possibilities. He had no weapons, no training in combat¡ªbut he had knowledge. That would have to be enough.


    His eyes darted to a thick, gnarled tree up ahead. There. He fumbled into his satchel, pulling free a handful of chemicals wrapped in parchment. Homemade explosives. Crude, unstable¡ªbut desperate men don¡¯t have the luxury of refinement.


    With a flick of his fingers, he ignited the fuse and hurled the bundle behind the tree.


    BOOM.


    Bark and dirt erupted into the air, sending a cloud of debris into his pursuer¡¯s path. Emery pushed forward, barely buying himself three seconds of distance¡ª


    Pain. A sensation he was not familiar with.


    A blade pierced into his left leg. His body twisted as he stumbled, hitting the ground hard. White-hot pain shot through his leg, spreading like fire with every twitch of his muscles. Blood pooled beneath him, his vision blurring. He tried to move, but the wound sent another sharp jolt through his body, forcing a ragged gasp from his throat.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Damn it¡ªhow much blood am I losing?


    His fingers clawed into the dirt as he fought to stay conscious. I just need to move. Just a little more. But the pain was relentless, his body betraying him as his strength bled away with every passing second.


    No. Not now.


    His pursuer stepped forward, blade dripping with his blood. The air between them was suffocating, filled with a presence Emery could barely comprehend. His mind, so used to equations and logic, struggled to define the way this person moved. Even in this scenario all Emery could think about, was how to get out of this


    Then, in a flash of steel¡ª


    Zafira.


    She intercepted, her twin blades clashing against the attacker¡¯s weapon with a force that sent shockwaves rippling through the ground and even pushed back Emery scrawny body.


    For the first time in three years, Emery felt something similar from Zafira. The same anger when Layla death was announced.


    Rage.


    His hands clenched into fists as he tried to push himself up, but his wounded leg screamed in protest. His vision swam, but all he could focus on was Zafira, battling against a force he could barely comprehend.


    Her strikes were fast, precise¡ªyet every movement of their opponent felt unnatural, as though they were predicting her moves before she made them.


    Zafira¡¯s thoughts raced as she fought. Who the hell fights like this?


    Her opponent¡¯s style wasn¡¯t just efficient¡ªit was alien. Their dodges weren¡¯t reactionary, they were calculated, as if they knew the exact angles to evade. She had faced assassins, warriors, qi masters¡ªbut this was something else.


    And for the first time in a long while¡ª


    She wondered if she could actually win.


    Zafira gritted her teeth as she adjusted her stance. This wasn¡¯t working. Every exchange sent vibrations through her arms, the sheer impact numbing her fingers. Her opponent¡¯s blade was heavier than expected, and every parry rattled her bones. This isn¡¯t just strength¡ªit¡¯s technique, something I don¡¯t understand.


    She pivoted, shifting into a stance she had learned from a sword master in the Eastern Isles¡ªa flowing, unpredictable form that mimicked the ebb and flow of water. With a sharp inhale, she moved, her blade tracing new patterns through the air.


    But even as she weaved between attacks, she kept an eye on Emery. The fool was still breathing, but his face was twisted in pain. And then, because it was Emery¡ªbecause it had to be¡ªhe spoke, through clenched teeth, in pure defiance of his own injuries.


    "I wasn¡¯t about to waste the budget on a scam artist!"


    Zafira let out a short, exasperated breath as she parries an attack "You angered a noble merchant for over pricing!?"


    "He started it!"


    A deep gash sliced across her cheek as she was forced to dodge at the last second. She growled, cursing as fresh blood dripped onto her collar. Her gaze snapped back to her opponent, irritation flaring. "You¡¯re going to be the death of me, Emery!"


    Three minutes.


    That was how long the battle lasted.


    Zafira¡¯s blade found its mark, slicing clean through flesh and bone. A head fell to the ground, and with it, the eerie silence that followed.


    She stumbled, her breathing ragged. She had won. But at what cost? Her pride to strength.


    Zafira knew her body better than anyone. And right now, it was screaming in protest. Her arms felt like lead, her grip weak against the hilt of her sword. Every inch of her body ached, her muscles torn from strain, her bones trembling from the impact of every blocked strike. Her ribs throbbed with every inhale, the deep bruising beneath her armor making even standing a conscious effort.


    Her left shoulder stung¡ªa shallow but sharp cut from when her opponent¡¯s blade had nearly found its mark. Blood trickled down her arm, sticking to the fabric beneath her armor. Worse than the external wounds, though, was the raw, aching exhaustion deep in her core. She had pushed her body past its limit, and it was demanding repayment.


    She clenched her jaw. Damn it. I had to rely on a damn technique. Again.


    Zafira prided herself on her strength, on her ability to carve through enemies with sheer force when necessary. But against this opponent, she hadn¡¯t been able to overpower them. She had been forced to rely on adaptation, footwork, precision¡ªall the techniques she had learned from sword masters across the continent. And while those skills had saved her life, the realization burned in her chest like a humiliation she couldn¡¯t shake.


    She spat to the side, her expression hardening. "If I was stronger, I wouldn''t have needed to dodge so damn much."


    Her legs buckled beneath her, and before she could stop herself, she collapsed to one knee. A sharp, searing pain shot through her ribs, and she clenched her jaw, suppressing a groan. Damn it. She tried to move, but her arms felt heavy, her muscles screaming in protest.


    Her fingers twitched against the hilt of her sword. I overcompensated. I relied too much on skill¡ªagain. I should''ve trained harder.


    She had trained under warriors, assassins, swordmasters from distant lands. She had studied a hundred different techniques, perfected her footwork, refined her counters. But none of it changed the fact that, in the end, she had to outthink her opponent to survive. Strength had never been her path, and that bitter truth gnawed at her now more than ever.


    Her vision blurred for a moment, her body swaying. The weight of exhaustion pressed against her like an unseen force, dragging her closer to the dirt. But she refused to collapse. Not yet. Not in front of him.


    Her gaze flicked to Emery. He was still barely holding himself together, his breathing uneven, his blood staining the ground beneath him. Her frustration twisted into something else entirely. She falls down with blood starting to form a pool underneath her and all she thought of was


    "This idiot almost got himself killed over a budget dispute"


    Behind her, Emery forced himself to move. His vision swam as he tried to stand, his body fighting against every instinct to collapse. But he had never felt horror like this before.


    His entire life had been dictated by logic. Calculations, probabilities, cold efficiency¡ªeverything had its answer. But now, as he looked at Zafira, battered, bleeding, barely holding herself together, his mind came up empty.


    He had followed her for years, had seen her wield her blades like an artist with a brush. Even when he could explain how those techniques science wise, he always had watched her dance through battles with an ease that defied everybody. But he had never seen her like this. Struggling. Hurt. Pushed to the limit.


    Something inside him cracked. Not science. Not logic. Something far more primal.


    His fingers dug into the dirt as he pushed forward, dragging himself forward despite the fire burning in his leg. Each movement was agony, yet something deeper than pain pushed him on. His throat felt raw, his mind reeling between the sharp clarity of knowing what needed to be done and the overwhelming rage at seeing her like this.


    For the first time, science took a backseat. Emotion ignited in its place.


    "GET ME MEDICINE! NOW DAMMIT! WHAT YOU DOING THERE STANDING LIKE IDIOTS!?"


    It wasn''t a request. It wasn''t a calculated order. It was a demand¡ªa plea¡ªa command torn from a place inside him he had never acknowledged before. Not for logic. Not for strategy. But for her.


    For the first time, his mind and heart aligned in the same direction.


    Logic told him to stop. That his injuries were severe. That he needed to think rationally.


    But logic had no place here.


    Not when she was barely standing.


    Not when she had fought for him.


    Not when he had never once been able to fight for her.


    And so, Emery moved. Not with reason. Not with calculation. But with something far more dangerous.


    Emotion.


    The battlefield stood still, but the weight of what had transpired sank deep into every heart. The warriors of the Zafira''s crew once emboldened by her now stood in silent horror. They had seen their commander fight like her life depended on it.


    Now, they saw her crumpled on the ground, struggling to move, her body bloodied and broken.


    "She... She¡¯s hurt..." one crew member stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Commander Zafira is... actually hurt."


    "No¡ªshe¡¯s still alive! She¡ªshe¡¯ll get up, right? She always does!"


    "Then why isn¡¯t she moving?!"


    The crushing realization settled in¡ªtheir unshakable commander was fallible. And if Zafira could fall, what did that mean for them?


    Meanwhile, Emery¡¯s assistant, Callum, stood frozen. He had never seen Emery lose his composure¡ªnot once, not even when facing impossible calculations, dangerous experiments, or life-threatening risks. But this was different.


    Emery wasn¡¯t analyzing. He wasn¡¯t calculating.


    He was screaming.


    "STOP TALKING YOU DUMB BITCH! GET ME THE MEDICINE NOW!"


    For the first time, Callum felt something unexpected¡ªfear. Not of the situation, but of what would happen if Zafira died.


    A slow, methodical crunch of footsteps echoed through the battlefield. Shen Mu moved with a deliberate slowness, his eyes locked on Meilin¡¯s broken form. Blood dripped from his knuckles, pooling at his feet. He exhaled, the sound deep and guttural, before reaching down¡ª


    And grabbing Layla by the hair.


    Pain erupted through her scalp as she was yanked upward. A sharp, involuntary scream tore from her throat, her hands scrambling weakly against his wrist. Her limbs felt heavy, useless, her ribs burning with every ragged breath.


    Her mind screamed at her to move, to resist, but her body refused.


    "Ah...This pain¡­ this weakness¡­ I hate it." she tells to herself


    Her vision blurred with tears, her body trembling as Shen Mu lifted her higher. His grip was like iron, unforgiving, every movement sending fresh agony through her already broken frame.


    "So fragile," he mused, voice laced with cruel amusement. "I expected more from the woman who orchestrated this little ambush. You do look pretty even when covered with your own blood"


    Layla choked back a whimper as she tried to focus, but the agony was blinding. Every breath felt like knives slicing through her lungs, her senses drowning under the overwhelming weight of her injuries. I can¡¯t think. I can¡¯t breathe.


    And then she realized¡ªthe battlefield had grown silent. She knew that either her plans work with perfection and suffered no loss except her or this was about to be a bloodbath.


    The warriors who had secured their victories were now returning, only to find Meilin dangling helplessly in Shen Mu¡¯s grasp.


    They stopped. Stared. Horror settled into their expressions as they felt the shift in the air, a dark presence swallowing their fleeting triumph. The suffocating weight of Shen Mu¡¯s power spread through the battlefield like a creeping plague.


    "Meilin¡­?" One of them whispered, disbelieving. "No¡­ no, this isn¡¯t right."


    Bao, bloodied and battered, forced himself to move. His entire body screamed against the effort, but he could not¡ªwould not¡ªstay still.


    Layla''s blurry vision locked onto him, and for a fleeting moment, her face twisted¡ªnot in desperation, but in silent command. We won. Ask them to leave me. The words never passed her lips, but they were there, screaming through the pain in her eyes. She did not want them to fight for her now. Not when they had already given their all. Not when she could already feel the weight of defeat crushing her lungs.


    But Bao didn''t listen. He never would. He crawled like a worm towards her.


    Her body spasmed as she tried to move, an unnatural burst of adrenaline forcing her limbs to respond. She gritted her teeth, clawing at Shen Mu¡¯s wrist, trying to pry herself free. Her vision darkened at the edges, pain screaming through her bones as she struggled. Move. Move, damn you!


    Shen Mu barely reacted. He exhaled, annoyed, like one swatting away a gnat.


    "Still fighting? Tch." His grip tightened in her hair, sending fresh agony through her skull. He yanked her up higher, her toes now at his stomach level. "You¡¯re starting to be an eyesore."


    His other hand pulled back, fingers flexing¡ªpreparing to end her. The air started to be disoriented. The air was heavy. The killing she knew all too well. She was about to die through a gut punch.


    Then, a gust of wind. A blur of motion.


    A fist, heavier than steel, slammed into Shen Mu¡¯s ribs.


    The impact sent a shockwave through the battlefield. The earth beneath them cracked and birds that stood on branches loss their balance. Dust and debris kicked up around them as Shen Mu¡¯s feet skidded against the bloodstained earth. A grunt of pain escaped his lips as he released Meilin from his grip, shaking his arm as if to rid himself of an irritant. Layla barely registered her sudden freedom¡ªher body flies into the sky like a marionette with cut strings.


    Up there, staring at the darkened sky above, a bitter thought crept into her mind. Why am I the first person to die twice in a single day?


    She let out a wheezing, broken laugh, the sound barely more than a whisper. Her limbs twitched, trying and failing to move. Not yet. Not like this.


    Before she could spiral further into the abyss of unconsciousness, strong arms caught her, cradling her broken frame. Through blurred vision, she looked up and saw her father.


    Lin Wuye¡¯s face, always so composed, was twisted in something she had rarely seen¡ªgrief. His eyes, rimmed red, darted over her injuries, his breath uneven. "Meilin..." he whispered, voice cracking, as though saying her name aloud would make this nightmare more real.


    Tears fell, unnoticed, as his grip on her tightened. He gently lowers her down to a tree with shaky arms.


    "You will live Meilin, I will make sure of it" he said to her.


    Shen Mu, still rubbing his ribs, let out a low chuckle. "Now, this is interesting. The wise Lin Wuye, breaking his vow of pacifism? I should be honored."


    Standing before him was Lin Wuye¡ªMeilin¡¯s father.


    His scholar¡¯s robes were torn, streaked with dirt and blood. His hands trembled, clenched into fists. His face, always calm, always composed, was contorted with fury, his eyes wet with unshed tears.


    Lin Wuye didn¡¯t answer. He had no words left. Only rage.


    And Shen Mu? He welcomed it with a grin.

 Shifting Fates

    The Kingdom''s Ruler


    Jinhai lounged in his chamber, legs crossed, swirling a cup of wine idly in one hand. The faint glow of candlelight flickered over his papers, stacks of reports detailing minor disputes, trade fluctuations, and military skirmishes. His kingdom ran efficiently, as it always did. That was the way he had built it¡ªa machine, not a monarchy.


    A light knock at the door.


    "Enter."


    A messenger stepped in, bowing deeply before setting a stack of fresh reports onto his desk. "My lord, the situation with the Silver Lotus Sect has escalated. Master Lin Wuye and Shen Mu are set to clash at midnight."


    Jinhai¡¯s fingers paused against the rim of his wine cup.


    Lin Wuye.


    For the first time in years, that name stirred something in him¡ªnot as a ruler, but as a man who once had a past.


    He had known Lin Wuye long before they had become what they were now¡ªbefore Jinhai was a sovereign, before Lin Wuye had taken his path as a scholar. Once, they had been two boys caught between the expectations of their lineage and the boundless ambitions of their youth. They had studied under the same masters, debated philosophy under moonlight, and once even vowed that if they ever held power, they would reshape the world together.


    But that was lifetimes ago.


    The man Lin Wuye had become was not the boy Jinhai once knew. And Jinhai¡­ Jinhai had long abandoned those youthful dreams. Ideals did not build empires. Ruthlessness did.


    His grip on the cup tightened for a fraction of a second. Then, his expression smoothed over like glass, and when he finally spoke, his voice was devoid of anything but cold indifference.


    Jinhai barely glanced up. "A sect dispute? Why are you wasting my time with this?"


    "The region may destabilize if¡ª"


    "If they tear themselves apart, it is of no concern to me." He took a slow sip of his wine, waving a hand dismissively. "Tell the border generals to tighten control of the region. If it collapses, we will pick through the rubble at our leisure."


    The messenger hesitated. "And the situation regarding the merchant request?"


    Jinhai sighed. "Which one? I get this lowly merchants who wants to open sweet shops, weapon shops and even a casino. None of them is exciting and can be put on hold"


    His messenger sterned and said "A merchant named Atlas seeks permission to establish a trade outpost and workshop within our territory. His credentials are impressive, and he claims to bring innovations that could revolutionize production." he hands him over his paperwork and credentials research done on Atlas.


    Jinhai leaned forward slightly, finally looking interested. "Let him set up a shop. Innovation breeds power. But watch him. If he is lying, ensure his disappearance is swift and untraceable."


    The messenger nodded. "And lastly, my lord, your intelligence division has requested guidance. They have received your orders to investigate Yasmina¡¯s death and are seeking leads on her most loyal follower. However, there is little to go on."


    Jinhai tapped a finger against the armrest of his chair, his mind already knew this could''ve happened. "If information is scarce, we pull from a different source. Have my best spies make contact with the Underworld Queen."


    The messenger stiffened at the name. "Are you certain, my lord? She is... unpredictable."


    Jinhai smirked. "Yes, she is. But she is also the most well-connected figure in the underworld. If anyone knows who Yasmina¡¯s devoted follower was, it is her. Tell our men to offer whatever she wants in return for that information."


    As the messenger left, Jinhai exhaled sharply, staring at the flickering candlelight.


    How ironic.


    Here he was, seeking information from a shadowed figure he had never met. And yet, unbeknownst to him, the infamous Underworld Queen was already closer than he realized.


    A Scholar¡¯s Dilemma


    The room smelled of herbs and ink, a strange combination of medicine and industry. Emery sat beside the cot where Zafira lay unconscious, her chest rising and falling steadily, though her face was still pale.


    His fingers worked tirelessly, scribbling notes on parchment while his other hand idly ground a medicinal root with a mortar and pestle. Even injured, even after nearly losing her, he could not sit still. His mind needed to work. His hands needed to build. His leg was taken care of by Callum, a rare thing as Emery despises physical touch but allows it from him.


    Across the room, Callum stood frozen, staring at his master nursing a woman with far too much care for someone who supposedly only cared about science.


    Emery sighed, not even looking up as he reached out and yanked Callum¡¯s ear.


    "Whatever you¡¯re thinking, stop thinking it."


    "I¡ªI wasn¡¯t thinking anything!" Callum yelped, rubbing his ear. "I just¡ªwell, you don¡¯t exactly do this for everyone, Master Emery. I mean, you made me treat my own wounds the last time I got injured!"


    "You tripped over a bucket. That¡¯s not an injury. That¡¯s natural selection trying to do its job."


    Callum scowled, but before he could argue, Emery waved a hand. "Enough. Have you gotten any updates about the law of continuity request I had you put out into the network?"


    Callum blinked, then quickly dug into his satchel and pulled out a collection of letters. "Right! So, I worded it carefully to attract only serious scholars. I asked for anyone with knowledge on theoretical mechanics and the progression of forces without external interference."


    Emery gave him a flat stare. "That¡¯s what you wrote?"


    "Yes? What¡¯s wrong with that?"


    Emery groaned. "You should have phrased it like this¡ª¡®Has anyone observed momentum that seemingly violates natural resistance? Has anyone proven this phenomenon exists?¡¯


    Callum blinked. "That¡¯s the same thing."


    "No, it¡¯s not! You left it open-ended, which means I¡¯ll get every self-proclaimed ¡®scholar¡¯ with a half-baked theory instead of someone with actual results."


    Callum crossed his arms. "Fine, fine. I¡¯ll make the correction. But if I end up attracting some insane philosopher who thinks the stars talk to him, I¡¯m blaming you."


    Emery sighed, but the banter eased the tension in his shoulders. He turned his gaze back to Zafira, watching her breathe. For a moment, the room fell quiet.


    He told himself he was simply waiting for her to wake up.


    Not that he was relieved she was still breathing.


    The Scholar''s Wrath


    The battlefield was silent save for the flickering embers of torches and the distant groans of the wounded. Blood stained the earth, and standing amidst the chaos were two men¡ªone a warlord who thrived in destruction, the other a scholar whose hands were left behind due to his own belief of pacifism.


    Lin Wuye did not move like a traditional martial artist. His footwork was deliberate, each step measured with the precision of a man who had spent his life calculating outcomes. His qi was not wild and uncontrollable like Shen Mu¡¯s; it was sharp, refined, methodical.


    Shen Mu scoffed, cracking his knuckles as his blood-soaked aura pulsed wildly around him. "So the scholar thinks he can fight? This should be amusing."


    Lin Wuye said nothing. His stance was firm, unshaken. Then, with a single movement, he vanished.


    The air split as he reappeared behind Shen Mu, fingers curled into a precise strike that slammed into the warlord¡¯s ribcage. The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the battlefield, Shen Mu¡¯s body staggering as pain shot through him for the first time in the fight.


    The warriors watching from the distance gasped. Lin Wuye was holding his own.


    Shen Mu growled, his amusement fading into irritation. He retaliated with a devastating palm strike, but Lin Wuye redirected the force with a twist of his wrist, dissipating the impact entirely. Everytime they strike, winds of destruction would follow and the earth beneath them becomes unstable. His movements were effortless, as though he were reading Shen Mu¡¯s attacks before they landed.


    "You rely too much on raw strength," Lin Wuye murmured, his voice laced with quiet disappointment. "Strength without control is a fire that burns its own wielder."Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    Shen Mu¡¯s eye twitched. He knew he is struggling against this scholar but then, without hesitation, he pulled a small black pill from his robes and crushed it between his teeth.


    Immediately, his body contorted, veins turning black as his qi surged into something unnatural. A vile, corrupted energy bled from him, twisting his very form as his aura thickened into a suffocating presence.


    "If strength is a fire, then I will become the inferno!" Shen Mu bellowed, lunging forward with inhuman speed.


    For the first time, Lin Wuye faltered.


    Shen Mu¡¯s attacks came faster, stronger, more erratic. Lin Wuye could feel his body straining under the onslaught, muscles screaming in protest as he deflected blow after blow. He could not keep this up¡ªhis body was reaching its limit. This was only going on for 4 minutes but the trees surrounding them started to fall and the earth beneath them made holes each time Shen Mu jumped.


    Pain flared through his arm as one of Shen Mu¡¯s attacks broke through, slamming into his ribs and sending him skidding backward. His vision blurred, his breathing uneven. Qi poisoning. He had pushed himself beyond his natural limit, and his own energy was turning against him.


    Shen Mu laughed, stepping forward, ready to finish him.


    Then, just as Shen Mu prepared to strike the final blow, the air around them shifted.


    A presence surged forth¡ªa pressure so immense that even Shen Mu froze. From the shadows, a figure descended like a falling blade.


    The current Qi Master had arrived.


    A lone figure emerged from the shadows, his robes untouched by the chaos around him, his presence a quiet storm waiting to be unleashed. Master Daokan. The very man who had observed Meilin¡¯s strange qi before the battle, the one who had silently watched from the periphery, now stood at the heart of destruction.


    His sharp eyes flickered between Shen Mu¡¯s contorted form and Lin Wuye¡¯s battered stance. He had seen many battles, but few men had fought as Lin Wuye just had¡ªholding his ground against a warlord despite lacking formal training. Despite the sheer agony twisting his body, Lin Wuye had fought with discipline, strategy, and an unwavering willpower that even seasoned warriors lacked.


    With practiced ease, the Qi Master sidestepped Shen Mu¡¯s corrupted onslaught. His movements were effortless, each step calculated, as if the battle had already been decided. In the blink of an eye, he was in front of Shen Mu, his palm hovering inches from the warlord¡¯s chest. A whisper of energy coiled around his fingers, so precise that it felt like the world itself held its breath.


    "No fire burns forever." he said while looking at Shen Mu indifferently.


    A pulse of concentrated qi erupted from the Qi Master¡¯s hand. The mountains behind them split into half and the earth cracked into half from Shen Mu''s direction. Shen Mu¡¯s body convulsed violently, his own corrupted energy turning against him. His muscles spasmed, veins darkening as cracks of energy burst from his skin. His breath hitched¡ªfor the first time, he felt the presence of death.


    He had fought like a beast, relying on overwhelming brutality.


    But in front of this master, he had never stood a chance.


    With a final, silent gasp, his body collapsed inward, the energy within him spiraling into itself before violently extinguishing. His corpse hit the ground with a hollow thud. He choked, eyes wide with disbelief as blood gushed from his mouth.


    The Master then said to him while squatting towards his face in pity "The fact your body didn''t disintegrate when you came into my contact with my strike is proof you were strong. But you would''ve lost either way since you relied on forbidden power."


    A moment later, he was dead.


    Lin Wuye staggered, barely standing. His breath was ragged, his entire body trembling on the verge of collapse. He had survived¡ªbut not by victory. By endurance.


    Before he could fall, a firm grip caught his shoulder, steadying him through stabilising his Qi. Lin Wuye barely turned his head before recognizing the figure beside him. Master Daokan. The elder cultivator regarded him with something between admiration and intrigue.


    "To stand against a warlord with nothing but your own resolve and intellect," Daokan said, his voice measured, "is a feat even trained martial artists cannot claim. You did not win by power, but you proved that power alone does not dictate survival. Few in this world could have lasted as long as you did."


    Lin Wuye let out a weak, breathless chuckle. "Flattery... won''t keep me standing."


    Daokan smirked slightly, tightening his hold to prevent him from collapsing entirely. "Then rest, Scholar. You''ve earned that much."


    Lin Wuye had fought for survival.


    The Qi Master had fought with dominance.


    Layla, watching from the wreckage of her tower, was dumbfounded.


    Her commander¡¯s mind, despite the pain wracking her body, registered everything in pure, unfiltered clarity.


    I need that man''s power!


    She blinked, still trying to process what had just happened. She had fought, planned, manipulated outcomes with precision¡ªand yet, this was a level of dominance she could not yet grasp nor do yet. Even through the haze of pain, something inside her stirred. How had he done that? How could she learn it?


    A groan beside her pulled her out of her thoughts. Her gaze snapped to Bao¡¯s broken form lying nearby, his breath shallow, his wounds severe.


    Her attention whipped back to the Qi Master, and before she could stop herself, she shouted through clenched teeth, her voice dripping with snark even in agony.


    "Hey¡ªmystical grandmaster or whatever you are¡ªheal Bao first, then me!"


    Master Daokan turned, arching a brow at her audacity. Even while battered and barely able to stand, she still barked orders.


    A faint chuckle escaped his lips before he moved toward Bao, as commanded.


    Lin Wuye let out a low groan, finally lowering himself onto a broken pillar for support. He turned toward Daokan, his voice hoarse but filled with gratitude. "I am in your debt, Master Daokan. Few would have intervened against a warlord of Shen Mu¡¯s caliber."


    Daokan waved a hand dismissively. "Debts are heavy burdens, Scholar. Keep yours. I was merely ensuring the battlefield did not fall to complete ruin."


    Around them, the battlefield was beginning to settle. The acrid scent of blood still lingered in the air, and bodies¡ªboth friend and foe¡ªwere strewn across the war-torn ground. Yet, despite the carnage, a strange calmness was creeping over the survivors.


    The Silver Lotus Sect¡¯s warriors stood among the wreckage, exhaustion evident in their faces, but they were alive. The elders exchanged glances, murmuring words of disbelief and praise for Meilin¡¯s tactics.


    "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¡ªit 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¡ªit 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¡ªits lessons, its history¡ªcame 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¡ªwithout hesitation¡ªMeilin 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¡ªnot 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¡ªhe 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¡ªa 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¡ªthen 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.

 Rebuild

    The morning after Shen Mu''s defeat, the Silver Lotus Sect gathered in the main hall. The battle was won, but leadership had to be decided.


    Lin Wuye sat at the head, exhaustion evident but his mind sharp. The elders murmured among themselves before the most senior among them stood. "This war has made one truth clear: Lady Meilin possesses the mind of a commander. We propose she take command of the sect''s martial affairs while Master Lin Wuye remains as its advisor and administrator."


    Layla, who had been taking a sip of tea, choked. "Excuse me?"


    Her father gave her a pointed look. "Meilin, you led this sect to victory. This is just a formality."


    She looked around at the serious expressions. "You do realize I didn''t actually fight with Qi like the others, right? I just told everyone where to go."


    One elder nodded. "And yet, without you, we would not be here."


    Layla groaned, rubbing her temples. "So let me get this straight¡ªI have to handle all the war stuff, while my father buries himself in paperwork?"


    Lin Wuye coughed. "That was always the plan."


    Layla sighed before muttering, "I should have run when I had the chance."


    Immediately, one of the elders scoffed, his wrinkles deepening as he shook his head. "This is absurd! A commander must be a seasoned cultivator, not¡ª"


    "Not what?" Bao interrupted, arms crossed, eyes sharp. "Not the person who just led us to victory? Not the person who kept us alive while others panicked?" He jabbed a finger toward the elder. "With all due respect, Elder, if you''d like to lead the next war, we''ll be happy to take notes."


    Several disciples snorted, muffling their laughter. Another disciple, still bandaged from the battle, groaned, "If Lady Meilin hadn''t been in charge, I''d be dead. I''d rather follow someone with a brain than someone with a bloated ego!"


    The elder''s face darkened, but he muttered something under his breath and fell silent.


    Jiang Wei, the most seasoned disciple, lifted his head from where he had been listening, his sharp eyes narrowing. In a slow, deliberate motion, he turned toward the elder, his expression locked in an unsettling smile that didn''t reach his eyes. "Oh? Would you care to repeat that, Elder?" he asked, his tone polite but dripping with unspoken challenge.


    Meanwhile, Meilin''s mother sat on the sidelines, hands folded in her lap, watching the chaos unfold with the tired expression of a woman who had seen this nonsense too many times before. She let out a soft sigh and muttered, "This family is going to give me gray hairs before winter even comes."


    Lin Wuye coughed into his fist, clearly suppressing a smile. "The decision has been made. Meilin, you are the commander. No more arguments."


    Layla sighed in defeat, rubbing her forehead as if trying to physically push away the headache forming. "Fine, fine," she muttered. "But if I''m going to be a commander, I need to start planning for winter."


    Her mind was already shifting, calculating supplies, food rations, and defensive reinforcements they would need before the first snowfall. The reality of her position settled in, and she realized there was no turning back now.


    She exhaled sharply. "Survive the winter first. Everything else can wait." The aftermath of war always left a strange silence in its wake.


    Layla walked through the remnants of the battlefield, the familiar metallic scent of blood still lingering, though now it was overpowered by the scent of fresh lumber and soil. The Silver Lotus Sect was alive¡ªnot just in the sense that they had survived but in the way they moved, rebuilt, and pressed forward.


    Workers hauled stones to reinforce the eastern wall. Disciples worked tirelessly to restore the damaged training grounds. The once-razed gardens, now trampled into dust, were being resown. Even the wreckage of her fallen tower was being cleared, though the foundation remained scarred. In another section of the sect, she noticed a handful of disciples tending to the few animals they had left¡ªa small herd of mountain goats, a few chickens, and a lone ox used for hauling heavy supplies. They would need more if they wanted to sustain themselves through the winter.


    A week. That was the time they needed to complete the basic repairs, but in truth, they only had a month to fully prepare before winter arrived in full force.


    As she went over their remaining supplies, a frown creased her brow. Their grain stores were dwindling, their cloth stockpiles were nearly depleted, and there were barely enough livestock to maintain their food supply. If they didn''t resupply soon, survival through the cold season would be miserable at best, lethal at worst. She recalled back in her past life that winter was as much a killer as any blade.


    A memory surfaced, sharp and unyielding. She had been a newly crowned queen, walking through the outskirts of her capital during the first snowfall of the season, accompanied by her guards and advisors. The streets had been quiet¡ªtoo quiet. Then she saw him. The streets had been quiet¡ªtoo quiet. Then she saw him. A child, barely ten, curled up against the cold stone wall of an alley. His lips were blue, his tiny hands frozen stiff. She had rushed to him, calling for aid, but it was too late. His eyes were already lifeless.


    She turned sharply to her guards. "How did this happen? Why was no one watching the streets?"


    One of her advisors scoffed, barely looking up from his fur-lined sleeves. "My Queen, he was a commoner. The weak perish in the cold. It is the way of the world."


    Silence followed.


    Layla felt something cold¡ªnot the winter chill, but something deep in her chest. Slowly, deliberately, she turned to face the advisor, her expression unreadable. Then, in one swift motion, she drew the dagger from her belt and slit his throat.


    Gasps erupted around her, the warm spray of blood staining the fresh snow. She watched as he gurgled, falling to the ground, clutching his throat in disbelief.


    "Then let me change the way of the world," she murmured, stepping over his dying body. "From this moment forward, no one in my kingdom will freeze to death again." That night, she had made a decree¡ªno one in her kingdom would suffer the same fate. Winter would never take another innocent life under her rule. She knew from her previous life that food was, the top priority¡ªwithout it, all their rebuilding would be pointless. But cloth was just as essential; a cold body was a weak body, and a weak body would fall to sickness. A starving army was useless, but a freezing one was just as doomed.


    Beyond that, she recalled another necessity that many overlooked: a clean and sustainable water source.


    Another painful memory clawed its way to the surface. She remembered sitting on her throne, the grandeur of the palace doing little to mask the weight pressing down on her shoulders. The heavy doors to the throne room burst open, and a man stumbled in¡ªher childhood friend''s father. His clothes were disheveled, his eyes wild with grief. Guards moved to restrain him, but he shoved them off, his voice hoarse with fury. A man, a loyal subject, had stood before her, grief-stricken and furious. "You were supposed to protect us! " he had said, voice trembling with sorrow and rage. She had no words, confused with this rage asked "Why are you so angry? What has happened?"


    He pointed a trembling finger at her, his breath ragged. "You are our Queen but you betrayed us" he roared. "My son is dead because of you! Because of this kingdom!"


    The guards moved to seize him again, but Layla raised a hand, stopping them. She met his gaze, and for the first time, she saw not just rage, but despair. The kind that festered deep, impossible to mend.


    Her lips parted, but no words came. What could she have said? That she hadn''t known? That she had tried? None of it would matter. He was right. She had no words, only regret.


    It was then that she had sworn to build proper sanitation systems, no matter how absurd her advisors had found the idea. Now, standing in the Silver Lotus Sect, she knew she would have to do it again.


    Layla tapped her fingers against her forehead and her mind was racing through solutions. It was common practice for sect members to relieve themselves wherever convenient¡ªagainst trees, near rivers, in empty courtyards. That needed to change. They needed designated areas, separate from their water sources, with proper disposal methods.


    Would they resist? Absolutely. But she wasn''t going to give them a choice.


    Her fingers tapped against her folded arms as she made a mental checklist. Food, cloth, reinforcements, additional water sources, and¡ªmost importantly¡ªa designated area for excrement disposal, far enough from their drinking water to prevent contamination. It was a lesson she had learned the hard way, and she had no intention of repeating it. Layla took note of every movement, every conversation around her. Some sect members still looked at her with newfound respect. Others¡ªmostly the elders¡ªwatched with caution, as if uncertain whether they had raised a leader or a storm.


    "You''ve done well, Lady Meilin," one of the elders finally said, adjusting his robes. His eyes flickered across the reconstruction, approving yet reserved. "Had we not followed your strategies, we would not be here today."


    Another elder, however, scoffed lightly. "Survival is only the first battle. We must ensure stability."


    Layla turned to them, crossing her arms. "Then ensure it. I already have plans set in place for the winter preparations. Our grain storage will be secured, and the defensive formations will be completed within days."


    The elders exchanged looks, perhaps surprised she had anticipated their concerns. One of them nodded. "Very well. And what of the main city?"


    Meilin exhaled. "I was just about to bring that up."


    Later that evening, Layla found herself sparring with Jiang Wei, the sect''s most seasoned disciple. He had fought in countless battles before Shen Mu''s attack, and despite his age, his movements were precise and efficient. She valued his insight¡ªnot just in combat, but in the ways of war.


    "Your footwork is too rigid," he muttered as he parried one of her strikes with ease. "You rely on calculated movement, but in real battle, chaos is the only constant."


    She gritted her teeth, adjusting her stance before countering with a feint that, while clever in execution, was still sluggish. Jiang Wei stepped back with ease, barely needing to block. She managed to correct her footing in time, avoiding an embarrassing stumble, but her movements were still stiff.


    Jiang Wei sighed, rubbing his temples. "Better. At least you''re not tripping over yourself anymore. But you''re still too rigid."


    Layla scowled. "It''s called strategy."


    "It''s called being predictable." He flicked her forehead lightly, earning a glare. "If I can read your every move, so can an enemy. You''re improving, but you still fight like a scholar trying to choreograph a duel instead of reacting to one."


    She huffed, rolling her shoulders. "So what do you suggest?"


    Jiang Wei smirked. "Survive the next five rounds without me landing a hit, and I''ll tell you."


    Layla''s confidence flickered for a brief second before she rolled her shoulders. "Five rounds? Easy."


    Five rounds later, not only had she failed to avoid a hit¡ªshe had been thoroughly humiliated. Each attempt ended with her flat on the ground, pinned, disarmed, or nursing a new bruise. By the third round, she had barely even lifted her sword before Jiang Wei had already countered. By the fifth, she was starting to think he had been taking it easy on her from the start.


    Lying on her back, staring at the sky, she groaned. "So, do I at least get a consolation prize?"


    Jiang Wei smirked down at her, arms crossed. "Sure. You get the honor of knowing you lost in record time. Faster than even the junior disciples, I might add."


    After their training session, she met with Bao, who was overseeing what remained of their livestock. "It''s bad," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "We barely have enough to sustain the sect, let alone trade."


    "We need to secure more animals," Layla said. "And paper. We''re running low on documentation materials."


    Bao groaned. "You just survived a war, and you''re already thinking about paperwork?"


    She smirked. "Survival means nothing if we''re not prepared for the future."


    As the night deepened, Daokan arrived unexpectedly, though no one seemed to notice him¡ªexcept Meilin. As she turned a corner near the training grounds, she nearly jumped out of her skin at the sight of him standing there, arms folded, gaze unreadable. How did he even get in here without anyone seeing him? He tilted his head slightly, watching her reaction with what could only be described as mild amusement. Then, in the most nonchalant tone possible, he said, "If you and your sect survive the winter, find me."


    Meilin exhaled sharply, placing her hands on her hips. "Master Daokan, would it kill you to be more specific?"


    Daokan smirked¡ªactually smirked¡ªbefore turning away. Over his shoulder, he added, "You''re resourceful. Figure it out."


    She scowled, muttering under her breath. "One day, I''m going to return the favor and be just as petty when you need something."


    Later that night, as she sat by the fire with her father, mother, Bao, and Jiang Wei, she brought up the encounter. "Did any of you see Master Daokan earlier?"


    Lin Wuye glanced at her over his tea. "Master Daokan? No, why?"


    Bao raised a brow. "The old man was here? When?"


    Jiang Wei frowned. "I was at the training grounds all evening. If he were around, I would''ve noticed."


    Her mother, ever calm, gave a small sigh. "Meilin, are you sure you weren''t just tired?"


    Layla blinked, processing their collective confusion. She repeated, more dumbfounded this time, "You''re telling me none of you saw him? He was standing right there talking to me."


    Silence.


    Jiang Wei gave her a skeptical look. "Are you sure you didn''t get hit in the head one too many times today?"


    She groaned, rubbing her forehead "You know what? Forget it."


    Shaking off the odd encounter, she turned her attention back to a more pressing matter. "Anyway, we need supplies before winter sets in. Where''s the best place to get them?"


    Bao stretched his arms, cracking his neck. "The main city, obviously. We''ve got traders there who deal in bulk. Metal, textiles, even livestock if you know the right people."


    Jiang Wei nodded in agreement. "We also need proper building materials. The sect repairs are holding for now, but if we want to reinforce anything before the heavy snowfalls, we''ll need stronger timber and stone."


    Layla tapped her chin. "Alright. Looks like a supply trip is unavoidable."


    Her mother, who had been quietly listening, finally spoke. "If you''re going to the main city, there''s something you should know."


    Layla raised a brow. "What is it mother?"


    Her mother sipped her tea before answering. "Daokan''s original sect is in the main city."


    Layla blinked. Then she blinked again. Slowly, her expression twisted into a mix of exasperation and realization. "Oh, you''ve got to be kidding me."


    She sighed, dragging a hand down her face and have a visible vein on her forehead throbbing "So this old man gives me some vague ''find me'' nonsense, and now I learn that he''s been in the city this whole time? I swear, one day I''m going to track him down just to punch him in the face for being so dramatic."


    The Journey to the Main City


    The journey took several days, the winding mountain paths eventually giving way to well-trodden trade roads. Meilin sat in the carriage, watching as the dense forests of the sect''s territory faded into sprawling farmlands, where laborers toiled in preparation for the coming winter. Occasionally, they passed small villages¡ªsome barely more than clusters of huts, others large enough to boast bustling marketplaces.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    Seated across from her parents in a simple carriage, Layla listened to the rhythmic clatter of hooves against the dirt road. She couldn''t help but recall how different things had once been. In her previous life, she had traveled in a gilded carriage, lined with the finest silks and cushioned seats befitting a queen. Servants would have tended to her every need, ensuring the journey was as effortless as possible. Now, the worn wooden frame beneath her creaked with every bump, and the chilled air seeped through the cracks. The further they traveled, the more the air changed¡ªcrisp mountain air fading into the thick, smoky scent of industry. Lin Wuye, noticing her quiet observation, spoke up. "Our sect is nestled deep in the mountains, away from the political strife of the empire. The main city, however, is its beating heart, chaotic but full of opportunity. It lies nearly a week''s journey from our home."


    Bao, sitting near the carriage driver, leaned back against the wooden frame. "It''s overwhelming at first, but you get used to it. The city isn''t just one massive cluster¡ªit''s divided into districts, each with its own purpose." The city loomed ahead, its towering stone walls standing as a reminder of the world beyond sect disputes.


    As they passed through the final stretch before the city gates, the contrast became even more apparent. The roads were wider, flanked by merchant caravans, nobles in extravagant carriages, and farmers leading carts filled with produce. The walls of the main city loomed ahead, carved from dark stone and standing tall like an unyielding sentinel.


    Layla inhaled deeply as they entered, immediately noticing the stark difference in air quality¡ªdense with the scents of burning coal, roasted meats, and perfumed oils. She frowned slightly. Perfumed oils? Had that always been a thing, or was this something new? For a moment, she wondered if her invention from her past life that somehow carried into this world, or if it had always existed here. The chatter of merchants calling out their wares blended with the sounds of distant hammering and the clinking of coins exchanging hands. The sound of hammering metal, merchants advertising their wares, and the scent of roasted chestnuts mixed with the crisp air.


    She turned to her father. "The perfumed oils¡ªhave they always been around, or is that something recent?"


    Lin Wuye stroked his chin before answering. "Perfumed oils have existed long before the current emperor. However, their quality and purpose differ greatly depending on who uses them. The common folk use them for masking unpleasant odors, while the nobles have refined versions infused with rare herbs and flowers from distant lands."


    Layla exhaled, nodding slightly, but a nagging thought crept into her mind. Perfumed oils existed long before the current emperor, but had they always been this widely used?


    She had introduced the concept of perfumes in her past life¡ªdistilling scented oils, refining them into something more than just a cover for foul odors. Even as far as to advance revolutionise the scented industry but if that was the case, then why did Jinhai hadn''t further advance upon her creation? Was this something entirely separate? Had he ignored it, or had the world simply evolved in ways she could no longer predict?


    How much time had truly passed since her first death? Hours? Days? Months? Years?


    Her breath quickened. She hadn''t noticed it at first, but the thought burrowed into her mind like a parasite, clawing at her sense of reality. Her fingers clenched around the fabric of her sleeves as her heart pounded against her ribs.


    Or even decades? Was this even the same world? It had to be since Jinhai himself was here.


    But what if it wasn''t? What if everything she had built, everything she had sacrificed, had simply been¡­ rewritten? Her inventions, once groundbreaking, were now afterthoughts, diluted into the background of an empire that had long since moved past her contributions. Jinhai was different¡ªbecause this world was different.


    Her breaths grew more erratic, her chest tightening as the realization struck her like a crushing weight. The city around her blurred, voices melding into an incomprehensible hum. She wasn''t here. She was somewhere else¡ªadrift in a world that should have been hers, but wasn''t.


    She and Jinhai had been the closest thing to forming a union between two great kingdoms. He had known of her sanitation concepts, her push for fair treatment of women and children, her revolutionizing of the perfume industry¡ªideas that had once shaped an empire. But here? Here, none of it had come to pass. It made her sick to her stomach. If these things had never been introduced, then was this truly her world? Or just a warped reflection of it?


    A hand touched her shoulder¡ªwarm, grounding. "Meilin," her mother''s voice was gentle, but firm. "Breathe."


    She gasped, as if surfacing from deep waters, only now realizing how tightly she had wound herself. Her mother''s grip remained steady, her expression unreadable, but concern flickered in her eyes. "You''re trembling. What''s wrong?"


    Layla exhaled shakily, forcing herself to swallow the rising panic. "Nothing," she lied, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just¡­ thinking."


    Her mother didn''t believe her, that much was clear, but she didn''t press. Instead, she squeezed her shoulder once before releasing her. "One step at a time, Meilin. Whatever it is, you''re not facing it alone."


    She nodded, inhaling deeply, willing herself to believe it.


    She force herself to suppressed the thought for now, refocusing on the bustling city around her.


    Jiang Wei sitting beside Bao, stretching his arms after the long journey, pointed toward the various sections of the city. "You''ve got the noble district near the palace¡ªhigh walls, lavish estates, and enough politics to make your head spin. Then there''s the commoners'' district, where most merchants and laborers live. The poor quarter is... well, exactly what it sounds like. You don''t want to linger there."


    Bao smirked. "Then there''s the infamous red-light district, home to brothels and gambling dens. Emperor''s district is off-limits unless you have high-standing connections."


    The carriage came to a slow halt, the driver announcing their arrival. Layla exhaled and stepped out, paying the driver as Jiang Wei and Bao flanked her in a protective stance, their eyes scanning the bustling streets for potential threats. Her father and mother walked side by side, their expressions unreadable but firm.


    The market was alive with activity, reminiscent of the vibrant night markets from centuries past. Lanterns hung from wooden stalls, casting a warm glow over vendors shouting out their wares¡ªspices from the east, silks from distant lands, bundles of herbs promising miraculous cures. The scent of roasting meat and fried dough wafted through the air, mingling with the more unpleasant stench of unwashed bodies and livestock pens.


    "Fresh fish! Straight from the river this morning!" a merchant bellowed.


    "Jewelry fit for a noblewoman! Handcrafted with the finest jade!" another called out, shaking a necklace for emphasis.


    Further ahead, a different kind of transaction took place. A group of shackled individuals stood on a wooden platform, their gazes vacant, their bodies frail. A well-dressed man waved his hands toward the highest bidder. "Strong backs, willing hands! A lifetime of service for the right price!" He laughed, counting a stack of coins as a hooded buyer stepped forward to inspect the goods.


    Layla''s stomach twisted. Slavery. She had abolished it in her past life, ensuring that no man, woman, or child would be bound in chains under her rule. But here, it thrived, just another aspect of how this world functioned.


    Her mother, sensing her unease, placed a steadying hand on her arm. "This is how the big city works, Meilin," she said quietly. "We may not like it, but we can''t change it."


    Her father sighed, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "The empire is built on trade, power, and control. Money flows through every transaction, and those without it are left behind. This is reality."


    Layla clenched her fists but said nothing. She had changed a kingdom before¡ªperhaps, in time, she could change this one too.


    A sudden shift in the auctioneer''s voice caught her attention. "And now, for the crown jewel of tonight''s sale!" His voice dripped with exaggerated enthusiasm as he gestured toward a fragile, young girl being dragged onto the platform. Her delicate frame was wrapped in tattered silk, her wide, hollow eyes devoid of hope.


    "A rare beauty! Gentle, obedient, untouched! A treasure fit for any discerning master!" the seller declared, his grin wide and sickening. The crowd murmured in interest, a few men stepping forward, their gazes sharp with predatory hunger.


    Layla felt her stomach churn. Every muscle in her body tensed, her vision narrowing as rage pulsed through her veins. Her intelligence, her carefully calculated mind¡ªnone of it mattered in that moment. Her body moved before she could think, her feet carrying her forward as she shoved her way through the crowd.


    "Meilin!" her father''s voice snapped behind her, but she barely heard it.


    Jiang Wei caught her arm, his grip firm. "You can''t do this! We''ll handle it another way."


    "No," she snarled, wrenching herself free. "Not this time."


    She surged forward, ignoring the hands trying to restrain her, ignoring the stares turning in her direction. The auctioneer barely had time to react before Meilin was there, standing before the girl, placing herself between her and the leering buyers. The world had wronged this child, just as it had wronged so many before.


    But not today. Not if Layla had anything to say about it.


    The Merchant


    Atlas adjusted the weight of a wooden crate beside him, shifting some of his goods into place. The scent of dried herbs and freshly cut wood filled the air around his small shop, a modest stall nestled between a blacksmith and a tea vendor. He wiped his hands on a cloth and turned to his companion, Meyu, who was carefully tallying their inventory.


    "You know, we''re running low on ironwood. That sells fast during winter," she murmured, her dark eyes flicking over the parchment in her hands.


    Atlas grinned. "We''re running low on a lot of things. But if we haggle well, we''ll restock by the week''s end."


    Meyu scoffed, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Haggling? You mean swindling."


    "It''s only swindling if they realize," he shot back with a smirk.


    She shook her head, a faint smile touching her lips. "Sometimes I wonder why I stick around."


    Atlas glanced at her, his expression briefly serious. "Because I bought you fair and square, remember? And then, out of the kindness of my heart, I freed you. You''re here because you want to be."


    Meyu rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes, my noble saviour. You''re still not getting a discount on your own merchandise."


    Before Atlas could respond, movement near the square caught his attention.


    At first, he thought nothing of it. Just another passerby, a young girl who couldn''t look older than 16¡ªif he were to be honest¡ªlooked rather fair. But then his sharp eyes caught sight of the two prominent figures chasing closely behind her. That was unusual. Nobles rarely mixed with common markets, and those who did never walked unguarded. The presence of these figures piqued his curiosity.


    "Atlas?" Meyu''s voice pulled him back, but he barely heard her. His gaze had already shifted toward the commotion ahead. The slave auction.


    He had passed by it countless times before, never paying much mind. He wasn''t a saint, he bought Meyu as a slave and the city''s rules weren''t his to change. But this time, something made his stomach turn. A child, barely clinging to life, being paraded on the auction block. This was too much even for him.


    Meyu followed his line of sight and sighed. "You''re thinking about doing something stupid again, aren''t you?" Depends on your definition of stupid," Atlas muttered, already reaching for his pouch.


    Her voice was softer this time, lacking its usual teasing edge. She crossed her arms, her fingers clenching at her sleeves as she followed his gaze. "Slavery is cruel, Atlas. I know that better than anyone. But this... this is more than just cruelty. This is depravity." Her voice shook slightly, her usually steady demeanour cracking. "When I was a slave, I saw what they did to children like her. The punishments, the conditioning, the so-called training¡ªit''s not about making them obedient. It''s about breaking them completely. Turning them into something less than human. She exhaled sharply, her fists clenching. "And the ones who resist? They don''t last long. They disappear. Or worse... they become examples." She becomes more somber and visible pain can be seen on her face, ''''All the children I met died and the fact she survived is..."


    Atlas turned to her, the sharpness in his usual wit dulled. He had known Meyu''s past in fragments¡ªnever spoken outright, never elaborated upon. But he had seen the scars, the moments where her confidence flickered, the way she always scanned a crowd for potential threats. Now, those pieces came together with sickening clarity.


    "Meyu..." he started, but she shook her head, eyes burning with something between anger and sorrow. "Don''t. Just do what you have to do. But if you walk into that crowd, you''d better make damn sure you win."


    His fingers grazed the weight of his coins.


    He wasn''t sure why he was doing this.


    Atlas took a slow, measured step forward, weaving through the throng of merchants and spectators. The slave auction had already reached an alarming height¡ªone gold coin. A fortune for most, the equivalent of a year''s hard-earned wages. His brows furrowed. Atlas had money, far more than the average merchant, yet he lived a deliberately modest life to avoid drawing the attention of the higher-ups. Wealth meant influence, and influence meant trouble.


    The auctioneer''s voice boomed over the restless crowd. "One gold coin! Do I hear one and five silvers?"


    Atlas grimaced. He had at most thirty gold coins to his name. He could afford to bid, but if the price soared too high, even he would struggle.


    Just as he was preparing to raise his hand, a sudden scream cut through the market''s noise.


    "You sick bastards!" A female voice, raw with fury and grief.


    Atlas turned sharply, his gaze locking onto a young woman¡ªno older than sixteen¡ªher face flushed with rage, tears brimming in her eyes. She struggled violently, thrashing against the grip of two men trying to restrain her. One, an older man with an air of quiet authority. The other, a sharp-eyed warrior who radiated the presence of a trained fighter.


    "Let me go!" the girl¡ªMeilin, if Atlas caught it right from the murmurs naming her from a sect¡ªsnarled. "How can you just stand there while this happens?!"


    Her captors murmured hurried apologies, their expressions tense as they tried to subdue her without drawing too much attention.


    Atlas tilted his head. He had assumed she was a noble, given the way she carried herself, but now¡­ something didn''t add up. Nobles turned a blind eye to these things. They didn''t throw themselves into the fray like a commoner with nothing to lose.


    Intrigued, Atlas stepped closer, keeping his gaze on the stage while his ears tuned in to the unfolding chaos behind him. If he was going to make his move, it had to be soon.


    He raised his hand. "Two gold coins."


    A hush fell over the crowd. The auctioneer''s eyes gleamed with excitement. "Two gold coins! Now that''s a serious bid! Do I hear two and five silvers?"


    Before anyone could counter, a furious voice rang out. "You sick, depraved bastard!"


    Atlas barely had time to react before Layla''s rage-filled glare locked onto him. Her entire body trembled with fury, her tear-streaked face twisted in disgust. "You''re just as bad as the rest of them! Buying and selling people like cattle!"


    Jiang Wei moved swiftly, covering her mouth before she could draw even more attention. She thrashed in his grip, muffled curses still escaping as he lifted her with ease. Her father stepped forward, approaching Atlas with a stiff, composed expression. "I apologize for the outburst," he said, though the words felt hollow. His gaze lingered on Atlas with something close to disdain, as if he found the entire interaction distasteful. "She does not understand how things work here."


    Atlas met his stare evenly, suppressing the urge to scoff. This man, whoever he was, had the air of someone who saw himself above others. The apology was nothing more than a polite formality, devoid of sincerity.


    Still, Atlas said nothing. He simply nodded, his focus returning to the auction. If she thought she had seen the worst of life, she was mistaken. Because unlike her, he had no illusions about how the world worked.


    The auctioneer slammed his gavel down. "Sold! To the gentleman for two gold coins!" The crowd murmured, some disappointed, others approving of the hefty price paid.


    Atlas stepped forward as the child was pushed towards him. She was small¡ªfar too small for her age, her body frail and thin like brittle twigs. Hollow eyes stared out from a gaunt face, her skin marred by hidden bruises peeking from beneath the tattered silk draped over her shoulders. The sight of her made Atlas''s stomach churn, and for a brief moment, he felt bile rise in his throat. He swallowed it back.


    The girl, however, did not resist. Instead, a single thought echoed in her hollow mind: Whatever this master is going to do to me, it can''t be worse than what I''ve already endured.


    Atlas took her by the wrist gently, guiding her away from the stage as the crowd resumed their business. Eyes followed him, judging, whispering. He could feel their disgust, their curiosity, but he ignored them. He knew the truth¡ªhe wasn''t like them. He wasn''t taking her as property; he was saving her, just like he had saved Meyu.


    He led her through the winding streets back to his shop. As they arrived, Meyu looked up from her work, her sharp gaze softening the moment she saw the child. Pity flickered across her face, but she forced a smile, crouching down to meet the girl''s empty eyes. "Hey there, little one. You''re safe now."


    The child stared at Meyu, her thoughts dull but observant. She was... beautiful. Her skin smooth, her hair long and well-kept, her stance strong. She was tall too¡ªso much taller than herself. An envious whisper formed in her mind, but she was too exhausted to hold onto it.


    Atlas exhaled, rubbing his temples. "Meyu, I need you to help me find that girl¡ªthe one who lost her mind back at the auction."


    Meyu arched a brow. "The noble-looking one? I remember her face. Shouldn''t be too hard to track down."


    And she was right. It wasn''t long before they found Layla again. The tall authority figure was trying to calm her down and Atlas slowly walked in their direction with Meyu and the child.


    When Atlas approached, Layla turned, her expression twisting into something venomous the moment she laid eyes on him. Hatred burned so intensely in her gaze that it sent a rare shiver down his spine.


    The child, standing quietly by his side, felt nothing at all. Layla took a step forward, her voice dripping with pure malice. "What do you want now? Come to gloat about your purchase?" Her eyes burned with disgust, piercing through Atlas as if he were the lowest form of existence.


    Atlas sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. His mind worked in rapid succession, analyzing every word, every movement, every possible reaction. Layla was sharp¡ªjust as sharp as he was. If he gave her a weak argument, she''d tear through it in an instant. He needed to be precise, logical, and, above all, undeniable.


    "I didn''t buy her to keep her. I bought her to free her," he said, carefully controlling his tone, making sure it was neither defensive nor pleading. Just fact.


    Layla scoffed, folding her arms. "Right. And I''m supposed to believe that? Just like that?" Her voice rose, laced with venom. "You''re no better than the rest of them! A man who sees people as commodities and pretends to have a conscience when it suits him! If you''re such a do-gooder, why didn''t you free everyone? Surely you can, but no¡ªyou choose to act only when it suits you. You pretend like you''re some kind of hero, but in reality, you''re just a fucking coward!"


    Atlas didn''t flinch. Instead, he absorbed her words, twisting them over in his mind like a puzzle. Layla''s distrust wasn''t baseless¡ªit was built on experience, on the knowledge that men like him existed in droves. If he wanted to convince her, he had to give her something solid.


    Meyu, who had been standing beside Atlas, stepped forward, her expression calm yet firm. "Atlas isn''t like them," she said, lifting her arm to reveal the faded but still visible slave mark on her wrist. "I was a slave too. He bought me. And then he freed me."


    Layla''s eyes snapped to Meyu, and a new kind of fury overtook her features. "Then why are you still acting like one?!" she shouted, her voice trembling. "Why are you standing by his side, defending him?!"


    Meyu held her gaze, unflinching, but this time, her voice softened. There was no anger in it¡ªjust a quiet understanding. "Because even when I was a slave, he never treated me as one," she said, her tone almost motherly. "He treated me as a friend. He never raised a hand against me, never locked me away. He burned my contract the day he bought me. He destroyed my chains with his own hands. The only reason I stayed was because I wanted to."


    Atlas took note of Layla''s slight hesitation. There. Doubt. It was a small crack in her otherwise ironclad stance, but it was enough. Now, he had to widen it.


    "You want proof? Fine. You''ll have it." His voice was smooth, deliberate. "I won''t ask for your trust, Layla. But winter is coming, and if I am what you say I am, then you''ll see it soon enough. Watch me. Watch everything I do. If by the end of winter, you still believe I''m a monster, then say it to my face."


    Layla''s jaw tightened, her mind warring with itself. Finally, she exhaled sharply. "Fine. I''ll be watching. But don''t expect me to trust a single word either of you say."


    Atlas merely nodded, his mind already working on his next move. "I wouldn''t expect anything less."


    Before he could react further, a sudden impact struck the back of his head. Darkness swallowed his vision as he crumpled to the ground. Jiang stood over him, shaking out his hand as if knocking Atlas out had been nothing more than a chore.


    Meyu gasped, stepping forward in alarm. "What are you doing!? He''s a good man!"


    Jiang swiftly restrained her, gripping her arms as she struggled. "We''re taking him back," he said flatly.


    Layla exhaled sharply, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she looked down at Atlas''s unconscious form. "He wanted me to see what kind of man he is," she murmured, her voice eerily calm. "Then I''ll see for myself¡ªat the sect."


    Nearby, the child stood frozen, her gaze darting between the arguing adults. Their raised voices, the tension in the air¡ªit was all too familiar. The way they snapped at each other, the way one moment was quiet and the next erupted into chaos, it sent her spiraling into memories she wished had stayed buried.


    Her parents had fought like this. Shouting, blaming, and in the end, selling her off as if she were nothing. The sound of their voices blended with the present, overlapping in her mind, distorting reality. Her breathing became shallow, her small hands trembling as her vision blurred.


    A sudden wave of dizziness overtook her. The voices, the sounds, the memories crashed into her all at once, suffocating her. She swayed on her feet, her body unable to handle the surge of fear and exhaustion, and before she could utter a word, the world around her went dark.


    Lin Wuye was the first to react, his sharp eyes catching the child just as she collapsed. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and scooped her into his arms. "We don''t have time for this. I''m taking her to Master Daokan''s sect."


    Layla''s gaze drifted to the frail body in her father''s arms. The child''s thin frame, the bruises barely hidden beneath tattered fabric, the way her limbs seemed too light, too weak¡ªit sent a wave of nausea rolling through her. She had suffered too. She knew what it meant to be powerless, to be at the mercy of others who only saw her as something to be used. For a moment, her hands trembled at her sides, her breath uneven. The weight of old memories pressed against her chest.


    She said nothing, only nodded in silent agreement. A gentle hand settled on her head¡ªher mother''s quiet reassurance. Layla barely reacted, still staring at the unconscious child as her father adjusted his grip and turned away.


    Meanwhile, Meyu knelt beside Atlas, pressing two fingers to his temple. With a precise flow of Qi, she worked to stir him awake, muttering under her breath. "Come on, Atlas... you need to get up."

 Qi is Science

    A Gun That Outclasses Cultivation


    The morning sun cast long shadows over the open field where Emery had set up his latest experiment. A dozen metal targets stood in the distance, their surfaces already dented from failed tests. His latest creation¡ªa refined firearm¡ªrested in his gloved hands. The air smelled of iron, oil, and sweat.


    "Alright," Emery muttered, levelling the gun. His grip tightened as he exhaled slowly.


    "Let''s see what you can do."


    The trigger clicked. A sharp crack split the air. The bullet struck the target but did little more than splinter the wood. Emery frowned.


    Zafira stood behind him, arms crossed, unimpressed. "Not enough power."


    He ignored the comment and immediately made adjustments, disassembling the chamber with practiced ease. The other disciples watched with curiosity and a hint of unease. Cultivation had always ruled the battlefield. To see destruction born without Qi¡ªit unsettled them.


    "Again," Emery ordered.


    This time, when he pulled the trigger, the firearm roared. The bullet slammed into the target, obliterating it into splinters. The disciples staggered back, their murmurs turning to uneasy silence.


    A second shot tore through reinforced steel, sending echoes across the training ground. The sheer force of it left deep cracks in the testing wall.


    Zafira and Callum exchanged glances¡ªrealizing this weapon could change warfare forever.


    Zafira, intrigued yet uneasy, asked, "Do you even understand what you''ve just created?"


    Emery, tightening his grip on the weapon, whispered, "This is only the beginning."


    ---


    Weeks of trial and error had led to this moment.


    Emery wiped sweat from his brow, standing before the engine that had consumed his every waking thought. The machine¡ªan intricate network of gears, pistons, and chambers¡ªhad refused to cooperate for too long. Now, with a final modification, he was ready.


    He pulled the lever.


    The engine shuddered before roaring to life, its metallic groan vibrating through the ground. Steam hissed from the pipes. The gears turned, trembling with effort. The noise was deafening.


    And yet, something was wrong.


    Emery narrowed his eyes, watching the machine struggle and shutting down. It was consuming fuel at an alarming rate, the heat dispersing inefficiently. This was not true power. It was forced. Primitive. Wasteful.


    He realizes: It''s not about movement¡ªit''s about energy control.


    He took a step back, rubbing his temples. "No," he muttered.


    "This isn''t it."


    Before he could delve further, Zafira strode into the room, arms crossed. "Your materials arrived."


    Emery turned, momentarily snapped out of his thoughts. "What?"


    She gestured to the crates stacked in the corner. "The raw materials you wanted for your ''''chalkboards''''. Enough to cover every damn wall in this workshop once you put them together. You''re lucky I agreed to this."


    Emery''s eyes lit up with renewed intensity. "Finally."


    But the work had only just begun.


    The materials were raw slate, unfinished, uncut. Creating a single usable chalkboard took a full month of trial and error, testing different sanding techniques, reinforcement frames, and mounting structures. Callum assisted relentlessly, cutting and refining slabs to match Emery''s specifications while Zafira continued her daily inspections, ensuring their work remained funded. The weeks blurred together in sawdust and labor, their hands roughened from the process.


    Finally, after months of gruelling work, stacks of completed boards filled the workshop, their dark surfaces smooth and pristine. Emery wiped sweat from his brow, taking a step back to admire the results. "This is it." He turned to Zafira, who had been watching with a raised brow.


    "You can sell the chalkboards to anyone you want now."


    Zafira smirked, stepping forward. "Sell them, huh?"


    She picked up a piece of chalk and, with exaggerated movements, began drawing on one of the freshly completed boards.


    Emery squinted, his curiosity quickly turning into horror as the image took shape¡ªhis own face, but grotesquely exaggerated. His nose was comically large, his eyes wide and uneven, his mouth twisted into an absurd grin.


    Callum took one look and burst into laughter, doubling over. "Oh gods, that''s¡ªThat''s awful!"


    Emery''s face flushed red. "Zafira, what in the fuck is that supposed to be?!"


    "You," she said innocently, stepping back to admire her masterpiece.


    "What do you think? A fine piece of art, isn''t it?"


    Before Emery could argue, some of Zafira''s crew, drawn by the noise, wandered in. The moment they saw the drawing, they couldn''t contain themselves, chuckling and egging each other on. Within moments, chalk was passed around, and soon the boards were filled with all manner of ridiculous doodles¡ªsome of Emery, others of Zafira and Callum in equally exaggerated fashion.


    Emery groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as the workshop descended into chaotic amusement. "I created these for science, not for¡ª!"


    Callum wiped a tear from his eye as he slung an arm around Emery''s shoulder in a side hug. "Emery, my friend, you''ve just given the world something even greater than knowledge. You''ve given us entertainment."


    Emery, who normally despised physical contact, found himself not minding it¡ªfrom Callum, at least. He simply sighed in disbelief, rubbing his temples as laughter continued around him.


    He turned to Zafira, expecting her usual smirk, but instead, she gave him a small nod of approval. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there.


    His face heated slightly, and he looked away, "Tch. Whatever.".


    After the celebration died down, Emery found himself alone with Zafira and Callum in the engine room. The two stood behind him as he stepped forward, gripping the lever with tense fingers. "Watch closely," he murmured.


    With a deep breath, he pulled the lever.


    The machine trembled, gears grinding against one another before, at last, a deep, guttural roar filled the room. Steam hissed from the pipes. The engine was alive.


    Callum''s mouth parted slightly in awe. "Emery¡­ you did it."


    Zafira exhaled through her nose, arms crossed but visibly impressed. "Not bad."


    And yet, Emery only frowned.


    He watched the pistons move, the heat escape in wasteful bursts. The engine worked, but it was flawed. Primitive. Inefficient. This wasn''t power. This wasn''t progress.


    It was still caged fire.


    Zafira glanced at him, noting the deep crease in his brow. "You look disappointed."


    "Because I am," he admitted. "This isn''t enough."


    As the machine churned behind them, Zafira found herself lost in thought, staring at the rhythmic pulsing of the pistons. For a moment, she wasn''t here¡ªshe was somewhere else, in the past.


    Yasmina''s voice echoed in her mind.


    "Layla is different. She''s reckless, yes, but she doesn''t just want to fight¡ªshe wants to change things."


    Zafira had scoffed back then. "Change things? War doesn''t change. You either win or you die."


    Yasmina had only smiled, eyes distant with admiration. "Maybe. But if anyone could do it, it''s her."


    She hadn''t just meant Layla''s idealism¡ªshe also meant Layla''s brutality.


    Layla didn''t simply fight wars; she ended them. There had been a battle, one where defeat was all but certain. Their forces were outnumbered, resources depleted, and morale shattered. And yet, Layla had turned the tide with sheer ruthlessness.


    She had sent her own troops ahead as bait, luring the enemy into a false sense of victory. Then, under the cover of night, she burned their supply lines, poisoned their water, and left false retreat paths littered with traps. By dawn, the enemy army wasn''t just defeated¡ªthey were annihilated.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Even Zafira had been shaken by the lengths Layla had gone to secure victory.


    "She doesn''t just seek to change things," Yasmina had murmured that night, watching the battlefield from the cliffs above.


    "She''s willing to become something monstrous to do it."


    And now, standing before Emery¡ªanother mind consumed by progress¡ªZafira felt that same unease creep into her spine.


    The memory faded, and Zafira''s gaze flickered toward Emery.


    Another mad genius chasing the impossible.


    Zafira watched him, arms crossed, unease curling in her gut. Emery had always been intense, but this¡­ this was something else. His posture, the manic gleam in his eyes, the way he muttered equations under his breath like a prayer¡ªit was all too familiar.


    She had seen this before. Layla, before the fall. The Emperor, before the rise.


    The machine still trembled in the background, an incomplete beast, loud and unstable. His mind raced through every calculation, every mistake, and yet he didn''t stop¡ªhe couldn''t.


    She exhaled sharply and reached out, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "You need to take a break. Travel for a bit. Clear your head."


    Emery barely reacted. "No," he said flatly. "I still have a job to do."


    Zafira frowned. "The engine¡ª"


    "¡ªisn''t finished." He finally turned to her, eyes sharp with unwavering determination. "You didn''t recruit me to rest. You recruited me to give you power. And I will."


    Zafira studied him for a long moment, then slowly withdrew her hand. This wasn''t just ambition anymore. This was obsession.


    She exhaled sharply. "You''ve been working non-stop since the day we met at that spice shop," she said, her voice edged with something almost resembling concern. "You don''t need to indulge in this, Emery. You''ve already done more than enough."


    Emery let out a breath, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "And yet, it''s not enough." He turned back toward the engine, still trembling with inefficiency. "You recruited me for a reason, Zafira. I have a job to do. And I''m going to finish it."


    She narrowed her eyes. "At what cost?"


    He didn''t answer immediately. Instead, he reached out and, in an uncharacteristic move, gripped her wrist¡ªnot tightly, but firm enough that she felt it. "I will get it done," he said, his voice unwavering.


    Zafira blinked, momentarily taken aback. He was scrawny, physically unimposing, but in that moment, his grip felt heavier than steel.


    A tense silence stretched between them before she clicked her tongue and pulled her hand away.


    "Stubborn idiot."


    A ghost of a smirk flickered across Emery''s lips. "Takes one to know one."


    Zafira''s expression cracked. Her usual controlled demeanor twisted into something more forceful, her voice rising above even the engine''s groaning whir. "I''m not an idiot! You are!"


    Before Emery could react, she closed the distance between them, nearly jabbing a finger into his chest. "You''re not like me, Emery. I''m not smart like you, I don''t have your damn equations, but I can see what''s happening to you. You look like a¡ª" she struggled for the right word, her tone shifting from anger to something dangerously close to concern, "¡ªan animal chasing something it''ll never catch."


    Emery exhaled, his gaze steady. Then, without hesitation, he pushed her hand aside and stepped forward. "Follow me."


    "What?"


    "Both of you." His voice was sharper now, laced with something unreadable. He strode toward the far end of the workshop, where towering stacks of parchment and crates of ink were piled high. "You want to know what I''ve been doing?" He grabbed a handful of papers and let them scatter to the floor. Pages upon pages of theories, sketches, calculations.


    Callum knelt, picking one up, his eyes widening at the complex diagrams detailing circuits, energy storage, and something far beyond mere engines. He traced a finger over the intricate notes, muttering under his breath. "You''re theorizing how to harness energy itself... transmission without loss... controlled output... Emery, this isn''t just an engine anymore. This is something else entirely."


    Zafira picked up another sheet, her sharp eyes scanning the lines of calculations. Her brow furrowed. "Wait a damn second¡ªthis... this was all done by you? Alone?"


    Emery turned away from them, walking toward the humming engine. "I knew the engine worked before anyone else did," he admitted, voice low. "When you all left for winter supplies, I stayed behind and ran the test in secret. It worked. But it was flawed. Just as I suspected."


    Zafira snapped her gaze to him. "Then why hide it? Why go through all this?" She gestured toward the mountain of papers, the endless scrawlings of one man''s genius bordering on madness.


    Emery finally faced them, his eyes dark with purpose. "Because I realized the truth. This engine¡ªit''s not the future. It''s a stepping stone. If I stopped here, if I accepted it as ''good enough,'' I''d be no better than those who cling to outdated power." He swept his hand over the sketches again. "I need something greater. Not just motion. Not just heat. I need control over energy itself."


    Zafira stared at him, fingers tightening around the papers in her grasp. The sheer scale of what she was holding¡ªwhat had been created by one man alone¡ªmade her uneasy.


    She exhaled sharply, then scoffed. "You think this makes you powerful? There are cultivators who can split mountains with a wave of their hand. Even if you do harness electricity, you''re defying the heavens themselves. The Qi, the Dao¡ªcultivators don''t follow the principles of science or math."


    Emery''s head snapped up, eyes burning with frustration. "Bullshit."


    Callum hesitated. "Emery, you''ve seen what Zafira can do. You really think Qi can be explained?"


    Emery slammed his fist onto the table. "Every technique, every so-called miracle of cultivation can be explained. Qi is nothing more than the body adapting, becoming stronger through external training and internal refinement. Just because no one has mapped it properly doesn''t mean it''s beyond comprehension! It follows rules, just like everything else in this world!" His voice was raw, defiant. "You believe in Qi because you''ve seen it. I believe in science because I understand it. And if I understand something, I can replicate it¡ªno, improve upon it."


    Zafira narrowed her eyes. "And if you''re wrong?"


    Emery''s expression darkened. "Then I''ll prove myself right."


    Zafira barely had time to react before Emery spun toward the chalkboard, grabbing a fresh piece of chalk. With swift, precise strokes, he began drawing out diagrams, angles, and equations.


    "Your footwork," he started, his voice sharp. "During the fight with that unusual swordsman, you moved at an inhuman speed. To the untrained eye, it looks like magic. But it isn''t."


    He sketched a rough diagram of a human figure, marking arrows along the legs and feet. "You pivoted at a precise forty-two-degree angle to conserve momentum while accelerating forward. The force exerted on the ground¡ªcombined with the low-friction movement of your Qi-enhanced muscles¡ªallowed you to bypass normal biological limitations. It''s Newton''s Third Law in action. Every step you took transferred energy efficiently, allowing exponential acceleration."


    Zafira narrowed her eyes but said nothing.


    Visibly frustrated, Emery clenched his fists. "Fine," he snapped. "I''ll show you."


    Before she could protest, he took a step back, adjusting his stance. "Count your clock internally," he instructed, his voice sharp. "Each time I move, mark the seconds."


    Zafira hesitated, something in her gut telling her to stop him. "Emery, you''re not a cultivator. If you push yourself¡ª"


    "Just count," he interrupted. Without waiting for approval, he launched himself forward, mimicking the exact movements he had analyzed from her fight.


    His form wasn''t as fluid, nor was his speed nearly as fast, but the mechanics were flawless. His feet struck the ground at precise angles, his weight shifting at calculated intervals. His momentum carried him forward in near-perfect replication of her technique¡ªalbeit slower, human, and raw.


    Zafira watched, her lips parting slightly. He''s actually doing it.


    She had assumed his theories were just that¡ªtheories. But here he was, executing them without Qi, relying solely on physics, muscle control, and calculated force.


    Callum looked between them, stunned. "Zafira... he''s proving you right by proving you wrong."


    Emery skidded to a halt, breathing heavily but triumphant. He turned to Zafira, sweat dripping from his brow. "Your technique works because of physics. Not magic. Not divine energy. Science."


    Zafira, for once, had nothing to say.


    Emery wasn''t done. "Then, the slash."


    He drew another diagram, this time a motion arc of her sword. "Your blade cut through a solid steel spear. That should be impossible¡ªunless you manipulated kinetic energy upon impact. The speed of your slash¡ªlet''s approximate it to 80 m/s¡ªcombined with the concentrated force output of your muscles enhanced through Qi, increased the pressure per square inch of the blade''s edge. By focusing all energy into a single focal point, the target''s structural integrity was overwhelmed in an instant. The result? A seamless cut."


    Callum slowly exhaled, absorbing every word. "He''s... he''s right."


    Zafira, arms crossed, said nothing, but her lips pressed into a thin line. She had felt the technique, executed it instinctively, but never once had she thought of it in mathematical terms. And yet¡ªeverything he said made perfect sense.


    Emery turned to her, meeting her gaze.


    Without warning, he grabbed a thick tree branch that had been left near the entrance. Callum barely had time to react to dodge before Emery lunged at him, using the same calculated movement principles he''d just described. The arc of his strike mirrored Zafira''s technique¡ªprecise angles, controlled force, and minimal wasted motion.


    As the branch connected with the ground at a specific angle, a sharp crack echoed through the room. The wood split perfectly down the middle, both halves falling symmetrically apart. Emery stepped back, breathing heavily, watching as the splintered pieces settled.


    "See?" His voice was steady, but his eyes burned with intensity. "By controlling the exact force distribution and impact vector, I created a clean break¡ªno jagged edges, no uneven split. Your technique works because of physics. Not magic. Not divine energy. Science."


    Zafira''s eyes widened slightly. He hadn''t moved nearly as fast as she could, but there was no denying it¡ªhe had replicated the mechanics of her technique, step by step, without Qi.


    Breathing heavily, Emery straightened. "See? I don''t need Qi to perform your techniques. Given enough time, I could match them¡ªsurpass them, even."


    His frustration boiled over, his fists clenching at his sides. "I''m so fucking sick of this Qi nonsense! Every time, people act like it''s some divine, untouchable force. But it''s not! It follows rules¡ªit has to! If Qi masters can split mountains, then there is a goddamn reason for it. And I''ll find it."


    For a long moment, Zafira simply stared at him, her unease growing.


    This wasn''t just about understanding Qi anymore.


    This was Emery proving he could surpass it.


    Still panting, Emery pointed a trembling finger at Zafira, his entire body drenched in sweat from exertion. "I will harness electricity," he declared, his voice hoarse but unwavering. "I will give humanity light. I will light up this world and revolutionize it."


    Zafira''s breath hitched as she studied him. His sweat-soaked clothes clung to his wiry frame, his muscles trembling from strain. His normally pale skin was flushed from exertion, streaked with grime and sweat. His silver-grey eyes, sharp and calculating, burned with a manic intensity, their usual glint of curiosity now overshadowed by raw obsession. Strands of his dark brown hair, usually neatly kept, clung messily to his forehead, further adding to the image of a man teetering on the edge of brilliance and madness. His usually sharp eyes burned with something deeper¡ªan obsession that teetered between brilliance and madness. Even knowing he had no Qi, she couldn''t shake the unease crawling up her spine.


    He shouldn''t be capable of this. And yet, he was.


    Her fingers curled slightly at her sides. For the first time, Zafira found herself wondering if Emery wasn''t rejecting Qi¡ªbut proving it through another path. If he could achieve this much without it, then what would happen if he truly did find the answer to everything?


    Before she could dwell on the thought further, she moved. In a blur, her fingers pressed against the precise Qi points on Emery''s body, cutting off his movement in an instant.


    Emery staggered, his knees buckling as he fought against the sudden wave of exhaustion. "Damn it¡ª!" he cursed, glaring up at her. "You used that on me again?! I hate that!"


    Zafira exhaled, steadying herself. "I know," she murmured. "I''m sorry. But you need to rest."


    She turned to Callum, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Make sure he sleeps. He''s done enough."


    Callum hesitated but nodded, moving to support Emery before he could collapse completely.


    Zafira took one last look at the chaotic mess of papers scattered across the floor. With careful hands, she began stacking them neatly, her fingers brushing over the endless calculations, sketches, and theories.


    How do I support him? she wondered. Even as he teetered on the edge of obsession, she found herself unwilling to let him fall alone.


    Something about this reminded her of years ago¡ªwhen she had trained under Master Li Ru, a swordsman whose methods had been nothing short of ruthless. She had watched him refine his techniques, sharpening them over and over with an almost inhuman intensity, cutting down anything that stood in his way.


    And now, Emery was doing the same. But his sword was knowledge, and his battlefield was his own limits.

 How to negotiate and enjoy luxury

    The Gates of Shrouded Peaks


    The towering stone gates of Shrouded Peaks loomed before them, their surface weathered with age yet no less imposing. Beyond them, the hidden sect remained silent, watching, waiting. What wasn¡¯t silent, however, were the spears pointed at their throats.


    Jiang and Bao had already moved into defensive stances, their hands hovering over their weapons. The guards of Shrouded Peaks, clad in dark gray robes and polished armor, held their ground, unmoving, their eyes sharp and unreadable.


    Yuxe Wuye, Meilin''s mother exhaled slowly, her hands folded before her in a gesture of negotiation rather than submission. "We are not here to fight," she stated evenly, her voice carrying an air of authority that only a woman of her wisdom could possess. "We seek an audience with Master Daokan. The child in our care needs urgent help."


    One of the guards narrowed his eyes. "Master Daokan does not take unannounced visitors. Especially not ones who bring unconscious prisoners with them."


    Atlas groaned, stirring slightly. He was awake now, though his head still ached from Jiang¡¯s less than gentle method of securing his arrival. He barely had time to process his surroundings before he realized he was being held in a side embrace by Meyu, who, despite the tension, was calmly explaining the situation.


    "Try not to move too much," she whispered, keeping her voice low. "You got knocked out. We¡¯re at the gates of a hidden sect, and if you so much as twitch wrong, you might end up with a spear through your chest."


    Atlas took a slow, measured breath, his mind kicking into gear. Assess. Plan. Execute. He scanned the scene, analyzing the guards¡¯ postures, the tension in their grips, the way their gazes flickered with hesitation. They weren¡¯t looking for a fight¡ªthey were following protocol.


    A plan formed in his mind, one that required precision and just the right amount of theatrical absurdity.


    He reached into his coat, slowly so as not to provoke a reaction, and retrieved a document sealed with an imperial insignia. It was his business license and trading approval¡ªone that had indeed been signed by the Emperor himself. What it did not state, however, was that his approval was strictly for commercial endeavors.


    Atlas straightened his posture, flashing his most dazzling smile as he presented the document with a flourish. "Gentlemen! I come bearing the Emperor¡¯s own decree!" he declared, letting the golden insignia catch the sunlight in just the right way. "I am a humble¡ªnay, an essential¡ªmerchant, officially approved by the highest seat of power. You may verify its authenticity if you wish, though I must warn you... the bureaucratic process is agonizing. Do you really wish to be the ones to delay a man personally sanctioned by the Emperor?" He tilted his head, feigning sympathy. "Paperwork. So tedious. So extensive. Do you really want to be the poor souls tangled in that mess?"


    The guards faltered, exchanging glances. Atlas seized the hesitation and leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "You see, the Emperor¡ªwise, benevolent, extraordinarily handsome¡ªvalues efficiency. And I, dear sirs, am nothing if not an efficient man. I have goods to trade, coins to spend, and if we keep this moving smoothly, I assure you, my gratitude knows no bounds."


    With a grin stretching across his face like a devil who had just found an unguarded prey, Atlas smoothly reached into his pocket and revealed several gleaming gold coins, letting them slip between his fingers in a mesmerizing display of wealth. The coins clinked softly, their unmistakable weight promising lucrative opportunities. His expression¡ªa mix of overconfidence and charm¡ªonly solidified the illusion that he was the most reasonable, yet dangerous, man to refuse.


    Hook set. Now, to let them fight among themselves.


    One of them whispered something hurriedly to the other. The moment of uncertainty spread like wildfire. If there was even a fraction of truth to what Atlas had said, denying him entry could mean defying imperial authority.


    Meanwhile, Layla¡¯s sharp eyes followed the exchange. She was already planning her own angle.


    She glanced at Bao, then at the guards, then back at Bao again. Yes... that could work.


    She cleared her throat loudly, adjusting her posture in an almost theatrical manner¡ªone she had clearly picked up from watching Atlas. She even mimicked the exaggerated confidence in his expression, though her smirk had an extra edge of mischief.


    "I see how it is!" she called out, voice full of melodrama. "You refuse us entry because you¡¯re afraid! Afraid that Master Daokan will hear what I have to say!" She lifted her chin, placing a dramatic hand over her chest, as if genuinely appalled by their cowardice.


    Several of the guards stiffened, their expressions shifting between confusion and irritation.


    Layla pressed on, arms crossed, one eyebrow arching. "If Master Daokan were here, would he turn away someone in need? Would he refuse to hear why a disciple of the Silver Lotus Sect has come all this way seeking help over a sick child? Or are you too afraid to even let him decide for himself?"


    Bao, catching on to her play, scoffed, crossing his arms and shaking his head in mock disappointment. "You know what? Maybe Master Daokan really isn¡¯t as great as people say. If his own disciples are too cowardly to even let a message reach him, then perhaps he¡¯s not worth the journey after all."


    The guards bristled, but one turned and rushed into the sect to report.


    A silence stretched before the air itself seemed to bend. A crushing force, unseen yet undeniable, pressed down upon them. An order without words. A demand from existence itself.


    Atlas felt the wind started to pickup and then Meyu whimpered beside him, her body trembling as she barely managed to keep herself from falling completely. Meyu fell onto her knees, fear widening her eyes as tremors wracked her frame, her breath coming in shallow gasps.


    Jiang gritted his teeth, his entire body trembling as his knees buckled. Bao swayed but caught himself, breath labored. Yuxe Wuye hands curled into fists, sweat dripping from her brow as she struggled to remain upright. Lin Wuye never let go of the child, shielding her as best he could, his arms tightening around her small frame even as his bones protested against the overwhelming force.


    Layla gasped, the sheer weight of it unlike anything she had ever felt. How... how can one man exude such pressure? Her body screamed, her mind raced, yet all she could think of was the absurdity of human strength reaching such a level. This isn¡¯t Qi. This is something beyond it. Fear curled in her gut, primal and unavoidable.


    Atlas, however, did not kneel.


    Master Daokan stepped through the now-open gates, his robes billowing like a storm given form. Beside him stood his most trusted disciple, Yan Shuren, a warrior whose presence alone commanded respect, his skill second only to Daokan himself.


    Daokan¡¯s gaze swept over them before locking onto Atlas. Scanning his internal self as to why he wasn''t affected. Could it be..?


    A flicker of disbelief crossed his face.


    No Qi. None. Even newborns have Qi. And yet, this man stands.


    His voice, when it came, was quiet but impossible to ignore.


    "Tell me, merchant¡­ do you truly believe the Emperor¡¯s name alone grants you entry into my domain?"


    The weight of Daokan¡¯s presence still hung over them like a storm waiting to break. Atlas, standing alone amid a sea of kneeling bodies, took in the scene with a keen eye. His mind worked in rapid succession, piecing together every clue, every reaction.


    This is Master Daokan. The infamous recluse of the Shrouded Peaks. The man even warlords spoke of in hushed tones. And here he was, radiating an oppressive aura so strong it forced battle-hardened warriors to their knees.


    Atlas blinked, then turned his head slightly, taking in the absurdity of the scene. Jiang, Bao, Lin Wuye¡ªall kneeling like devout disciples at temple. Layla looked on the verge of collapsing, her entire body shaking from the sheer pressure. And Meyu¡ªMeyu had fallen completely, fear etched into her usually composed features, her hands digging into the dirt as if grounding herself was the only thing keeping her sane. He managed to assess the situation in just 5 seconds and came up with a plan to convince Master Daokan albeit a gamble.


    A slow exhale left his lips. Right. This was bad.


    Atlas straightened, adjusting his collar in an exaggerated, almost leisurely manner. His mind raced. This was a delicate game, and one misstep could have him buried at the base of these mountains. But that didn¡¯t mean he couldn¡¯t enjoy himself a little. He knows that they value honour, respect, wealth and strength.


    He clasped his hands behind his back and offered Daokan the most respectful bow he could muster¡ªlow enough to show deference, but not so low as to appear desperate. "Master Daokan, I presume? An honor, truly. I must say, your reputation does you justice. The sheer power, the presence! Why, if I didn¡¯t know better, I¡¯d think I had just met a deity in human form."


    A twitch of an eyebrow from Daokan in disbelief. Good. He was listening.


    Atlas continued, voice smooth and measured. "Now, I understand your concern. A mere merchant, tossing around the Emperor¡¯s name like a common dice game¡ªit¡¯s terribly improper, isn¡¯t it? But let me assure you, I am not just any merchant. I am a merchant with an impeccable sense of timing and an even greater appreciation for... opportunities."


    He let the words settle, watching Daokan¡¯s expression. Calculating. Weighing. Testing.


    Atlas lifted a hand and gestured lightly to the others still kneeling. "And, if I may be so bold, it would be quite the tragedy if such esteemed guests of the Silver Lotus Sect were to pass out here in the cold, wouldn¡¯t it? But not just any guests¡ªan innocent slave child, fragile and barely clinging to consciousness, dragged all this way for a sliver of mercy."


    His eyes flicked briefly to Layla, who, despite her trembling form, still held her head high. A slow, almost pitying smile curved his lips. "And her. This ever-so-frail girl, shaking in her boots yet still clinging to her pride like a lifeline. Really, Master Daokan, what would it say of the great Shrouded Peaks if you left such helpless souls out here to suffer?" He sighed dramatically. "A true tragedy, I say."


    Layla grit her teeth, her mind whirling with equal parts irritation and reluctant admiration. Atlas was infuriating¡ªslick, shameless, and somehow always in control. But damn it, he was effective. That didn¡¯t mean she wouldn¡¯t kick him for this later. Hard.


    There was a beat of silence.


    Daokan¡¯s disciple shifted slightly, clearly unimpressed. But Daokan himself merely exhaled, his sharp gaze never leaving Atlas.


    Atlas knew he had only seconds before the humour turned against him. He adjusted his stance, lowering his voice slightly, making it more serious. "Master Daokan, I am not here to disrespect your gates. In fact quite the opposite. I am here on business, and business is what I do best. But right now even before my own livelihood, that poor child life matters more. There are things I can offer. And if you¡¯ll hear us out and help us, I do believe you¡¯ll find it... worth your time."


    The old master studied him now with a different lens, taking in the sharp angles of his face, the slightly sun-kissed hue of his skin¡ªforeign, unmistakably Western. He wasn¡¯t as broad-shouldered as Jiang or Bao, nor did he carry the same hardened muscle, but there was something unsettling about his presence. Not in strength, but in mind. His expression was unreadable, not in the manner of a seasoned warrior masking their emotions, but in a way that suggested he was either alarmingly honest or a master manipulator.


    A flicker of disbelief crossed Daokan¡¯s face. No Qi. None. Even newborns have Qi. And yet, this man stands.


    Then Daokan spoke, ''''Let them in.''''


    The shift was immediate. The suffocating weight that had pressed upon them vanished like mist under the morning sun. Bao and Jiang released shuddering breaths, their muscles aching from the strain of resistance. Yuxe Wuye closed her eyes briefly, composing herself before rising to her feet with practiced grace. Meyu, still trembling, let out a quiet gasp, her body weak from the ordeal. Atlas helps her stand up while patting her head to reassure her.


    Layla, however, was slower to recover. Her limbs felt like lead, her breath uneven. She turned to Atlas, eyes burning with a mix of disbelief and irritation. Her lips moved soundlessly, forming words only he could understand: "I''m going to kill you."


    Atlas blinked and¡ªwithout a second thought¡ªslid behind Meyu as if she were a human shield. Meyu, still catching her breath, frowned in confusion. "...What?"


    Layla groaned, rubbing her back. She had barely recovered from nearly being crushed under the weight of Daokan¡¯s aura, and now she had to deal with this man making an absolute fool of himself.


    As the gates of Shrouded Peaks fully opened, the difference between it and Silver Lotus was immediately apparent. Layla took one step inside and came to an abrupt halt. Her eyes swept over the towering structures, the intricate stone pathways, the smoothly polished training grounds where disciples practiced in disciplined formations.


    She scoffed, gesturing wildly at the pristine environment. "Oh, come on."


    Jiang, still stretching out his sore limbs from the earlier pressure, raised a brow. "What?"


    Layla threw her arms up in exasperation. "Are you seeing this? Look at those buildings! They¡¯re actually standing! Properly! No holes in the roofs, no broken support beams!"


    Bao, taking in the scene, whistled low. "Damn. Their roads don¡¯t even have dirt patches."


    Yuxe Wuye, walking beside her husband, chuckled under her breath. "They certainly have the resources."


    Layla continued, unfazed. "And those lanterns? Silk-covered lanterns? Glass windows? My sect barely has doors that don¡¯t fall off their hinges, and these guys are out here living in luxury!"


    Atlas, still taking in his surroundings, muttered, "I thought the Silver Lotus Sect was one of the oldest sects in the region?"


    Layla turned on her feet, jabbing a finger at him. "Yeah, and just like an old man, it¡¯s falling apart! You think we have marble flooring like this? No! We have dirt! You think our disciples have matching uniforms? No! Half of them are wearing patchwork robes held together by pure willpower!" She threw a glare towards her father. "Why didn¡¯t we have nice things?"


    Lin Wuye, completely unbothered, carrying the child while administrating Qi into her. "I told you. Administration is expensive."


    "So is my sanity," Layla shot back.


    Meanwhile, Bao had wandered closer to one of the training grounds, watching a group of Shrouded Peaks disciples practicing advanced formations with their spears. Their movements were precise, synchronized. It was the kind of training that spoke of discipline honed over generations.


    "This is a proper sect," Bao admitted. "Their body so solid like stone."


    Jiang crossed his arms, nodding as well. "Their techniques aren¡¯t flashy, but they¡¯re precise. Practical. I don¡¯t see any wasted movement."


    Layla muttered under her breath, still glancing around. "Not to mention, they¡¯ve actually got proper storage for their weapons. We just leave ours lying around in piles!"


    Atlas, taking it all in with a keen eye, finally let out a low chuckle. "So what I¡¯m hearing is, your sect is like a group of overly determined bandits squatting in the remains of a once-great institution."


    Layla glared daggers at him. "If I didn¡¯t need you alive to clear up this mess, I¡¯d throw you off this mountain."


    Internally, however, Atlas''s mind was already at work. This sect was well-organized, well-funded, and most importantly, well-supplied. If he played this right, there was an opportunity here. The resources alone made them a valuable connection. But how to get in without making it obvious? He needed leverage¡ªsomething they wanted that only he could provide. Perhaps trade? Perhaps something deeper? He filed the thought away for later, already formatting the foundation of a potential business deal in his mind.


    Meyu, meanwhile, had been quiet, walking closely beside Atlas. She exhaled deeply, still shaking off the remnants of the pressure she had felt earlier. She spared a glance toward Lin Wuye, who still held the unconscious child securely in his arms. "Master, how is she?"


    Lin Wuye adjusted his grip on the child and glanced down at her frail form. "She¡¯s stable for now, but she needs proper care. Malnourished, exhausted. It will take time before she recovers fully."


    Yan, who had been standing near Daokan, spoke for the first time since they entered. "Shrouded Peaks has some of the best medicinal facilities in the region. She¡¯ll be in good hands."


    Layla exhaled, some of her earlier frustration fading as she looked at the child. "At least that¡¯s something."


    Jiang stepped forward. "Where will we be staying?"


    Daokan, who had been silently watching the entire exchange, finally turned toward his disciple, the man second only to him in skill. "Yan Shuren, see to it that our guests are given quarters. Ensure the child is taken to the healers immediately."


    Yan nodded, his expression neutral as he gestured for the guards to proceed. ''This way, Silver Lotus Sect and..that merchant'' Yan also ordered a couple of the maids to take care of the child to their own physician. Lin Wuye slowly lets the child to the maid''s arm to which he sees how the maids sees her in pure sorrow and pity and walks quickly to the physician while covering her in warm cloth.


    As they moved deeper into the sect, Layla couldn¡¯t help but mutter under her breath, "I swear, if they have heated floors too, I¡¯m going to riot."


    They stepped into the main headquarters of Shrouded Peaks, and the difference was staggering. Layla had expected some level of grandeur, but this was beyond comprehension. The main building grounds were massive¡ªlarger than the entirety of Silver Lotus, including its own training grounds, living quarters, and meditation halls combined. The architecture was refined yet imposing, carved directly into the mountainside, blending seamlessly with the environment. Majestic pillars held up intricately designed ceilings, detailed murals depicting great battles and past masters lined the walls, and every pathway was immaculately maintained. What Layla assumed was the top Disciples practicing their Qi as she could feel the disturbance in the air to which she wonders if it''s because she was so weak. They moved and strike with practiced efficiency, their robes pristine, their expressions disciplined. There was no scrambling to rebuild, no signs of desperation. This was a sect that had never fallen. Stolen novel; please report.


    After this exchange of thoughts, Atlas disturbed Layla by introducing himself with an exaggerated flourish, much like a swindler. His voice carried the same dramatic flair, his posture exuding an overconfidence that instantly made Layla''s eye twitch in irritation.


    "A pleasure to make your acquaintance!" Atlas declared, grinning as he extended a hand towards her. "A merchant of the highest caliber, a man of wealth and taste, and, most importantly, someone who simply must know the name of the radiant young lady before him. My name is Atlas Ryland, Meyu is my business partner and you?"


    Layla stared at him, unamused. "...No."


    Atlas gasped, clutching his chest as if she had stabbed him. "No? You wound me! You deny me the honor of your name? A name, I am certain, that carries grace and legend alike?"


    Layla sighed, rubbing her temples. "Meilin. There. Happy now?"


    Atlas beamed. "Ecstatic! And now that we''re all friends¡ªtell me, Meilin, why does this place feel so *weird *to you? Judging by your face, I¡¯d say it¡¯s been gnawing at you since we got here."


    Layla exhaled sharply, her gaze drifting across the pristine sect. "It¡¯s too perfect. Too¡­ intact."


    Atlas raised a brow. "And your sect isn¡¯t?"


    Layla let out a humorless laugh. "Oh, my sect isn¡¯t just not intact. It¡¯s barely holding itself together. Seeing this just makes me realize how bad it really is."


    Seeing this just makes me realize how bad it really is."


    After this admission, Layla straightened, her expression hardening as she turned to introduce two figures who had been silent until now. "This is my father, Lin Wuye, and my mother, Yuxe Wuye."


    Atlas regarded them with a polite nod, adjusting his stance with a well-practiced ease. He took a step forward, hands clasped behind his back in a manner that suggested both respect and confidence. "An honour to meet you both. Given the state of the world and the challenges sects face today, I must ask¡ªhow is Silver Lotus faring? As a merchant by trade, I find myself always interested to establish relationship of great establishments such as yours. Perhaps there is something I can do to help."


    His voice was smooth, conversational, yet probing just enough to invite further dialogue. Atlas wasn¡¯t just asking out of politeness¡ªhe was watching, waiting, analyzing. And he knew Layla was doing the same to him.


    Her eyes narrowed. There were only two possibilities. Either Atlas was stupidly honest¡ªso confident in his own words that he never needed to hide anything. Or¡­ he was a master manipulator, someone who controlled every word, every movement, every outcome, even in casual conversation. Atlas, fully aware of this, from noticing her intent glare, kept up his act¡ªhis expressions perfectly balanced between casual sincerity and playful mischief. He let just enough of his personality slip through to keep Layla guessing.


    If she wanted to figure him out, she was going to have to work for it. Layla, still studying him, began to pick apart his demeanor¡ªhis expressions, his reactions, the small shifts in his body language. He was too composed, too measured. Despite his seemingly carefree attitude, nothing about him felt truly unguarded.


    Lin Wuye after hearing Atlas merchant-like question nodded thoughtfully before responding. "When Meilin¡ªour daughter¡ªfirst came to the main city, there were many things she required to keep Silver Lotus functioning. Resources were scarce, and even basic trade negotiations were difficult without proper backing. The sect has endured, but not without its struggles. When we came to the city, we tried to secure food but no merchant wanted to trade with us just because we are a struggling sect"


    Yuxe Wuye added, "She fought hard to secure what was needed, but the process was slow, and she met resistance at every turn. Many saw Silver Lotus as a sect on the decline. They were unwilling to invest in what they believed was a losing cause."


    Atlas tapped his chin, feigning deep contemplation while carefully watching Layla¡¯s reaction. "That is quite the predicament. If supply lines are the issue, then a merchant¡¯s network could be invaluable. I assume you¡¯d be interested in striking new trade agreements to stabilize the sect¡¯s standing?"


    Lin Wuye met his gaze, his expression unreadable. "That would certainly be beneficial. However, such negotiations require trust. Perhaps, once our meeting with Master Daokan is concluded, you and my daughter can strike a deal of your own."


    Layla''s head snapped toward her father, eyes narrowing. "Father!"


    Lin Wuye merely smiled, giving Atlas a knowing look. "You are, after all, a merchant of the highest caliber, are you not?"


    At those words, a gleam flickered in Atlas¡¯s eyes¡ªthe unmistakable look of a man who had just spotted a golden opportunity. It was the expression of a merchant who could smell profit from miles away.


    Atlas clasped his hands together, his voice oozing with enthusiasm. "Ah, Master Lin, you flatter me! But of course, my primary goal in life is to ensure mutually beneficial relationships! Now, Meilin, my dear business partner, tell me¡ªwhat exactly does Silver Lotus need? A stronger supply chain? Strategic trade routes? Or perhaps¡­ something more refined?"


    Layla¡¯s eye twitched. "Stop looking at me like I¡¯m a high-value investment."


    Atlas feigned deep contemplation, rubbing his chin. "But that¡¯s precisely what you are¡ªa leader of a struggling sect seeking revitalization. With the right connections, funding, and trade, Silver Lotus could flourish. And luckily for you, I specialize in making the impossible¡­ possible."


    Layla opened her mouth to retort, but before she could, a calm yet commanding voice cut through the air.


    "Enough. Sit."


    The entire group turned as Master Daokan stepped forward, his mere presence silencing the room. The air grew heavy with authority, and even Atlas, ever the opportunist, knew when to pause. The time for negotiation would come later.


    Master Daokan stood and insisted on them to sit while he verbally says to the maids ''Bring out the best'' and followed them outside.


    The moment they sat inside the grand hall, something unexpected happened.


    Bao let out an audible "Ahhh~" as he practically melted onto the floor. The entire group turned to him as he sprawled onto his back, stretching like a cat basking in the sun.


    "Bao," Jiang hissed, eyes darting around at the staring disciples. "Get up. You¡¯re embarrassing us."


    Bao sighed blissfully, completely ignoring him. "You don¡¯t understand. The floor is warm. The floor... is heated."


    Layla¡¯s eye twitched. Slowly, deliberately, she knelt down and pressed her palm against the polished wooden surface. A wave of comforting warmth radiated up her fingers.


    Layla had scoffed earlier at the mere idea of heated floors, dismissing it as an unnecessary luxury. ''What kind of spoiled sect would waste resources on something so ridiculous?'' she had thought at the time.


    Layla¡¯s eye twitched again. Slowly, she sat down.


    And then stood up.


    Then sat back down.


    Then up again.


    Her face twisted into something between horror and reluctant admiration as she kept shifting between positions, trying to comprehend the sheer staggering difference in temperature.


    Atlas watched her with barely restrained amusement. "Meilin¡­ are you comparing the floor temperatures?"


    Layla, still in a state of mild disbelief, muttered, "It doesn¡¯t make sense. How¡­ how can a floor feel this good?"


    Bao, sprawled on his back, raised a lazy hand. "Join me. Embrace the warmth. Give in."


    Jiang groaned. "I swear, I will leave you here."


    As if a silent agreement had passed through the group, one by one, they all sank onto the floor. Bao had already claimed his spot, but now Jiang, despite his earlier protests, hesitantly lowered himself, letting out a slow exhale as warmth seeped into his bones. Meilin''s parents followed suit with a measured grace, but even Lin Wuye let out a pleased hum.


    Atlas, ever the opportunist, stretched his legs out, sighing in mock satisfaction. "Now this¡­ this is civilization."


    Layla shot him another glare, but even she couldn¡¯t deny the comfort as she crossed her arms and sat fully. "This is an insult to all struggling sects everywhere."


    Meyu, who had resisted the longest, finally relented, sitting with her hands pressed flat to the wood. "I don''t think I can ever go back to cold floors."


    Atlas, ever the joker he is, tilted his head and smirked. "Alright, real question¡ªif Master Daokan himself asked you to be his concubine in exchange for permanent access to these floors, would you leave me?"


    Meyu barely hesitated before playfully responding, "Hmm¡­ depends. Would the deal include heated walls too?"


    Atlas let out a sharp laugh, but something inside him twisted. It was a joke. He knew it was a joke. And yet, the idea¡ªher leaving him, even hypothetically¡ªstung in a way he hadn¡¯t expected.


    He kept his expression relaxed, casual, but the weight of the answer settled deep in his chest, unnoticed by anyone else but him.


    Jiang, eyes shut in reluctant bliss, muttered, "If we had this back home, I¡¯d never leave my quarters."


    Bao, still sprawled on his back, lazily waved a hand. "Forget everything else. I propose we abandon all worldly struggles and dedicate our lives to floor appreciation."


    Layla groaned. "I swear, if Master Daokan walks in and sees us like this, we¡¯re never getting taken seriously."


    Atlas leaned back on his hands, smirking. "Or, we could propose a lucrative heated floor business expansion. Think of the profits, Meilin. Think of the future."


    Layla buried her face in her hands. "I am so done with you all."


    But the thought stayed with both of them.


    Atlas, for his part, merely scoffed at Layla¡¯s rejection, recognizing it for what it was¡ªpettiness. She had to know this was a brilliant idea. He could already see the potential: luxury-heated floors in every sect, a revolution in comfort that he would personally monopolize. Of course, that meant he first had to convince a certain sect master to let him have a piece of this operation. A grin tugged at the corner of his lips as he began mentally crafting his pitch¡ªafter all, what kind of merchant would he be if he let an opportunity like this slip through his fingers?


    Meanwhile, Layla sat stiffly, her thoughts racing. Atlas was dangerous¡ªnot because of his fighting ability, but because of his mind. She could feel him scheming already. She knew exactly what he was thinking because she had the same idea herself. But there was no way in hell she was letting him be the one to take advantage of this. No, if there was anyone who was going to strike a deal with Master Daokan and secure this innovation for their own sect, it was going to be her.


    All she needed to do was figure out how to get Atlas out of the picture first.


    Before she could plot any further, the air in the room shifted, and the presence of authority became undeniable. Master Daokan returned, his expression unreadable as he took his place at the head of the hall.


    Without hesitation, as if reading their very thoughts, he simply stated, "No."


    Atlas blinked. "No?"


    Daokan¡¯s gaze swept over them, unimpressed. "You are not the first to come here offering business ventures, and you will not be the last. Heated floors, trade agreements, alliances¡ªI have rejected them all. And I will continue to reject them. My sect has no need for outside interference."


    Layla and Atlas exchanged a glance. They had both been shut down before they could even open their mouths.


    But that didn¡¯t deter either of them. At least, not yet.


    Atlas, ever the businessman, clapped his hands together and gave the floor an appreciative pat, his grin widening. "Master Daokan, I must say, your sect''s infrastructure is truly a marvel! Heated floors in a mountain stronghold¡ªsuch foresight, such innovation! A true testament to leadership that values both practicality and luxury!"


    Layla shot him a glare, practically vibrating with frustration. "Don¡¯t compliment them! My sect is out here fighting off starvation and patching walls with leftover robes, and these people are walking on luxury!" She turned her head toward Daokan and his disciple Yan Shuren, eyes narrowed. "How do you have heated floors?"


    Yan Shuren, ever the composed warrior, simply inclined his head. "The sect values comfort and efficiency. The mountains are harsh in the winter. We prepare accordingly."


    Bao, still on the ground, let out another satisfied groan. "I could live here."


    Jiang promptly kicked him in the side. "You disgrace us all."


    Layla, arms crossed, exhaled sharply. "Unbelievable. First, they have an entire sect bigger than our entire territory. Then, they have pristine architecture, immaculate floors, and now heated floors? What¡¯s next? Personal servants? Massage parlors? A dining hall that doesn¡¯t serve week-old rice?"


    Before she could even fully process her own words, Master Daokan simply raised a hand, his voice carrying an air of effortless authority. "Come in."


    The doors to the grand hall swung open. Maids entered in seamless formation, bringing in freshly steamed delicacies, silk-clad attendants stepping forward with practiced elegance. A row of well-dressed servants appeared, one carrying an assortment of fine teas, another presenting heated towels. A subtle, soothing aroma filled the air as a pair of masseurs stationed themselves nearby, waiting expectantly.


    Layla stared, her brain halting mid-thought. Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again as she failed to form a single coherent word. Before she could even attempt to process the absurdity of what was happening, a servant appeared at her side, gracefully placing a warm silk towel in her hands. Another stepped forward, offering a cup of fragrant tea, the rich aroma curling into her senses. She took it without thinking, still too stunned to react properly.


    Then, she felt it¡ªa pair of gentle hands pressing against her shoulders, kneading expertly into the knots of tension she hadn¡¯t even realized were there.


    Layla stiffened. "What¡ª"


    "Relax, honored guest," the masseuse said smoothly. "You carry much stress. It is unbecoming of one in such a refined establishment."


    Atlas, now fully seated and leaning back with a self-satisfied grin, burst into laughter. "Meilin, you¡¯re practically royalty now! You sure you don¡¯t want to negotiate a long-term stay?"


    She turned to glare at him, only to freeze when another servant approached with a delicate plate of what looked like the finest, most perfectly cooked dumplings she had ever seen.


    Her fingers twitched. Her soul wavered.


    "No," she whispered to herself. "Stay strong."


    Atlas, wiping away a tear of laughter, leaned in. "Be honest. If we left you here for an hour, you¡¯d be wearing their robes, wouldn''t you?"


    Layla took a deep breath, gripping the tea in one hand and the warm towel in the other, now fully sinking into the luxurious trap set before her and eating a dumpling. "I hate this place so much."


    Atlas only laughed harder.


    As the group settled into their newfound comfort, Jiang, though reluctant at first, finally gave in, sighing as he sipped his tea. "I hate to admit it... but this is nice.


    Bao, already sprawled comfortably, grinned. "You see? Acceptance is the first step. The second step is never leaving."


    Meyu chuckled, shaking her head. "I don¡¯t know what¡¯s worse¡ªthe fact that you¡¯re saying this, or the fact that I kind of agree."


    Lin Wuye, who had remained silent until now, chuckled lightly. "Perhaps instead of resentment, we should take this as a learning opportunity."


    Layla muttered something incoherent under her breath but didn¡¯t argue further.


    Master Daokan, watching their exchange with a small, knowing smile, finally spoke. "I must apologize for the trouble my guards caused you earlier. They were merely following protocol."


    The group exchanged glances before shrugging collectively. In unison, they all replied, "It¡¯s okay."


    Daokan nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. "Good. Now, let us proceed."


    Layla wasted no time. She straightened, setting aside her tea and swallowing her dumping. Her expression grew serious. "Master Daokan, before we move forward, you should know what happened earlier in the city."


    She went on to explain in detail, recounting how she had tried to secure resources, only to be met with rejection at every turn. But as she continued, her focus narrowed on one particular incident¡ªthe slave traders.


    Her voice grew sharper as she described the sight of people turned into slaves were being treated like commodities, their hollow eyes, their resigned silence. She told him about the kid that was brought here was the slave over there who was bought at a high price of 2 gold coins.


    Then, she turned, pointing directly at Atlas. "And as a final insult, do you know who the buyer was?"


    Atlas blinked. "Now, wait a¡ª"


    Before he could even finish his sentence, the masseuse standing behind him moved faster than anyone could react. One moment, she was a mere attendant¡ªsilent, unassuming. The next, she had a needle pressed against his neck, her grip firm, her expression unreadable.


    No one had seen it. Not Jiang, not Bao, not even Lin Wuye, who had spent years mastering perception and reading the flow of battle. And certainly not Atlas, who prided himself on seeing through layers of deception and manipulation. His mind screamed internally, trying to process what just happened, but no explanation came.


    For the first time in a long while, he had been completely, utterly caught off guard. In an instant, a needle was pressed against his neck, her grip firm, her expression unreadable.


    Tension shattered the easy atmosphere. Meyu immediately sat up, alarm flashing across her face. "Hey, wait, hold on¡ª!"


    Jiang and Bao tensed, their hands moving instinctively toward their weapons, but even they hesitated, realizing just how quickly Atlas had been caught.


    Atlas, frozen in place, let out a slow breath. "...I feel like this is a misunderstanding."


    A sharp crack echoed through the hall.


    Master Daokan had not moved, had not raised his voice, and yet, in his hand, the porcelain teacup had shattered, hairline fractures spreading before it crumbled entirely. A single droplet of tea slipped down his fingers, but his gaze remained locked onto Atlas, unreadable yet undeniably furious.


    The sheer weight of his presence pressed down on the room. Even without Qi, Atlas felt his body go weak, his limbs suddenly resembling jelly. His brain screamed at him to move, to act, to say something, but all he could do was sit there, sweat forming at the nape of his neck as the needle remained firmly in place.


    Atlas let out a nervous chuckle, his voice barely above a whisper. "Alright, maybe a slight misunderstanding..."


    Master Daokan¡¯s eyes narrowed, his expression shifting into something eerily calm. Too calm. His fingers, still dusted with shattered porcelain, flexed slightly, and Atlas swore he felt the air itself tighten.


    "Curious," Daokan said, his voice quiet, yet cutting through the tension like a blade. "You spoke with such urgency before my gates. You stressed the condition of the child, claimed she needed help beyond all else." His gaze sharpened, each word slow and deliberate. "And yet now, I find that same child was purchased by you. A merchant. Tell me, Atlas Ryland, how does one justify turning concern into ownership?"


    Atlas¡¯s entire body tensed. Years of manipulation, of reading people, of knowing when to pivot and when to act, screamed at him that if Daokan so much as stood up, he was already dead.


    Three seconds.


    That¡¯s all he had.


    In the first second, he pieced together his response.


    In the second, he calculated how much truth he could afford to reveal.


    In the third, he spoke¡ªfast, smooth, desperate, but without a single wasted breath.


    "I bought her because I had to¡ªbecause if I didn¡¯t, she would¡¯ve ended up in a place far worse. My goal was never ownership but protection. Every slave I¡¯ve ever bought, including Meyu, was freed the moment I could guarantee their safety. I don¡¯t profit off them, I don¡¯t sell them. I get them out before people who actually deserve to be crushed under your boot take them first."


    He exhaled sharply, heart hammering, as Daokan remained perfectly still, the weight of his gaze unrelenting.


    But Atlas could tell.


    The master was thinking the same thing Layla had¡ªhe is a merchant, and surely, he has enough.


    Atlas knew that the Master didn¡¯t know the depth of his pockets.


    But Layla did.


    In just a second, his tongue flicked out, licking his lips at light speed¡ªa nervous tick that, for once, was entirely justified. Funny as it might¡¯ve looked to Layla, it was the physical sign of his mind revving at full speed, a merchant weighing his own actions against the morality he so carefully curated.


    His thoughts solidified into conviction.


    "I can tell," he began, voice steadier now, "by a person¡¯s posture, their face, their emotions, their eye movement, the way they breathe, the way they stand. I can tell, with at least 90% certainty, what kind of person they are. And I knew¡ªI knew¡ªif I didn¡¯t act first, someone far worse would have."


    His gaze locked onto Daokan¡¯s, unwavering now. "I don¡¯t make a habit of justifying myself. But if you¡¯re going to judge me, then judge me for what I do, not just what I am."


    Daokan remained silent for a moment, then leaned slightly forward. "How many slaves have you freed?"


    Atlas didn¡¯t flinch. "Thirty-six."


    "Why did Meyu stay?"


    Atlas inhaled through his nose, then exhaled. "Because she chose to. I never forced her to stay, never asked her to repay me. Some people just... don''t have anywhere else to go."


    Daokan¡¯s gaze remained sharp. "And yet, you only save a select few. Why not all?"


    Atlas scoffed. "Because I¡¯m not a saint. Because I don¡¯t have infinite wealth or infinite patience. Because some of them deserve to be there." His voice hardened. "I¡¯ve met criminals hiding behind chains, conmen who sold their own families, thieves who ruin honest men, traitors who burned their own people for gold. And I¡¯ve met innocents, people thrown into a system they never deserved to be in. But I can¡¯t save them all. I don¡¯t have the luxury of blind kindness, only calculated mercy."


    The room was heavy with silence.


    Layla shifted, crossing her arms before hesitating. "May I break the silence Master? Just for a second?"


    Daokan gave a slight nod, allowing it.


    She turned her gaze to Atlas, her expression unreadable. "I have a proper question for you. No tricks, no over the top facial, no buttery words, just an honest answer." She leaned forward. "If you were king, what would you do?"


    Atlas blinked. His usual smirk faltered just slightly. For the first time in this entire exchange, he wasn¡¯t thinking in calculated steps¡ªwasn¡¯t formulating an escape or a counter.


    He thought about it. And then, sincerely, he spoke.


    "If I were king¡­ I¡¯d do what I always do. Weigh the cost of every decision, cut away what doesn¡¯t work, and make sure the people who can stand on their own do so while protecting those who can¡¯t. I wouldn¡¯t try to be a hero. I wouldn¡¯t try to be loved. I¡¯d try to make things work."


    Layla studied him, her expression unreadable.


    Atlas let out a breath, shaking his head. "I¡¯m not a king, Meilin I¡¯m a merchant. I deal in exchanges, not miracles. But if I had power? Real power? Then I¡¯d make damn sure no one had to rely on luck just to survive." For a moment, his words lingered in the air, but in his mind, they carried him elsewhere¡ªfar from the Dynasty of Jin, far from this room, back to Europe, back to a life he had buried beneath every calculated step he took.


    He remembered the streets he grew up on, the cold that seeped into his bones no matter how many layers he wore. The sound of his mother¡¯s coughing in the night, worsening with every passing week. His father¡¯s desperate attempts to keep their small business afloat, only to be crushed beneath the weight of taxes and ruthless competitors who played dirtier than they ever could. He remembered the empty pantry, the days of hunger, the cold realization that no one was coming to save them.


    And then he remembered the moment he understood.


    The world didn¡¯t reward kindness. It didn¡¯t punish cruelty. It moved forward, indifferent, uncaring. Survival wasn¡¯t about being good¡ªit was about being smart. And so, Atlas became smart. He learned to negotiate before he learned to trust. He learned to read people before he let them read him. And when the chance came to leave it all behind, to start over in a new foreign country, the Jin Dynasty with nothing but his wits and ambition, he took it. He learned the language painstakingly. Didn''t matter if he was met with eyes that disapprove of him. He relied on his own hardwork.


    Because luck had failed him once.


    And he swore it would never control his life again.


    Master Daokan, arms folded, exhaled slowly, his expression still unreadable. "You speak with conviction, Atlas Ryland. But words are easy. Let''s see proof of your skill."


    Master Daokan remained silent for a beat, then slowly, deliberately, raised the stakes. "And since you seem so confident, let¡¯s make it more interesting. Analyse not just anyone¡ªbut the one currently holding your life. The masseuse"


    Atlas¡¯s entire thought process came to a screeching halt.


    Externally, his face did not change.


    Internally? He''s screwed.


    His mind scrambled at light speed. Was this some kind of cruel joke? Was Daokan trying to see if he¡¯d break under pressure? Because if so, he was absolutely succeeding. Analysing someone under normal conditions was one thing, but analysing the person who had a literal needle pressed to his neck? That was an entirely new level of madness.


    Externally, his face remained a picture of iron-willed confidence, not a single muscle betraying the internal panic setting in. His years of experience told him one undeniable truth¡ªif he refused, it would only confirm Daokan¡¯s doubts.


    "Yes," he said, far too quickly, his mouth working ahead of his brain.


    Silence followed. Then, slowly, almost eerily, every single person in the room¡ªLayla, her parents, Jiang, Bao, Yan, Meyu, and all the disciples¡ªturned their heads toward Atlas in perfect unison, as if they shared the same exact thought.


    Ah, that face again.


    Atlas¡¯s expression was a masterpiece of forced composure¡ªa face that had weathered countless negotiations, tricked warlords, charmed nobles, and convinced even the most skeptical merchants to part with their gold. His brows held the perfect arch of feigned confidence, his lips barely curving in what could be mistaken for a smirk but was, in truth, the face of a man rapidly running calculations in his head.


    His eyes, however, were betraying him just slightly¡ªa flicker of desperation, of a man who knew he had been thrown into deep waters without knowing how to swim. His jaw tensed just enough to reveal the silent suffering of someone who was about to do the most dangerous thing he had ever done: improvise.


    The result? A face that was both unreadable and comically obvious at the same time.

 Manipulation and Tomfoolery

    Atlas Ryland had faced lords, nobles, warlords, conmen, slavers, and bureaucrats armed with nothing but his wit and a dangerously sharp tongue. But right now, at this precise moment, he was experiencing something far worse than all of them combined.


    A needle at his neck.


    His body remained still, but his mind was a lightning storm of deductions, processing everything in less than ten seconds.


    First: Hands.


    Soft, yet firm. Calluses¡ªsubtle, precise. The kind formed by wielding weapons, not scrubbing floors.


    Grip? Perfectly measured. No wasted tension. She wasn¡¯t restraining him; she was controlling him.


    The needles? Balanced. Unshaken. This was someone who didn¡¯t just handle weapons¡ªshe mastered them.


    ¡®She¡¯s not a servant. She¡¯s a warrior who could gut me before I even think of screaming.¡¯


    Second: Breath.


    Silent. Controlled. Not a hint of exertion. Qi discipline most likely.


    No fluctuation, no tell-tale heartbeat spike. No anger, no hesitation.


    ¡®This isn¡¯t instinct. This is refined, ruthless training.¡¯


    Third: Chest.


    Atlas, as a dedicated observer, took stock of the proportions with professional curiosity.


    Tightly wrapped beneath martial robes but shape and size was noticeable. Maybe like a peach. No shift, no movement¡ªshe wasn¡¯t just controlling her breath. She was controlling her body.


    ¡®Qi suppression. The same kind used by grandmasters.¡¯


    Atlas internally sighed. ¡®Fantastic. I¡¯m pinned by a legend-in-the-making.¡¯


    Fourth: Posture & Strength.


    Feet planted with intent. Even weight distribution¡ªdefensive and offensive in equal measure.


    No slouch, no wavering.


    The stance? The exact same as Daokan.


    Atlas¡¯ stomach dropped slightly. ¡®Oh. Oh no. She¡¯s someone important.¡¯


    Fifth: The Needle.


    Not poisoned. If it were, he¡¯d smell the chemicals.


    Not shaking. If it were meant to kill, it would¡¯ve already punctured skin.


    ¡®This isn¡¯t a threat. It¡¯s a statement. I am in her mercy.¡¯


    Atlas sighed dramatically, finally speaking. "Not that I don¡¯t enjoy a woman¡¯s hands on me, but usually I prefer dinner first."


    A sharp exhale came from infront of him¡ªMeyu. Atlas, ever attuned to his surroundings, didn¡¯t need to look to know she had stiffened. A fraction too long before she folded her arms, eyes narrowing.


    ''Oh? Interesting.''


    She masked it quickly, but not quickly enough. The barely audible click of her tongue, the shift in weight from one foot to another¡ªMeyu wasn¡¯t pleased. Not furious, not jealous in the overt sense, but there was something. A subtle irritation, the kind a person had when they didn¡¯t understand why they were irritated.


    Atlas almost smirked. Almost.


    No response. Unshaken.


    Sixth: Tone of Voice.


    When she finally spoke, it was calm, deliberate, and practiced.


    ¡°You talk too much.¡±


    No venom, no emotion. Just control.


    Atlas¡¯ brain clicked into place like a puzzle snapping shut.


    ¡®Daughter of Daokan. Has to be¡¯


    It wasn¡¯t a guess. It was the only logical answer.


    His smirk returned. ¡°You don¡¯t like my voice? Tragic. Women usually fall for it.¡±


    Her grip tightened.


    Got her.


    Seventh: Instinctive Response.


    When he spoke, her fingers twitched. Just slightly.


    Unconscious reaction. Meaning not completely emotionless.


    Meaning vulnerable to manipulation.


    Atlas leaned ever so slightly into the needle, feeling her hand react again¡ªadjusting before he could even fully shift. Perfect reaction speed. ¡®She¡¯s as fast as top cultivators, but she¡¯s unknown to the world. That means she¡¯s a hidden ace.¡¯


    And all of this? Less than thirty seconds.


    Most of that time was wasted waiting for her to speak. The deductions? They had already been completed within the first fifteen.


    His grin deepened, slow and deliberate, stretching with devilish amusement. It was the kind of grin that belonged to a man who had just solved the puzzle before anyone even realized there was one. A grin eerily reminiscent of a trickster who had already won the game.


    Layla and Master Daokan both watched this unfold, their expressions unreadable¡ªuntil their inner thoughts, in perfect sync, betrayed them.


    ''I want to punch this guy.''


    ¡°Tell me,¡± he murmured, voice silk-soft and cunning, ¡°Are you the strong, silent type because it¡¯s your style? Or because it¡¯s expected of you?¡±


    A fraction of a second. A tiny flicker of her fingers.


    Atlas exhaled through his nose, as if bored, and leaned back slightly, his eyes sweeping across the room before locking onto Meilin and Daokan. "Alright, let''s make this easy for everyone."


    He raised a single finger, twirling it lazily. "She¡¯s not a servant. That much is obvious. Hands too refined, yet too calloused in all the right places. That means she¡¯s trained¡ªtrained well. Probably from birth."


    His eyes flicked toward the needle still pressed against his neck, and he smirked. "Breath control? Impeccable. Not just calm¡ªcontrolled. No wasted energy, no unnecessary movements. That¡¯s high-level Qi suppression. You don¡¯t learn that from carrying trays of tea and scrubbing floors."


    Atlas tapped his forehead. "Posture¡¯s the giveaway, though. Balanced. Offensive stance, but weight distributed for absolute control. The only other person that could move like that? A Grandmaster threatening me and unless you¡¯ve got an entire army of that''s tucked away in the sea of the servants, you would be able to conquer the world but this with all the other reason I said earlier makes her special."


    His grin widened as he gestured toward Daokan. "Special, and conveniently very close to you. That¡¯s the kicker, isn¡¯t it? You don¡¯t let just anyone train at that level. That¡¯s blood. That¡¯s legacy. That¡¯s¡ª"


    He tilted his head dramatically, ignoring the increased pressure on the needle as if it were no more than a mosquito bite. "Master Daokan¡¯s own daughter."


    Silence.


    Daokan¡¯s expression remained unreadable, but the tension in the air said enough. Layla blinked, then scowled. Jiang furrowed his brows, looking between Atlas and Daokan as if trying to find the lie. Bao outright snorted, shaking his head. Even Meyu¡ªwho had seen Atlas work miracles before¡ªcrossed her arms and whispered to Yuxe, "No way. He¡¯s bluffing."


    Layla exhaled sharply again, rubbing her forehead. I swear to the heavens, this man was put on this earth just to be insufferable. Even she found herself doubting him. Could he really have deduced all that in seconds? No, it wasn¡¯t possible¡­ was it?


    Daokan remained eerily still, but his eyes had narrowed just slightly. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the table, a silent cadence of suppressed thought. And the woman with the needle? Still unmoving. Still unreadable. But Atlas knew. He saw it¡ªthe tiniest, almost imperceptible flicker in her stance.


    Atlas chuckled. "Oh, you¡¯re good. Really good. But see, the thing about being me is¡­ I only need one reaction. And I already got it, from both father and daughter I might add."


    He let his grin widen, letting it morph into something downright wicked. Then, without breaking eye contact with Daokan, he exhaled dramatically. "And you, Master Daokan... that fury earlier? That wasn¡¯t just because of the child slave. No, that anger runs deeper."


    Daokan¡¯s fingers halted mid-tap.


    Atlas tilted his head. "It¡¯s personal, isn¡¯t it? That unshakable fury when I mentioned the girl¡¯s fate? That¡¯s not righteous indignation. That¡¯s pain. Because you once almost lost someone the same way. Someone very close to you. Someone¡ª"


    The needle sank into his skin just enough to draw a bead of blood.


    Atlas, despite himself, grinned even wider. His voice dropped to a near whisper, eyes glinting like a devil who had just won his game.


    "I¡¯m right, aren¡¯t I?"


    The masseuse¡¯s grip tightened, her fingers pressing into his skin with barely concealed irritation. "You are infuriating," she hissed, finally breaking her silence. The weight of her frustration bore down on him, but he only chuckled.


    Master Daokan exhaled slowly, his eyes closing for a brief moment as if contemplating whether it was worth the effort to deny it. When he opened them again, his gaze was sharp and unwavering. "Yes," he said at last. "She is my daughter."


    The room froze.


    Jiang¡¯s mouth slightly parted, his usually impassive face betraying a flicker of shock. Bao let out an incredulous huff, shaking his head. Meyu stared, blinking in disbelief. Even Layla, who had been prepared for some level of absurdity, felt her mind momentarily stall.


    He was right?


    Layla exhaled, her fingers instinctively rubbing her temples realising that Atlas was dangerous. More dangerous than any rulers, armies, warrior she had ever faced.


    Not because he was the strongest. Not because he wielded some ancient technique. No, his power lay in his ability to see through people, to unravel their very being with nothing but words and intuition. He was a weapon disguised as a man, cutting deeper than any blade ever could.


    If he had been in her past life¡ªwhen she had worn the crown, ruled from the gilded throne, played the great game of politics¡ªwhat would she have done? If she had encountered him not as a merchant, but as a rival noble, an enemy warlord, or even a mere advisor with nothing but ambition in his veins?


    Would she have been able to stop him?


    Her mind ran the scenarios: If he had commanded even a minor town, would she have been able to crush him? No, he would have thrived, manipulating every lord and general under her rule. If he had been among her courtiers, she would never have been able to fully trust him¡ªbecause he saw too much.


    And if he had been an enemy?


    Layla felt a chill crawl down her spine.


    She had fought wars before, but against men of brute strength, against warriors whose rage could be countered with calculation. If Atlas had led an army against her in her past life, she wasn¡¯t sure she would have won. No, worse¡ªshe wasn¡¯t sure she would have even seen him coming.


    It wasn¡¯t about brute strength, nor was it about power in the conventional sense. No, what made Atlas terrifying was his ability to break them down, piece by piece, and rearrange them into something more useful for his game.


    The masseuse¡ªno, Daokan¡¯s daughter¡ªreleased Atlas, her movements controlled, but her annoyance was clear. With a sharp motion, she reached up and pulled away the thin veil covering her face, revealing sharp, refined features that bore a striking resemblance to Master Daokan.


    "I am Shen Xue of the Daokan lineage," she stated, her voice crisp, proud, and laced with residual irritation.


    "And you, merchant, are far too perceptive for your own good."


    Atlas barely flinched as a warm cloth dabbed at his neck, absorbing the thin trail of blood trickling from where the needle had pierced skin. The servant tending to him moved with careful precision, as if afraid that one wrong move might set off something¡ªhim, Shen Xue, or perhaps the tense silence still weighing on the room.


    But Atlas? He simply watched Shen Xue with a lopsided smirk, as if the moment had already passed, as if her attack had been nothing more than an amusing game to him. The sharp amusement in his gaze, however, didn¡¯t quite hide the depth of his scrutiny.


    ¡°I imagine this is the part where I apologize,¡± he mused, tilting his head slightly to give the servant better access.


    ¡°Or maybe it¡¯s the part where I grovel for forgiveness? You seem the type to appreciate proper decorum. Maybe I should offer my hand or better my head just because I was right and you took offense to it¡±


    Shen Xue remained still, arms crossed, gaze clearly annoyed. Atlas chuckled, low and knowing.


    ¡°But I won¡¯t. Because I¡¯m not sorry.¡±


    Layla¡¯s eyes narrowed. She wasn¡¯t sure what irritated her more¡ªthe sheer audacity of his words or the undeniable truth buried beneath them. Atlas never did anything without reason, and she had no doubt he had one now. The room waited for him to elaborate, even Daokan watching with an expression carved from stone.


    Atlas exhaled through his nose, his amusement tempering into something sharper, something edged with reality.


    ¡°I survive in this world because I see things for what they are. Because I don¡¯t walk into a room blind and hope for the best. That¡¯s how you die, and I rather enjoy living.¡±


    He let the words settle before continuing, voice softer now, but no less dangerous.


    ¡°You call me perceptive like it¡¯s a flaw. Like knowing the truth, finding the cracks, and pulling them apart is some kind of sin.¡±


    He met Shen Xue¡¯s gaze directly, unflinching.


    ¡°But that¡¯s how I stay alive. That¡¯s how I win. This world isn¡¯t kind¡ªit¡¯s cruel, it¡¯s ruthless, and it will chew up anyone too blind to see the knife at their throat before it¡¯s too late.¡±


    Layla found herself gripping her arms tighter, nails digging into fabric. Because she couldn¡¯t deny it. She didn¡¯t want to agree with him, didn¡¯t want to acknowledge that his methods¡ªhis frustrating, insufferable, almost supernatural ability to dissect people in an instant¡ªwere necessary.


    And yet, wasn¡¯t it the truth?


    She had doubted him. When he made that deduction, she had refused to believe he could piece it together in seconds. She had thought, No, it¡¯s not possible. But it was. And if she had been in his place, would she have done the same?


    No.


    The answer chilled her more than anything.


    Atlas had seen what no one else did. Not her, not Daokan, not Meyu. He had done it in mere moments, with nothing but instinct, wit, and sheer audacity.


    And now, a horrifying thought took root in her mind¡ªone she couldn¡¯t shake, no matter how much she wanted to.


    If Atlas had been part of the Lotus Sect, if he had been at their side when they faced Shen Mu¡ªthe warlord who brought the sect to its knees¡ªwould he have been able to outmaneuver him? Would he have been able to predict every move, every possibility, dismantle his forces, and unravel him before he even realized he lost or dead even?Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Would Atlas have been able to defeat Shen Mu without losing a single drop of blood?


    Layla felt something uneasy settle in her chest. Because for the first time, she couldn¡¯t confidently answer no.


    Master Daokan¡¯s voice broke the silence. ¡°And what will you do with the child?¡±


    Atlas glanced at him, tilting his head.


    ¡°What will I do? The same thing I¡¯d do for any child. I¡¯ll care for her. Feed her. Give her a place where she isn¡¯t just another broken tool.¡±


    His smirk wavered, though his voice remained steady.


    ¡°I won¡¯t be teaching her Qi¡ªnot because I don¡¯t want to, but because I don¡¯t even know how. And frankly, it''s too much of a headache.¡±


    He leaned back, his expression momentarily distant, as if recalling something long buried.


    ¡°They were powerless. Useless, by most accounts. But they were the slaves I freed and I never expected anything from them except to be themselves.¡±


    His gaze returned to Daokan, sharp yet honest.


    ¡°That¡¯s how I¡¯ll treat her. She¡¯s not a weapon, not an asset. She¡¯ll have her freedom, and if one day she decides she wants to leave to me, she¡¯ll walk away without chains.¡±


    Before anyone could respond, Lin Wuye cleared his throat.


    ¡°Perhaps we should focus on why the child is in such a state in the first place.¡±


    Master Daokan nodded, his expression with sadness.


    ¡°I went out earlier to see her with the physician. The child is malnourished, but worse¡ªher body bears the scars of forced cultivation. She has over fifty bruises, some fresh, others layered over older wounds. Someone has been pushing her beyond her limits, draining her potential far too early. She wakes up in a panic, barely sleeps, and struggles to speak.¡±


    A heavy silence fell over the room. Atlas¡¯s jaw tightened, but his outward expression remained neutral.


    But beneath his words, a storm brewed in his chest. Someone had done this to her. Someone had turned a child into a husk, covered in bruises¡ªtoo many to count. Her arms, her back, her legs¡ªeach a road map of cruelty. And she flinched at the smallest movement. Not just pain. Fear. A fear ingrained deep, one that couldn¡¯t be erased overnight. Atlas smiled, but inside, his mind was already turning, already planning.


    Someone had done this. And someone was going to pay. ¡°She deserves better.¡± His voice was quieter now, but firm.


    Daokan met his gaze. ¡°Then it¡¯s settled.¡±


    Layla took a deep breath. ¡°And what about the supplies for my sect? We need food, clothing, necessities. The situation is dire.¡±


    Daokan nodded. ¡°The hardships you faced in the main city¡ªI will handle it. By tomorrow, when you leave the sect, you and your people will receive more than adequate treatment from all the merchants. No more scorn, no more denial. I will see to it personally.¡±


    Layla studied him carefully before exhaling. ¡°Good. That¡¯s a start.¡±


    Daokan then turned towards Layla. ¡°And as for you, I have a proposal.¡±


    Layla crossed her arms. ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡±


    ¡°Atlas will act as the Silver Lotus Sect¡¯s personal merchant. In return, you will have access to fair profits and protection under our name should Atlas failed at his role.¡±


    Layla grinned. ¡°Oh?¡±


    Before Atlas could open his mouth, Daokan smoothly turned to him. ¡°And you, Atlas, will ensure the smooth execution of this arrangement.¡±


    Atlas blinked. ¡°Wait, hold on a second. I was going to negotiate my own¡ª¡±


    Daokan¡¯s smile was polite, almost pleasant. ¡°Ah, yes, about that. I assume you still want that audience with the Emperor? You remember, of course, your little... pleads at the gate earlier?¡±


    Atlas stiffened, his mind flashing back to the embarrassing spectacle he had caused just hours before. He coughed, then immediately straightened, expression shifting into exaggerated enthusiasm.


    ¡°Master Daokan, my dearest, wisest, most generous master,¡± Atlas beamed, clasping his hands together in exaggerated reverence.


    ¡°It would be the honour of my life to serve the esteemed Silver Lotus Sect. Why, it is practically my destiny to ensure the sect thrives through my impeccable business acumen! Truly, this is a blessing upon me!¡±


    Layla stared. ¡°That was fast.¡±


    Atlas sighed dramatically. ¡°A man must know when he is in the presence of greatness. And who am I to argue with fate?¡±


    He placed a hand on his chest, feigning sincerity. ¡°Consider me your most loyal servant, bound by duty, honor, and a totally not-forced contract.¡±


    Layla sighed. ¡°Fine. But if he overcharges us, I swear¡ª¡±


    Atlas clapped his hands together. ¡°Overcharge? Me? Perish the thought, dear Meilin! Why, I will ensure the finest deals, the most competitive prices¡ªnay, I will bring prosperity the likes of which your sect has never seen! The name Atlas Ryland shall be sung in your halls for generations to come!¡±


    Layla groaned, rubbing her temples. ¡°This is going to be a nightmare.¡±


    Atlas winked. ¡°Think of it as a learning opportunity.¡±


    Layla shot him a glare. ¡°I¡¯d rather think of it as torture.¡±


    Daokan ignored them both. ¡°Then it¡¯s settled.¡±


    Atlas gave an exaggerated bow. ¡°Your faith in me shall not be misplaced, O mighty Master Daokan. From this day forth, I dedicate my unparalleled skills to the Silver Lotus Sect. And if there¡¯s ever a moment where my brilliance falters¡ª¡± he placed a dramatic hand over his heart, ¡°¡ªmay the heavens strike me down where I stand.¡±


    Layla kicked his shin.


    Atlas yelped, hopping on one foot. ¡°Treachery! Betrayal! Meilin, you promised to kill me later, not cripple me now!¡±


    Layla simply amused and said in the same tone as Atlas,


    ''''This was for using my pathetic little shivering body as you said. I am nothing-nay-a fragile girl like you put it''''


    Daokan simply sighed. ¡°Get to work.¡±


    At his command, a pair of servants quickly entered the room, one carrying a stack of parchment and a fine quill, while another unrolled an inkstone with practiced efficiency. The terms and conditions of Atlas¡¯s newfound servitude¡ªahem, partnership¡ªwere written down immediately.


    Another wave of attendants followed, this time bearing additional platters of food, their warm aroma filling the chamber. Bowls of steamed rice, fragrant roasted duck, and fresh vegetables were set on the table, a gesture of hospitality to their guests. The tension that had once clouded the room slowly began to ease into something more manageable.


    Meyu leaned against the wall, arms crossed as she observed the scene. ¡°Well, this is an improvement,¡± she muttered.


    ¡°At least no one is threatening to stab each other anymore. A marked success, really.¡±


    Layla, rubbing her hands, huffed. ¡°It¡¯s only temporary.¡±


    Atlas, seated at the table, looked as though he were preparing for his own funeral. He picked up the quill and added minor details to the contract with all the enthusiasm of a man sentenced to death. Master Daokan read his minor details and simply allowed it. Atlas expresses his tragedy as he stared down at the contract.


    ¡°Oh, what cruel fate is this,¡± he lamented. ¡°To bind a free spirit such as myself to parchment and ink! Is there no mercy in this world?¡±


    ¡°Sign it, Atlas,¡± Daokan said dryly.


    Atlas let out a long, exaggerated sigh and dramatically dipped the quill into the ink. ¡°If I must,¡± he muttered, dragging out the moment as if each stroke of the quill drained his very soul. With a final flourish, he signed his name, then leaned back in his chair with an expression so deeply sorrowful one might have thought he had just signed away his firstborn child.


    Meyu chuckled, shaking her head. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen someone look so miserable about making money.¡±


    Atlas gave her a betrayed look. ¡°It¡¯s not about the money, Meyu. It¡¯s about the principle.¡±


    He placed a dramatic hand over his heart.


    ¡°I am a man of dignity, of freedom! And now? A mere merchant! A peddler of wares! I weep for the loss of my untamed spirit.¡±


    Layla snorted. ¡°You were a merchant before this.¡±


    Atlas gasped. ¡°Meilin, please. At least let me have my moment of grief.¡±


    Daokan, entirely unfazed, simply took the parchment and began reviewing it.


    ¡°With the support of Shrouded Peaks, this agreement will be reinforced, ensuring smooth trade routes and secured passage for our goods,¡± he remarked, nodding in approval.


    ¡°It is done.¡±


    Atlas slumped against the table. ¡°It is done,¡± he echoed dramatically, staring forlornly at the ceiling. ¡°And thus, Atlas Ryland, once a noble free-roaming spirit, is now shackled to the ruthless world of commerce.¡±


    Meyu smirked. ¡°I¡¯m going to enjoy watching you suffer.¡±


    As the food was set before them, each person took a moment to savor the sight and aroma. Layla idly tapped her fingers against the table, eyeing the roasted duck before finally relenting and serving herself a portion.


    ¡°At least the food is good,¡± she admitted begrudgingly.


    Meyu smirked. ¡°Good? This is some of the finest cuisine I¡¯ve seen in months.¡± She took a bite of the braised vegetables, humming in satisfaction.


    ¡°I¡¯d almost forgive the fact that this meal comes with an unbearable amount of Atlas¡¯ whining.¡±


    Atlas, still dramatically slumped, peeked up from the table. ¡°And yet, here I sit, a man betrayed, my soul withering under the weight of my unjust servitude. Not even the finest roast can soothe my aching heart.¡±


    Yan Shuren, ever composed, inclined his head politely. "May I join you?"


    Daokan gestured toward the open seats.


    "Please, I told you many times you don''t need to ask. You''re practically like my son"


    The daughter of Daokan, Shen Xue, had already begun to eat, carefully picking at her food with precise movements. She turned toward Yan Shuren with mild curiosity.


    "You don¡¯t strike me as someone who indulges in large meals," she remarked.


    Yan gave a small, knowing smile. "It is rare, but even I must eat. Besides, good company makes for better digestion."


    Shen Xue nodded, acknowledging the remark as she took another bite. One of the attendants poured warm tea for the guests, the fragrant steam curling gently in the air.


    Layla took a sip, sighing as the warmth spread through her. ¡°Well, at least tea''s good.¡±


    Bao, let out a satisfied groan. "This... this is heaven. I never want to leave."


    Jiang, ever composed, took a measured bite of his meal and gave a slow nod.


    "The balance of flavors is impeccable. Even the texture is perfectly crafted. I can see why this sect values its hospitality."


    Bao waved a lazy hand. "You talk too much. Just eat and be happy." He stuffed another piece of duck into his mouth, chewing with a look of pure euphoria.


    Meilin¡¯s parents exchanged glances before her father let out a pleased hum. ¡°I must admit, the seasoning is perfect. Whoever prepared this understands balance well.¡±


    Her mother nodded, delicately picking at her food. ¡°It reminds me of my home cooking, yet more refined. A meal crafted with care.¡±


    Yan Shuren, hearing this, gave a respectful nod. ¡°The sect prides itself on hospitality. It is good to know our efforts are appreciated.¡±


    Meilin¡¯s father chuckled. ¡°Hospitality is one thing. This, however, is beyond that. This is excellence.¡±


    --


    Meanwhile, in another chamber, a beautiful servant carefully adjusted the blanket over the child¡¯s frail form as the physician examined her once more. The girl stirred slightly but did not wake.


    ¡°She¡¯s still weak,¡± the physician murmured, running a practiced hand over the child¡¯s bruised skin. ¡°Whoever did this pushed her far beyond her limits.¡±


    The servant nodded, her gaze soft with sympathy. ¡°Will she recover?¡±


    The physician hesitated. ¡°Physically, perhaps. But the trauma¡­ that will take time.¡± He dipped a cloth into a bowl of herbal-infused water and gently dabbed at the child¡¯s wrist. ¡°She barely speaks, barely reacts. She flinches at the smallest touch.¡±


    The servant sighed, adjusting the girl¡¯s pillow with careful hands. ¡°She deserves kindness. I hope she finds it here.¡±


    The physician glanced toward the door, as if considering something. He exhaled through his nose, skepticism written all over his face. "With that merchant taking her in... perhaps she will¡ªthough I do wonder if handing a traumatized child over to a snarky merchant with the face of a devil is truly the wisest course of action."


    The servant stifled a laugh, but quickly composed herself. "He does have a certain... flair for dramatics."


    The physician nodded solemnly. "Indeed. I can already imagine him corrupting her with his theatrics and nonsense."


    The servant tilted her head.


    "True, but... are we really going to let him raise a child? I mean, he¡¯s dramatic, snarky, and half the time I can¡¯t tell if he¡¯s a genius or an idiot."


    The physician groaned, rubbing his temples.


    "Exactly. He looks like a villain in one of those old fables. What if she ends up just as dramatic? What if she starts throwing her arms in the air and making grand speeches about the tragedy of commerce?"


    The servant stifled a laugh. "Honestly, I¡¯d pay to see that."


    The physician shook his head.


    "We should just take her in ourselves. At least then, she wouldn¡¯t be subjected to whatever Atlas-style parenting looks like."


    The servant sighed, adjusting the girl¡¯s blanket.


    "Well, it¡¯s not up to us, is it? Though... if it all goes terribly wrong, we can always rescue her later."


    The physician groaned, rubbing his temples. "Yes, yes, and the heavens help us all for it."


    As if on cue, a group of maids entered the room carrying additional trays, their presence momentarily diverting the tension. They moved gracefully, bowing respectfully to the physician before setting down a fresh round of medicinal herbs and warm broth for the child.


    One of the maids, bowed deeply before speaking. "Physician Ming, we have prepared everything as requested."


    Ming nodded, though his gaze flicked momentarily to her. "Thank you" "Could you adjust her head, I wouldn''t want her to choke"


    The servant who was attending the child Xian Yue turned to adjust the child¡¯s blanket once more, her movements precise and delicate. Yet, as she worked, the physician¡¯s mind wandered back to the absurdity of the situation.


    "I still can¡¯t believe it," he muttered under his breath.


    "That devil-faced merchant? Raising a child? I half expect her to start grinning like him within a week."


    Xian Yue smirked. "That would be a sight. The poor girl, doomed to an eternity of exaggerated flair and dramatic sighs."


    The physician sighed heavily. "We should just take her in. It¡¯s not too late, you know. We could make it look like an accident."


    Xian Yue tapped her chin thoughtfully, a mischievous glint in her eyes.


    "Perhaps... I should seduce Master Daokan and persuade him to let us take the child instead."


    Physician Ming nearly choked on his own breath, coughing as he gave her a wide-eyed stare. "Excuse me?"


    She shrugged. "What? He respects me, doesn¡¯t he? Maybe a little charm, a few well-placed words, and he¡¯ll reconsider."


    Physician Ming rubbed his forehead. "You want to seduce the most disciplined man in the sect just to stop him from raising this child?"


    Xian Yue folded her arms. "Well, do you have a better idea? Because if we don¡¯t do something, that poor girl will be reciting soliloquies about merchant sorrows by the end of the month."


    The physician sighed in exasperation. "Maybe we should just beg instead. A good, old-fashioned plea for mercy. Less risk, less embarrassment, and no potential sect scandal."


    Xian Yue scoffed. "Where¡¯s the fun in that?"


    Before the physician could respond, the doors to the chamber slid open, and a young disciple stepped inside with a composed demeanor, his movements measured and precise. Xian Yue immediately bowed in respect. "Disciple Ren," she greeted, straightening before stepping aside to allow him the floor.


    Ren returned the bow with a polite nod before turning his attention to the physician. His expression was calm, but there was a flicker of something unreadable behind his eyes. He took a slow breath, as if gathering his thoughts, before finally speaking. "Physician Ming, I bring news from the grand hall."


    The disciple said, clearing his throat, "I just came from the grand hall, where this Atlas is... well, being Atlas."


    Xian Yue arched an eyebrow. "Oh? And what grand spectacle has he managed to pull off this time? The gate theatrics rumours was already outlandish enough"


    Ren sighed. "Aside from his usual excessive dramatics, let¡¯s see¡ªhe nearly knocked over an entire tray of tea trying to make a grand proclamation, attempted to toast himself with a goblet of water, and somehow convinced Bao to carry him around the hall on a chair like some kind of emperor."


    Physician Ming pinched the bridge of his nose.


    "And this is the man Master Daokan allows to behave this way?"


    Ren opened his mouth, hesitated, then sighed. "Master Daokan doesn''t just allow it... he''s laughing too."


    Xian Yue blinked. "You mean to tell me that the man who holds the weight of the sect on his shoulders is just letting Atlas do all this?"


    Ren sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Not just letting it happen¡ªhe''s laughing not only that but Lady Shen who had been quietly observing, looked utterly dumbfounded. Her father¡ªMaster Daokan, the man known for his stoicism and discipline¡ªwas laughing. It was a sight no one in the sect had ever witnessed, and she wasn¡¯t entirely sure she believed it herself all the while, Yan Shuren, seated beside Daokan, had his face turned slightly away, shoulders trembling as he barely held back his own laughter. His composed demeanor was cracking, betraying just how amusing he found the situation.


    Ren rubbed his temples. "Not only that, but Silver Lotus Leader Lin Wuye and Lady Meilin are practically begging Master Daokan not to kill anyone over Atlas¡¯ antics. All the while Lady Meilin is running around like a frantic mother trying to catch Bao, who is currently parading Atlas around the hall on a chair like some kind of deranged emperor."


    Xian Yue raised an eyebrow. "So, it''s like watching a mother wrangle two overgrown children?"


    Ren nodded solemnly. "Exactly. One is Atlas, the other is his newly converted disciple, Bao, who has decided that listening to Atlas'' nonsense is his new life purpose. Lady Meilin, poor soul, is stuck trying to keep them both in check. It''s like a battle of wills, and she''s losing."


    Physician Ming groaned, rubbing his temples as he tried to process everything. "That fool merchant is spreading his madness to the entire sect. How does someone like him, a mere merchant, manage to pull all of this off against a Qi Master?"


    Xian Yue scoffed, though even she was struggling to keep a straight face.


    "Of course, he lands on his feet. The real issue is that he takes everyone down with him while somehow staying upright. I swear, at this rate, he''ll be running the sect before we even realize what happened."


    The disciple shook his head, clearly exasperated.


    "If that¡¯s the case, then the heavens truly have abandoned us."


    Meanwhile, back in the grand hall, chaos had fully erupted. Servants scurried about in sheer panic, desperately trying to salvage what little order remained. One unfortunate attendant yelped as Atlas, still being paraded around by Bao, nearly kicked over a meticulously arranged centerpiece of delicate porcelain cups.


    A couple of servants and disciples were now frantically chasing after Bao and Atlas, their eyes wide with sheer panic as they desperately tried to keep anything in their path from being shattered. One servant yelped, diving just in time to save a priceless vase from toppling over, while another flailed hopelessly in an attempt to block Bao from knocking into a fragile tea set.


    "Stop! STOP! Don¡¯t let him touch anything!" one of the disciples shrieked, nearly tripping over his own feet as he tried to intercept the chaotic duo.


    Bao, grinning ear to ear, effortlessly dodged the scrambling figures. "Fear not! Our great merchant-king shall be carried with honor!"


    Atlas, perched regally on his chair-throne, waved dramatically to the imaginary crowd. "Yes, yes, let the people witness my ascent! A leader must be seen, after all!"


    Bao, carrying Atlas like he''s some king, "I am merely helping our great merchant-king bask in his glory!" he declared, adjusting his grip on the chair as Atlas struck a noble pose.


    "Meilin, please! Let me have this!" Atlas called out dramatically, raising his arms as if addressing a grand audience. "The people need a leader! And if I must bear this burden, so be it!"


    "You''re a merchant, not a monarch!" Layla snapped, dodging a wayward plate flung in the commotion. She turned sharply toward Jiang, who was quietly observing the madness while methodically enjoying his food. "Are you just going to sit there and eat while this happens?"


    Jiang took another bite and nodded. "Yes."


    Jiang then rubbed his forehead, muttering, "I have seen warzones with less destruction."


    Daokan, still seated at the head of the table, threw his head back and laughed heartily, a rare and almost unsettling sound that echoed through the hall. "Now this is entertainment!" he declared, clearly enjoying the spectacle far more than he should.


    "Atlas, you truly know how to liven up a gathering! Keep going, let¡¯s see where this madness leads!" Beside him, Yan Shuren had turned away, shoulders shaking as he struggled to maintain his usual air of composure.


    Shen Xue, staring at her father, was visibly shaken. "He¡¯s laughing," she muttered to herself, eyes wide.


    "Father doesn¡¯t laugh. Father doesn¡¯t smirk."


    Lin Wuye, meanwhile, was caught between trying to appeal to Daokan¡¯s sense of reason and maintaining what dignity is left. "Master Daokan, I implore you, please stop this before it becomes even more embarrassing."


    Daokan waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, let them have their fun. It''s been a while since the sect had such... vibrant energy."


    Lin Wuye groaned. "This isn¡¯t vibrant energy, this is a disaster!"


    "Tomato, tomahto," Atlas quipped from atop his impromptu throne.


    "BAO, DROP HIM!" Layla shouted.


    Meyu burst into laughter, her usually composed demeanor breaking entirely as she clutched her stomach. "I... I can''t! This is the most ridiculous thing I''ve ever seen!"


    Yuxe Wuye, usually a pillar of grace, wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, her shoulders trembling as she tried and failed to suppress her laughter. "You know, I always thought the sect would meet its downfall in a great battle. Turns out, it might just be Atlas and his chaos instead."


    Meyu leaned in conspiratorially. "Do you think Meilin even has a plan, or is she just running on pure desperation at this point?"


    Yuxe Wuye smirked. "Desperation. Absolute, motherly desperation. It''s like watching someone try to herd two overgrown toddlers with too much energy."


    Layla, overhearing them, whirled around with wide, furious eyes. "IF YOU''RE NOT GOING TO HELP, STOP COMMENTATING!"


    Meyu waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, come on, you¡¯ve got this! We believe in you!" she called, doing absolutely nothing to assist.


    Yuxe Wuye nodded sagely. "Yes, think of this as training for when you have actual children. Consider it an invaluable life lesson."


    Layla let out an exasperated scream.


    "I AM GOING TO LOSE MY MIND!"


    Meanwhile, Jiang, ever composed, took another bite of his food, savoring the rich flavors and drinking the warmth of the tea as he stretched his legs against the heated floors. The contrast between his serene enjoyment and the absolute chaos around him was almost poetic.


    Just as he lifted his cup for another sip, Bao¡ªwith Atlas still perched upon his impromptu throne¡ªleapt over a row of cushions in a dramatic flourish. Layla lunged in pursuit, arms outstretched in a desperate attempt to catch them. Without so much as a glance, Jiang leaned slightly to the left, effortlessly dodging the airborne trio as they crashed past him.


    He took another sip of tea, exhaled slowly, and muttered, "This is nice''''

 Fight in the Dark

    A Punishment of Night and Senses


    Master Daokan sighed, standing effortlessly as if the weight of the sect rested on his shoulders yet burdened him none. In mere seconds, with a single, commanding movement, made everyone running around sat down and with a glance, he silenced the entire room. A force of authority radiated from him, so absolute that even Atlas and Bao, usually the biggest instigators of chaos, straightened like scolded children. The room froze.


    "Enough," Daokan¡¯s voice was soft, yet it carried an unmistakable edge. "You will all be silent."


    And just like that, they were.


    Even Atlas, always prepared with a snarky remark, found himself instinctively lowering his head. Bao, who had been halfway to a nervous chuckle, swallowed it immediately.


    Then, as if his instincts were impossible to suppress, Atlas performed an immediate dogeza¡ªbut, in true Atlas fashion, his form was completely wrong. His face pressed to the floor, but his rear was comically high in the air.


    The reaction was immediate.


    Master Daokan twitched. His smirk disappeared, replaced with sheer irritation.


    The ladies in the room, however, found the sight quite amusing. Shen Xue smirked, Meyu snorted softly, and Layla, despite her deep frustration, barely held back a chuckle. Even Yuxe Wuye raised an eyebrow, hiding the smallest hint of amusement behind her sleeve.


    Daokan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Atlas, lower your ass."


    Atlas, still face-down, wiggled slightly in confusion. "Lower it more, Master? I am already expressing my utmost humility¡ª"


    "NOW."


    Atlas flinched and flattened immediately.


    Master Daokan exhaled slowly before sweeping his gaze across the entire group. "This disaster was not caused by Atlas alone. Each and every one of you contributed to this absurdity." His eyes gleamed with amusement and authority alike. "So, you all will face punishment."


    As if on cue, the entire room turned and glared at Atlas.


    Atlas, whose face was still pressed to the floor, could feel the heat of their stares.


    "Why do I feel like I am being singled out?" he muttered, his voice muffled against the ground.


    "Because you are." Layla deadpanned.


    All eyes were glaring daggers at Atlas.


    Atlas, ever the shameless survivor, casually ducked behind Bao, peeking over his shoulder like a child hiding behind a guardian. Bao, the ever-loyal, instinctively stepped forward, crossing his arms in a protective stance.


    "We all know who''s at fault here," Layla said, voice dangerously low, her hands clenched into fists.


    Atlas, feigning complete innocence, peeked out. "Fault? My dear Meilin, I am but a humble merchant caught in a series of unfortunate events!"


    "You incited a coup in Master''s sect within hours of arriving," she deadpanned, eyes burning with anger.


    Before Bao could even attempt a defense, Meyu stepped in, her maternal instincts triggered beyond reason. Without hesitation, she placed both hands on Atlas'' shoulders and shoved him forward.


    It was almost cartoonish, his feet skidding across the floor as he tried to resist. "Meyu! My most trusted companion! Betrayal!"


    "Accept your punishment like a man." Meyu huffed, dusting off her hands, looking completely unbothered.


    Atlas barely caught his balance before turning back to Bao for support. "Brother Bao, surely you¡ª"


    Bao scooted a single step away.


    Atlas blinked. "Et tu, Bao?"


    "Sorry, brother, but..." Bao glanced at Layla, whose face now radiated pure murderous intent. "I value my life."


    Layla exhaled sharply, cracking her knuckles. "I was supposed to leave for Silver Lotus today. Now, thanks to you, I am stuck here playing along with your stupidity!"


    "Oh come now," Atlas grinned, recovering swiftly, "think of it as an extended diplomatic mission!"


    "I think of it as a prolonged nightmare."


    "Tomato, tomahto."


    Before Layla could launch herself at him, Master Daokan chuckled.


    "That¡¯s enough." His voice was calm, but the weight behind it silenced the room immediately. "Since you all have such boundless energy, I¡¯ve decided on your punishment."


    The disciples straightened, wariness creeping into their stances.


    Daokan leaned forward, his smirk widening. "The sun has set. We will train until the middle of the night."


    Atlas blinked, tilting his head like a confused puppy. "I¡¯m sorry, I must have misheard. You said¡ªno, surely not. My ears must be playing tricks on me. Did you say a delightful evening feast? Perhaps a restful meditation session?"


    "Until the middle of the night, yes." Master Daokan''s smirk widened ever so slightly, clearly enjoying the suffering about to unfold.


    Before Atlas could properly process his impending doom, Meyu smacked the back of his head with a sharp thwap, her expression exasperated. "Stop looking for an escape, you brought this on yourself."


    "Ow!" Atlas rubbed his head, pouting. "I¡¯m just a humble merchant caught in a terrible injustice!"


    Layla ignored his whining, arms crossed. "Fine. What exactly are we doing, Master?"


    Daokan¡¯s smirk remained as he folded his arms. "We will train in complete darkness. You will rely on your other senses¡ªsound, touch, movement. A warrior who depends only on sight is a warrior who will not survive."


    A murmur of excitement rippled through the group. Jiang nodded approvingly, Bao grinned in anticipation, and even Shen Xue¡¯s eyes gleamed with interest.


    All except Atlas, who groaned dramatically. "Fantastic. My two greatest strengths: running and talking, utterly useless."


    A collective groan rose from the Silver Lotus group hearing this.


    "Consider this a lesson." Daokan stood, the authority in his posture commanding their silence. "Even when blinded, you must acknowledge your senses. In true battle, sight alone will betray you."


    Before anyone could react, Daokan vanished. Or rather, that¡¯s what it looked like. A faint blur, an afterimage of where he had been, lingered for the briefest moment before Atlas let out a startled yelp. Daokan¡¯s hand was already resting on his shoulder.


    Atlas stiffened, eyes wide. "By the heavens¡ª"


    Daokan smirked. "Even those with little Qi, if they harness enough strength and awareness, can take down a master." He removed his hand and stepped back just as effortlessly, as if the movement had been no more difficult than a stroll.


    "Power alone is meaningless if you don¡¯t know how to use it."


    "You will each face one of my best." His smirk returned. "Let¡¯s see how much you can rely on instinct alone."


    Daokan: "Meilin, you will fight Yan Shuren."


    Yan Shuren frowned. "Master, this isn''t fair¡ª"


    Daokan raised a hand. "It¡¯s not about fairness. Make her stronger, not shatter her."


    Yan sighed, giving Layla a look of mild concern. "Understood."


    Daokan: I will fight against Lin Wuye and Jiang. I hope you put up a good fight


    Lin Wuye looked at Jiang then look at Daokan: Master with all due respect, isn''t it unfair to you?''''


    Daokan simply answered with a sense of wisdom: ''''In war, use whatever tactics to win. You will face me, the both of you.''''


    Daokan then turned to Shen Xue and Atlas.


    Daokan: "As for this match..." He glanced at his daughter, his smirk widening. "Whatever she wants."


    Shen Xue cracked her knuckles, her eyes gleaming with dangerous intent.


    Atlas took a step back. "Ahaha, Shen Xue, my dearest friend, esteemed warrior of Shrouded Peaks! Before we engage in such unnecessary violence, allow me to offer my sincerest apologies for any perceived slights. In fact, I propose an alternative¡ªhow about I gracefully concede this match? Yes! A surrender! Think of the efficiency! We avoid the hassle of bruises, broken bones, and shattered pride¡ªmostly mine, of course."


    Shen Xue remained silent, gripping her knuckles with a slow, deliberate motion.


    Atlas gulped. "Or perhaps a compromise? I stand still, you lightly tap me, and we call it a day? I swear on my finest silk robes that I¡ª"


    Shen Xue¡¯s grip tightened around Atlas¡¯ shoulder, her fingers digging in just enough to send a clear message.


    Atlas stiffened. "Oh, delightful! A firm yet gentle touch! I appreciate the attention, but if we could perhaps¡ª"


    His eyes darted toward Meyu, silently pleading for salvation.


    Meyu, arms crossed, simply gave him the look of ¡®Good luck¡¯ before turning away.


    Atlas gulped. "Meyu, my dearest, most treasured ally, please don¡¯t abandon me in my hour of need!"


    Shen Xue¡¯s grip only grew firmer as she leaned in ever so slightly. "Oh, I¡¯ll decide how this goes."


    Atlas sighed dramatically, already resigned to his fate. "Very well, but please¡ªgo easy on my beautiful face. If it gets ruined, the world loses a piece of art."


    The servants guided the group toward the training ground, their lanterns flickering in the night. The air was thick with anticipation, the weight of impending battle settling over them.


    As they reached the open clearing, Master Daokan turned to Layla and Yan Shuren. "Step forward. Choose a weapon."


    Layla ran her fingers over the selection of wooden weapons, eyes lingering on the spear. It was the easiest choice¡ªnot just in this life, but in her past one as well.


    Yan Shuren watched her quietly as she picked it up, twirling it in her grip. "A spear?"


    She smirked. "Old habits."


    Master Daokan gave a nod of approval. "A wise choice. Now, let¡¯s begin."


    The servants extinguished the lanterns, plunging the training ground into near darkness. The only illumination came from the moon above, casting long shadows over the two warriors.


    Layla shifted into position, spear tip hovering just above the ground. Yan Shuren mirrored her stance, his wooden sword held at the ready.


    Then, they moved.


    Layla lunged first, thrusting her spear forward in a precise motion. Yan twisted at the last moment, sidestepping the attack with fluid grace before retaliating with a downward slash. Layla barely managed to shift her grip, redirecting his strike with the shaft of her spear, the wood vibrating from the force of impact.


    Yan advanced, his footwork impeccable as he closed the distance between them. Layla spun her spear, using its extended reach to force him back, each movement flowing effortlessly into the next. Their weapons clashed again, the resounding crack of wood echoing through the clearing.


    Yan¡¯s sword came sweeping low, aiming for her legs. Layla leapt back, landing lightly on the balls of her feet. She took a breath, analyzing his stance¡ªhe was holding back.


    She narrowed her eyes. "You¡¯re going easy on me."


    Yan tilted his head. "I was told to make you stronger, not break you."


    "Then stop treating me like glass."


    The moment the words left her lips, the fight changed.


    Yan Shuren vanished. Or at least, that¡¯s how it felt. His movements were so fast, it was as if he cast two shadows, each shifting in opposite directions, distorting Layla¡¯s senses.


    She swung her spear instinctively, but she was already too late.


    A single blow struck her midsection¡ªa mere fraction of his true strength, no more than 1/10th of his power.


    Yet it felt like a hammer had slammed into her.


    Layla¡¯s body lifted off the ground, sent hurtling through the air before she crashed into the stone wall behind her with a sickening thud. Dust and debris scattered around her as she slumped to her knees, blood trickling from her forehead.


    Pain flared through her body, her vision swimming for a moment. But she refused to fall.


    With a trembling arm, she wiped the blood from her brow and forced herself to stand. Her legs screamed in protest, but she planted her feet firmly against the ground, spear still in hand.


    Yan Shuren watched her, his expression unreadable. "You¡¯re still standing?"


    Layla spat to the side, her breath ragged but steady. "Damn right, I am."


    Atlas had seen many fights before¡ªbar brawls, street duels, even the occasional tournament matches. But this? This was something else entirely.


    Layla looked like a beginner. Her speed is slow, no overwhelming strength¡ªonly her intelligence. And intelligence alone wouldn¡¯t save her here.


    Yan Shuren moved with the efficiency of someone who had done this countless times. His wooden sword wasn¡¯t just a training weapon in his hands¡ªit was a tool of precision. Every strike was measured, every movement deliberate. Layla, for all her effort, was barely keeping up.


    Lin Wuye stood at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, eyes keenly following the fight. He could see it clearly¡ªthe vast gulf between them. Yan wasn¡¯t just stronger; he was faster, sharper. Layla could think through strategies, but against an opponent of this calliber, she had no time to apply them. This wasn¡¯t about winning. It was about survival.


    Layla gritted her teeth and lunged, her wooden spear stabbing forward in a desperate attempt to push Yan back. It was predictable. Yan sidestepped effortlessly and countered with a downward strike. Layla barely raised her spear in time, the impact sending painful vibrations up her arms.


    Atlas winced. That was just a wooden sword, yet it looked like she had been struck by a hammer. If Yan had been using even a fraction more force, she would have been on the ground already.


    Another exchange. Another devastating impact. Lin Wuye kept his eyes on Yan¡¯s form, noting the precision of each movement. Yan was holding back¡ªsignificantly so. His strikes were just enough to push Layla, to force her body to learn, to make her instincts sharpen. This wasn¡¯t a fight. This was a lesson.


    Master Daokan¡¯s brows furrowed slightly from where he stood, observing. He had seen this before. The tree Layla struck days ago¡ªits inner roots blackened, the decay slow yet inevitable. Now, here it was again. Her spear trembled in her grip, the shift almost imperceptible. He remained silent, watching closely.


    Yan swung again, his wooden sword a blur in the darkness. Layla raised her spear to block, expecting the same jarring pain to shoot through her arms.


    But something changed.


    The moment her spear met his strike, a faint tremor ran along the wood. Yan¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly, sensing the shift. The force of his blow seemed to dissipate, the impact duller than before. He stepped back, studying her carefully, something gnawing at the back of his mind. Something was wrong with the wood¡ªbut he couldn¡¯t tell what.


    Layla didn¡¯t notice. She was too focused on staying upright, too lost in the battle to realize what had begun to take root. The manifestation of her qi, slow and unseen¡ªlike the creeping decay beneath a tree¡¯s bark, waiting for the right moment to spread.


    Then, she moved.


    She knew she should stop. She should listen. Her body was pitiful, her qi reserves even worse. She wasn¡¯t strong, she wasn¡¯t fast, and she had already overstepped her limits. But that part of her¡ªthe part that refused to bow, the part that clawed and bled and fought even when it was hopeless¡ªwouldn¡¯t let her yield. She had been a queen once, and even then, she never stopped trying.


    Fueled by nothing but adrenaline, Layla threw herself forward, spear striking in rapid succession. Her body was battered, bruised, but she ignored it. The pain was secondary. She had to keep going. Had to try.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Yan deflected her strikes with ease. Every hit she took sent her skidding back, her limbs screaming in protest, but she came back like a ghost¡ªrelentless, ceaseless, refusing to stay down.


    Layla¡¯s breaths grew heavier. Her vision blurred at the edges, a sickening heat rising in her chest. Her Qi was pushing too hard, burning through her reserves at a dangerous rate. Her body wasn¡¯t ready for this. She could feel it creeping through her veins, poisoning her from the inside out.


    She was losing. But she wouldn¡¯t stop.


    Yan parried another strike, his expression unreadable. He saw it now¡ªthe reckless overexertion, the way her movements were becoming erratic. This wasn¡¯t just determination. This was desperation.


    Then, it happened.


    The Qi poison hit her like a truck, her body freezing mid-strike as an unbearable wave of nausea and pain consumed her. Her breath hitched, her vision flickered, and her legs buckled beneath her. But before she could collapse, Yan¡¯s final strike landed.


    His wooden sword crashed against her, sending her hurtling through the air. She slammed into a stone pillar, the impact cracking it, dust and debris scattering in all directions.


    A deafening silence followed.


    Before Layla could hit the ground, Shen moved. In a blur of motion, matching Yan¡¯s speed, she caught Layla just before impact, cradling her limp form with surprising gentleness. Without hesitation, she rushed toward Master Daokan, her expression unreadable, but the urgency in her movements unmistakable.


    Yan¡¯s grip on his sword faltered as he turned to watch. He felt it¡ªa slow, creeping sensation. He looked down.


    The wood of his sword had begun to blacken.


    Eyes widening, he instantly let go, the weapon dropping to the ground with a dull thud. His fingers tingled, a faint numbness creeping through them.


    Master Daokan stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "Now, you see it. The decay."


    Yan stared at the sword, then at Layla, realization dawning on him. "What¡­ is this?"


    Master Daokan¡¯s gaze remained on Layla as Shen laid her down before him. Before he could begin, Lin Wuye stepped forward, his face set in a deep frown. "What is happening to her?" His voice was tense, edged with something between concern and demand.


    Master Daokan exhaled slowly. "Her Qi doesn¡¯t attack instantly. It lingers, spreads, rots from within. And right now¡ªshe is completely consumed by it. If I do not intervene now, it will consume her entirely."


    Lin Wuye''s fists clenched at his sides. "That is my daughter¡¯s body. I demand answers, Master Daokan. What is happening to Meilin?"


    Within Layla¡¯s consciousness, darkness swirled. She could feel it¡ªthe strange, foreign qi that wasn¡¯t hers. It moved, pulsed, whispered in the void. A voice, vague and distant, called to her, its presence both haunting and familiar.


    "You are not from here," it murmured.


    Layla hesitated. "Who are you?"


    "A presence," it whispered. "A truth hidden beneath your own."


    Layla¡¯s breath caught. "You¡­ you know who I am?" The figure''s fingers trailed along Layla¡¯s essence, a figure so dark it is devoid of anything, making her shudder.


    "Oh, I know much more than that¡­"


    The voice chuckled. "I know you were a ruler. I know you held power. And I know you thought your Qi was ordinary. But it isn¡¯t, is it?"


    Layla shivered. "What do you want?"


    "Oh, don¡¯t worry. I won¡¯t reveal you¡¯re a fake. You adapted well, for being a fraud. You led a battle to victory when the Silver Lotus should have lost. You defeated Shen Mu¡ªthough only by luck, and Master Daokan¡¯s intervention. But you did it, Layla. Or should I say¡­ the ruler of Eternal Crescent, Queen Layla al-Zahira."


    Layla¡¯s breath hitched. The darkness curled around her, the figure¡¯s presence suffocating yet eerily intimate.


    "Who¡­ what are you?" she whispered, her voice trembling.


    The figure chuckled softly, fingers tracing an unseen path along Layla¡¯s very essence. "Names are trivial, fleeting. I am what lingers. What festers. What watches. And you¡­ you are far more interesting than I anticipated." Layla shuddered, unable to move, her consciousness seemingly suspended in this abyss.


    "What do you want from me?"


    The figure tilted its head, considering her. "Want? Oh, Layla, this isn¡¯t about what I want. This is about what you are becoming. A queen once more? A warrior? Or just another lost soul grasping for purpose?"


    Layla clenched her fists. "I am not lost."


    "Aren¡¯t you? You wear another¡¯s face, live another¡¯s life, yet your heart still beats to the rhythm of a fallen throne. How long will you pretend, Layla? How long before they see you for what you are?"


    The words cut deep. Layla recoiled, but the figure only drew closer, its touch grazing the edges of her soul, a suffocating weight pressing down.


    "Enough!"


    Layla forced the word out, her very being shaking. "Leave me be!"


    The figure sighed, amused yet indulgent. "Very well. For now. But know this¡ªI am watching. And one day, you will have no choice but to let me in."


    As the figure withdrew, its presence dissipating like mist, Layla gasped for air, though none truly existed in this realm. Darkness faded, and slowly, painfully, she felt herself slipping away¡­


    ¡ª


    Master Daokan exhaled, his palms hovering above Layla¡¯s chest as the last of his Qi sealed the raging storm within her. The glow around her flickered before settling into an uneasy stillness.


    He pulled away, sweat lining his brow. "She is stable for now."


    Lin Wuye watched intently, arms crossed, but there was no mistaking the concern in his gaze.


    "She needs proper care. We should send her to the physician immediately."


    Master Daokan nodded and motioned to the waiting servants. "Take her to the physician¡¯s quarters. See that she is treated well."


    As they carefully lifted Layla¡¯s unconscious form, Master Daokan lingered, eyes narrowed in thought. He had felt it¡ªsomething beyond the decay, beyond the poison corrupting her Qi.


    Something had touched her soul.


    And whatever it was¡­ it had not let go.


    Master Daokan exhaled sharply and turned toward Yan, his expression shifting from grave contemplation to mild irritation. With a swift movement, he flicked his knuckles against Yan¡¯s forehead.


    "Ow!" Yan rubbed the sore spot, scowling. "What was that for?!"


    "That," Master Daokan said dryly, "was for going too hard on her. What were you trying to do? Kill her?" His voice carried a hint of amusement despite his serious tone.


    Yan huffed, crossing his arms. "She kept getting up. It¡¯s not my fault she doesn¡¯t know when to quit."


    Master Daokan smirked. "And now she doesn¡¯t have a choice in the matter, does she?" He shook his head before lowering his voice.


    "Take that rotted wooden sword and bring it to my informants. I need to know what this corruption truly is."


    Yan blinked at the sudden shift in tone but nodded, picking up the blackened weapon carefully. As he did, Master Daokan leaned in slightly, his voice a near whisper. "And keep your ears open about Meilin. Something about her disturbance does not sit right with me. Not a word of this to anyone else."


    Yan¡¯s eyes darkened slightly, but he gave a firm nod before stepping away.


    Master Daokan straightened, rolling his shoulders before addressing the rest of the gathered warriors.


    "Enough stalling! The fight resumes! This time¡­" His lips curled into a knowing smile.


    "It will be me against both Jiang and Lin Wuye. Let¡¯s see if either of you are up to the challenge."


    He raised a hand before they could prepare. "I will handicap myself¡ªI will not use a weapon." His gaze swept over them as Jiang and Lin Wuye exchanged looks before picking up their wooden weapons of choice.


    Without another word, the battle began.


    The air cracked with force as Jiang lunged forward, swinging his wooden staff with precision, only for Master Daokan to sidestep effortlessly. Lin Wuye followed, his wooden sword striking at an angle meant to catch the master off guard, but Daokan twisted, ducking beneath the blow with unnerving ease.


    Their strikes were precise, fast, deadly even for wooden weapons¡ªbut Master Daokan moved as though he had all the time in the world. Not a single wasted motion, not a single step out of place.


    Jiang was the first to falter. His breath labored, his form a fraction too slow. A single, open-palmed strike from Daokan sent him reeling, his body launching across the courtyard. The impact against the stone pillar was deafening, and Jiang crumpled to the ground, momentarily stunned.


    Lin Wuye gritted his teeth, adjusting his stance. He knew better than to hesitate.


    Their exchange resumed, but it was clear to all who watched¡ªMaster Daokan¡¯s strength was overwhelming. His strikes weren¡¯t just powerful, they were precise, aimed at openings that barely existed. He controlled the rhythm, dictating every move, forcing Lin Wuye to react rather than act.


    The fight was dazzling. Blows clashed like thunder, their movements a blur, but no one¡ªno matter how skilled¡ªcould keep up with Master Daokan.


    And it was only a matter of time before Lin Wuye realized it too.


    Jiang groaned, shaking his head as he pushed himself up. Unlike Layla, there was no blood dripping from his lips¡ªonly the bruising ache spreading across his back. He clenched his fists, exhaling sharply, then darted forward once more, his movements sharper, quicker. If he couldn¡¯t match Master Daokan alone, then he would have to match Lin Wuye¡¯s pace instead.


    "Don¡¯t fall behind." Jiang muttered under his breath as he reached Lin Wuye¡¯s side, his stance shifting, ready to move in sync.


    Lin Wuye spared him a quick glance but gave a small nod. "Then keep up."


    From Lin Wuye¡¯s perspective, the battle had become a war of survival. Master Daokan wasn¡¯t just fast¡ªhe was absurdly strong. Each blow Lin Wuye managed to parry sent jarring force through his arms, his bones rattling as if he had just stopped the charge of an enraged war elephant. And this was Master Daokan holding back.


    Lin Wuye gritted his teeth, adjusting his footwork. He needed to shift the flow of battle. His mind raced, recalling the techniques drilled into him back at the Silver Lotus Sect. Their style wasn¡¯t about brute force¡ªit was about speed, precision, and control over the winds themselves.


    He inhaled deeply. The air around him shifted.


    Master Daokan¡¯s eyes flickered with interest as Lin Wuye¡¯s wooden sword became a blur, his movements suddenly weightless, as if carried by the breeze.


    "Ah," Daokan mused, dodging a swift strike, "now you¡¯re getting serious."


    Lin Wuye¡¯s steps became sharper, more precise. He activated the Steps of the Gale, a technique of 30 intricate steps. Even a single step placed immense strain on the body, draining Qi at an alarming rate if one''s Qi wasn''t trained.


    Step One: Whispering Breeze. Lin Wuye¡¯s movements became elusive, his body gliding like a wisp of air. His first strike came from an angle too difficult to read, but Daokan deflected it effortlessly.


    Step Two: Rushing Wind. His speed doubled, his sword now a blur of motion. The air howled as his attacks became relentless, each strike hammering down like a windstorm.


    Step Three: Gale¡¯s Kiss. The pressure of his attacks became suffocating, his strikes forming shockwaves that pushed Daokan back an inch¡ªyet still, the master remained unshaken.


    Step Four: Roaring Tempest. Lin Wuye¡¯s muscles screamed in protest, his veins burning with exertion as the wind spiralled violently around him. Each slash was no longer just a strike¡ªit was a force of nature.


    Step Five: Cyclone¡¯s Wrath. His sword no longer just moved through the air¡ªit commanded it. The air pressure twisted violently, forming visible arcs of wind that lashed out at Daokan, forcing him to take his first defensive step.


    Step Six: Tornado¡¯s Edge. The very ground beneath him cracked from the sheer force of his movements. Each step threatened to break his body apart, yet he pushed forward, his qi burning away at an alarming rate.


    Step Seven: Heaven¡¯s Howl. The final step Lin Wuye could manage at the time. He had use until step 15th against the fight with Shen Mu. A single strike of Heaven''s Howl could tear through anything in its path. The moment he swung, the very air itself seemed to be sliced open, creating a vacuum that threatened to consume everything before it.


    Jiang, watching in awe, clenched his fists. He couldn¡¯t let Lin Wuye stand alone.


    Digging deep into his reserves, he activated the technique as well.


    Step One: Whispering Breeze. His stance shifted, his movements becoming light and untouchable.


    Step Two: Rushing Wind. He accelerated, syncing with Lin Wuye, his strikes a dance of precision. But Jiang¡¯s body lacked Lin¡¯s reserves¡ªhe had only enough Qi to sustain this. Jiang could go until step seven but it would mean sacrificing his body functionality for one strike.


    Atlas, watching from the sidelines, was in full panic mode. "Oh no¡ªNO¡ªNOT AGAIN!" The gust of wind blasted into him with the force of a typhoon. His pants, already suffering from the previous impact, were finally ripped clean off.


    "WHY ME?!" Atlas wailed, frantically trying to cover himself as his undergarments fluttered dangerously in the breeze.


    Meyu, quick on her feet, lunged forward and held up a cloth, covering him just in time. "For the love of the heavens, Atlas, how do you always end up like this?!"


    Atlas, still clutching the remnants of his dignity, groaned. "Why does every fight in this place personally attack me?!"


    Master Daokan continued deflecting Lin Wuye¡¯s seventh step with minimal effort, his expression calm. "You, when you fought Shen Mu, how many steps did you use?" he asked, his voice steady. "I know this isn¡¯t all you¡¯re capable of."


    Lin Wuye exhaled sharply, keeping his stance firm. "I reached the 25th step," he admitted. "I never used it. That step is meant to sacrifice my entire body for one strike. I almost considered it when Shen Mu became a berserker filled with negative Qi."


    Master Daokan gave a small nod, acknowledging his efforts. "Impressive. But technique alone will never be enough. Let me show you why."


    He raised his hands slightly, his stance shifting. "This is my own creation¡ªThe Shrouded Peaks Technique." He took a deep breath, and the air around him seemed to compress, all oxygen seemingly sucked away. The pressure was suffocating, and the wind techniques Lin and Jiang had conjured dissipated like mist before an oncoming storm. The ground trembled, cracks forming beneath his feet.


    First Strike: Sundering Summit. He thrust his palm forward, the force of the strike splitting the air. Even the mountains in the far distance seemed to shudder.


    Lin Wuye and Jiang had no time to react. Their bodies instinctively reinforced themselves with Qi, their weapons raised in a desperate defense. The impact was immediate¡ªan overwhelming force that sent them both flying, smashing through the grand hall¡¯s solid wooden layers. Beams shattered, debris rained down, and by the time they landed, both were unconscious.


    A figure stepped forward¡ªShen again. Kneeling beside them, she placed her hands on their foreheads, channeling her Qi into their cores. Moments later, Lin Wuye and Jiang stirred, groggy but awake.


    Shen studied them, a smirk playing on her lips. "You two are strong. Worthy of learning even more."


    Lin Wuye remained silent, staring at the ceiling in contemplation. Had it finally come to this? Was it time to abandon his pacifist nature?


    Jiang, noticing his hesitation, turned to him.


    "Don¡¯t forget," he said firmly.


    "Meilin¡ªshe stood against Shen Mu. You nearly lost her. If you hesitate again, what will happen next time?"


    Master Daokan dusted off his robes and turned to the gathered crowd. "Next fight: Bao versus Ren."


    Atlas, now clad in fresh robes from the servants, groaned as he adjusted his clothes. "Great. A fair fight for once." Then, realizing he still had to fight Shen Xue, he gulped and muttered,


    "Maybe I can negotiate again..."


    Atlas took a deep breath, straightened his freshly donned robes, and approached Shen Xue with what he hoped was a confident stride. He cleared his throat, then placed a hand over his heart, flashing a diplomatic¡ªalbeit slightly desperate¡ªsmile.


    "Shen Xue, my dear, formidable, and incredibly wise opponent," Atlas began, choosing his words carefully. "Surely, in the grand scheme of martial arts, our battle is but a minor skirmish, a tiny ripple in the vast ocean of combat. Would it not be more beneficial for both of us to resolve this with words rather than fists?"


    Shen Xue folded her arms, unimpressed. "You tried this last time. It didn''t work."


    Atlas sighed. "True, but consider this! In a world brimming with conflict, must we always default to violence? Perhaps a gentleman¡¯s agreement, a pact of mutual benefit¡ª"


    "Atlas."


    "Yes?"


    "If you don¡¯t fight me, I¡¯ll fight you anyway."


    Atlas''s hopeful grin wavered. "Right. Just thought I''d check."


    Shen Xue raised an eyebrow. "You''re not getting out of this."


    Atlas groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay, okay, but what if¡ªand hear me out¡ªwe stage the fight? You hit me, I dramatically fall over, everyone gasps, and we call it a day?"


    Shen Xue stared at him, deadpan.


    "No."


    Atlas threw his hands up. "What if I bribe you?"


    "No."


    "An all-expenses-paid meal at the finest restaurant in the city?"


    "Still no."


    Atlas crossed his arms and pouted. "You drive a hard bargain, Shen."


    She smirked. "I don''t negotiate."


    Before Atlas could attempt another desperate ploy, Master Daokan called out, "Bao versus Ren, step forward."


    Atlas nearly collapsed in relief as the attention shifted away from him. He scurried back to the sidelines, whispering to himself,


    "Another day, another chance to negotiate."


    Bao stepped into the ring, his eyes locked onto Ren. The two warriors faced each other in silence, the tension between them almost tangible.


    Bao inhaled deeply, centering himself. Unlike Lin Wuye or Jiang, his body lacked their hardened physique, but his Qi reserves ran deep. If nothing else, he could sustain his techniques longer than most.


    With a single step, he launched into the first technique of the Silver Lotus Sect¡ª"Whispering Breeze." His body glided like a wisp of air, his movements elusive and unreadable as his fist cut toward Ren.


    Ren didn¡¯t move. At the last possible moment, he tilted his head slightly, letting the strike pass by harmlessly.


    Bao wasted no time, shifting into "Rushing Wind." His speed doubled, his fists blurring into a near-invisible flurry of strikes. The air howled as his attacks rained down in relentless succession.


    Ren finally responded, weaving effortlessly between Bao¡¯s strikes. He parried a punch with the back of his hand, then stepped forward, pressing into Bao¡¯s space. His movements were frustratingly simple¡ªdirect, efficient¡ªbut they carried the weight of complete mastery.


    Bao grit his teeth and pushed forward. His Qi surged, allowing him to maintain his technique longer than most, but it also made him reckless. He struck out again, but Ren anticipated it, stepping just out of reach before slamming a palm into Bao¡¯s chest.


    Bao stumbled, his breath hitching from the force. But he refused to fall.


    "Again," Bao muttered, resetting his stance.


    Ren smirked. "You¡¯re persistent."


    Bao launched forward, his movements smoother, more refined, as he maintained "Whispering Breeze" and "Rushing Wind" simultaneously. He was fast¡ªfaster than he had ever been before. And for the first time, Ren had to block rather than evade.


    Bao saw his opening. He twisted, driving his fist toward Ren¡¯s ribs.


    It landed.


    Ren took a single step back, a faint look of approval in his eyes.


    But in the next breath, he struck back. His fist drove into Bao¡¯s stomach with the force of a collapsing mountain. The air in Bao¡¯s lungs vanished instantly. He barely registered the pain before his vision blurred, his body sent flying across the arena.


    He crashed hard, coughing violently as his limbs refused to obey him. Ren exhaled, stepping back calmly.


    Shen watched intently. "Ren isn¡¯t just strong. He¡¯s terrifying."


    Bao groaned, pushing himself up from the ground, his body screaming in protest. His limbs trembled, and his breath came in ragged gasps, but he refused to surrender. His Qi was still surging within him, and that meant he could still fight.


    Master Daokan watched from the sidelines, his sharp eyes analyzing every movement. "He''s pushing his body past the limits," he murmured, his voice unreadable.


    "His body is weaker than the others, but his qi reserves are immense. If he can maintain control, he might still turn this around."


    Beside him, Shen smirked. "He''s got heart, I''ll give him that. But Ren isn¡¯t the kind of opponent who¡¯ll let him push forward much longer."


    Yue Wuye, standing with her arms crossed, observed quietly. "Even so, he''s forcing Ren to work harder than expected. That alone is impressive."


    Bao steadied his stance, inhaling deeply. The pain dulled under the sheer force of his will, and he launched forward again, his form shifting back into "Whispering Breeze." His movements became unpredictable, his strikes weaving through the air like the wind itself.


    Ren exhaled, mildly irritated now. "You don¡¯t know when to stay down, do you?"


    Bao ignored him, pouring his energy into "Rushing Wind." His speed spiked again, his strikes blurring into a tempest. He weaved and lashed out, forcing Ren onto the defensive for the first time in the match.


    Master Daokan¡¯s eyes flickered with interest. "He¡¯s adapting. His instincts are getting sharper.''''


    Ren clicked his tongue, stepping back, dodging each strike with ease¡ªbut there was a subtle shift in his stance, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes.


    Bao saw it.


    Seizing the moment, Bao pivoted and twisted his entire body into a single, explosive punch. His fist connected squarely with Ren¡¯s jaw, sending a shockwave rippling through the air.


    Master Daokan¡¯s brows lifted ever so slightly. "He landed a clean hit.''''


    Ren staggered back a step, touching his chin. He blinked once, then frowned. "That... actually hurt."


    Bao exhaled sharply, his entire body burning with exhaustion, but he stood firm.


    "I¡¯m not done yet."


    Ren rolled his shoulders, his irritation now palpable. "Alright. I¡¯ve humoured you enough."


    Master Daokan¡¯s gaze darkened. "Now comes the real test."


    Ren shifted his weight, his posture subtly changing. Before Bao could react, Ren moved¡ªtoo fast for the eye to follow. One instant he was standing still, the next, his fist buried deep into Bao¡¯s abdomen.


    Bao¡¯s breath caught, his vision flashing white as pain exploded through his body. But something instinctive took over. His hand shot out, grabbing Ren¡¯s wrist just as the force sent him staggering back.


    A surge of power ignited in his core.


    Master Daokan¡¯s eyes widened slightly. "Oh...?"


    Bao felt it¡ªthe third step.


    "Gale¡¯s Kiss."The air around them howled as Bao¡¯s qi flared wildly, reinforcing his battered body. Pain flooded his limbs, his muscles screaming in protest, but his qi absorbed the damage, allowing him to move again.


    Ren¡¯s expression darkened. "You¡¯re still standing?"


    Bao didn¡¯t answer. His fists clenched, the wind roaring around him. He dashed forward, faster than before, his strikes sharper, deadlier.


    Master Daokan nodded approvingly. "He¡¯s enduring it... but for how long?"


    Ren let out a slow breath, his stance shifting. Then, with no hesitation, he surged forward, intercepting Bao¡¯s next strike. The impact sent a gust of wind through the arena, but this time, Ren didn''t give an inch. He countered immediately, twisting Bao¡¯s arm and slamming a knee into his ribs. Bao gasped, but instead of collapsing, he forced himself through the pain, retaliating with a wild, sweeping kick. Ren sidestepped cleanly, bringing his elbow down on Bao¡¯s shoulder with brutal precision.


    Shen clicked her tongue. "He¡¯s done."


    Yue Wuye sighed. "He lasted longer than I expected. But Ren is still the better fighter."


    Bao¡¯s vision swam. His body, already battered, finally betrayed him. He dropped to one knee, struggling to stay upright, but Ren was already preparing the finishing blow.


    A final strike landed cleanly against Bao¡¯s chest, sending him sprawling across the floor.


    Master Daokan exhaled. "It¡¯s over."


    Ren stepped back, rolling his shoulders. "You put up a good fight," he admitted.


    Bao lay on the ground, chest heaving, his Qi finally spent.


    Shen smirked. "Not bad, kid. Maybe next time."


    Yan Shuren, returning from sending Layla to the physician, frowned as he saw another battered-up child. He turned to Master Daokan.


    "Why didn¡¯t you punish Ren for making a kid pass out?"


    Master Daokan remained calm, his gaze unwavering. "Because the lesson wasn¡¯t just for Bao. Strength isn¡¯t just about enduring¡ªit¡¯s about understanding limits. If Ren had held back, Bao would never know how far he still has to go. A true warrior must experience hardship to grow."


    He glanced toward the ring where the remnants of the battle still lingered. "Unlike your fight with Meilin, which was frankly one-sided and you making Meilin like a bouncing ball leaving many holes in the main compound, Bao and Ren were almost equals. Their battle was a true test, not just of power but of adaptation and endurance. If I punished Ren for this, I would be undermining the very lesson Bao needed to learn."


    He turned toward a nearby servant and spoke in a low but firm voice. "Take Bao to the physician. Make sure he¡¯s well cared for."


    The servant nodded, swiftly carrying out the order. Meanwhile, the rest of the fighters¡ªLin Wuye, Jiang, Layla all bandaged up and Yan Shuren¡ªreturned, taking their places among the spectators. The air was thick with anticipation, but no one was more confused than Atlas, who had been subtly edging his way toward the exit.


    Then, with a slight smirk¡ªsomething rare for him¡ªMaster Daokan clapped his hands together, drawing everyone''s attention. "And now, the final match of the day."


    Atlas froze mid-step. "Wait, what? That was the last fight, right?"


    Master Daokan turned toward him, his tone far too eager.


    "No, Atlas. This is the last fight. You, against Shen Xue."

 Atlass Heart

    Atlas paled, his mind racing. "You know, Master Daokan, I do believe that we''ve learned a valuable lesson today. Strength, endurance, perseverance¡ªreally, there''s no need to continue, is there?"


    Master Daokan folded his arms, his expression almost amused. "You''ve been under my skin more times than anyone else I''ve ever met, Atlas. More than emperors, nobles, disciples, sect leaders¡ªevery single one. And now, you''ve even gotten under my daughter skin as well. It''s only fair."


    Atlas gulped. He had talked his way out of countless situations before, manipulating, redirecting, charming¡ªbut now he was facing something worse than sheer stubbornness.


    This wasn''t just about martial arts. This was an agenda.


    He had never met someone he couldn''t manipulate unless they were either too naturally stubborn or had something to gain. Even the stubborn he has made them danced on his palms but Master Daokan? He had both.


    Layla watched from the sidelines, arms crossed, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied Atlas. She knew his tricks, had seen him talk circles around people and escape situations no one else could. He was infuriating, but also... strangely entertaining.


    "I can''t believe he''s finally out of options," she murmured to Jiang.


    Jiang smirked. "About time someone corners him. He''s played you enough, hasn''t he?"


    Layla rolled her eyes. "Please. If he thinks he''s getting out of this one, he''s delusional."


    Atlas forced a weak chuckle. "Surely, a civilized discussion¡ª"


    "Step into the ring, Atlas." Master Daokan gestured toward the arena.


    Shen Xue cracked her knuckles, rolling her shoulders with a smirk. "I''ve been waiting for this."


    Atlas turned to her, hands raised in mock surrender. "Now, Shen, let''s not be hasty. I would never want to sully our wonderful, professional relationship with something as barbaric as a fight."


    Shen Xue tilted her head. "Oh? Because let''s go about that. You not only sully the grand hall which frankly even the current Emperor honoured, you made it a like a circus, Bao carrying you like a king and you making many things drop which frankly, would take even more than your body to pay it back.''''


    Atlas coughed. "I may have been...active..?"


    Shen Xue cracked her knuckles louder. "No, you weren''t."


    Atlas exhaled sharply and turned toward the rack of wooden training weapons at the side of the ring. If he had to fight, he needed something¡ªanything¡ªto at least look like he stood a chance. His eyes darted over the options: a wooden spear, a wooden sword, a wooden staff, a wooden longsword, and wooden daggers.


    He ran a quick mental calculation. A spear would give him range, but he had absolutely no experience using one, and Shen Xue would likely disarm him in seconds. A sword? Too predictable, and she probably knew how to counter every style of swordplay in existence. The staff? He could at least try to keep his distance, but it required finesse¡ªfinesse he lacked. A longsword was heavier, unwieldy, and Shen Xue didn''t seem like someone he could outmuscle. And daggers? Close combat with Shen Xue was a death sentence.


    His stomach twisted. No matter what he chose, he was a prey walking into a slaughter. The real question wasn''t which weapon would help him win¡ªit was which one would help him survive long enough to run away if needed.


    He remembered back when the first time he encountered Shen Xue ¡ªwhen she pressed a needle against his throat, her expression utterly unreadable. That was when he realized she was different. Calculated. Deadly.


    His mind pieced together what he knew about her. She was probably light on her feet, graceful maybe but most efficient. Her strength probably wasn''t in brute force but in speed, precision, and knowing exactly where to strike to cause the most damage. Atlas recalled the brief sensation of cold steel when she held the needle to his skin, the way she positioned herself to maximize control with minimal effort.


    His gaze flickered back to the weapon rack. If she relied on precision, his best bet was something unpredictable, something that forced her to react instead of dictate the flow of battle.


    His hand hesitated, then settled on the wooden staff. It had range, and though he had no finesse, he could at least swing it wildly and hope to keep her from closing in too quickly. He wasn''t delusional enough to think he could win¡ªbut if he played it right, he might just last long enough to call this a "learning experience."


    "Huh," Layla murmured, watching as Shen Xue made her way toward the weapon rack. "Let''s see what she picks."


    To her surprise, Shen Xue reached for the wooden longsword. Layla''s brows rose slightly. "Interesting."


    Jiang glanced at her. "What?"


    "Atlas just spent all that time analyzing her precision-based fighting style," Layla mused. "But now she''s using a longsword. That means whatever deduction he made earlier is now completely useless. This is going to be a good show."


    Meanwhile, Atlas watched as Shen Xue lifted the longsword with ease. He blinked. Then blinked again. His brain refused to process the betrayal of logic he was witnessing.


    "What?" he muttered. "No. No, that''s not right."


    He had been expecting daggers. Maybe a needle, or something similarly delicate. But a longsword? He wasn''t prepared for that.


    Atlas turned back to Master Daokan, raising a hesitant hand. "Hypothetically speaking, am I allowed to use more than one weapon?"


    Master Daokan gave him a flat stare. "Why?"


    Atlas cleared his throat. "Oh, no reason. Just a scholarly inquiry. You see, as an intellectual, I believe in thorough research and adaptable strategies. It would be a grave disservice to the art of combat if I were limited in my choice of tools."


    Shen Xue smirked, resting the blade on her shoulder. "You''re panicking."


    "Me? Panicking?" Atlas let out a forced chuckle. "Pffft. Please. This is just... tactical recalibration. A moment of strategic enlightenment."


    Master Daokan sighed. "Use as many weapons as you wish. It will not change the outcome."


    Atlas perked up slightly. "Oh? A generous and wise decision, Master Daokan. Truly, your fairness knows no bounds."


    Shen Xue raised an eyebrow. "You''re going to need all the help you can get."


    Atlas placed a thoughtful hand on his chin. "Yes, yes, but let''s consider the optics of this. Shen Xue, daughter of the great Master Daokan, a warrior of unparalleled skill, choosing to wield multiple weapons against little old me? A simple, unassuming scholar? Doesn''t that seem... dishonourable?"


    Shen Xue narrowed her eyes. "What are you getting at?"


    Atlas sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "I mean, if I, a humble man of intellect, were to choose one single weapon while you, a prodigy of combat, required multiple... what would that say about your confidence? Your honour as a warrior?"


    Shen Xue''s grip on the longsword tightened slightly. Layla, watching from the sidelines, nearly choked on a laugh. "Oh, he''s really doing it."


    Jiang smirked. "He''s actually trying to guilt-trip her into fighting fair."


    Master Daokan watched in bemusement but said nothing, letting his daughter handle it.


    Shen Xue''s gaze bore into Atlas. For a moment, she seemed genuinely considering his words before scoffing. "Nice try. You''re still going to lose."


    Atlas sighed, shrugging. "Ah, but at least I lose with dignity. Now, let''s begin."


    Atlas took a deep breath and adjusted the weapons he had selected. His primary choice was the wooden staff, giving him the best chance to keep Shen Xue at bay. As a backup, he tucked a wooden dagger at his waist¡ªsomething he hoped he wouldn''t have to use. Finally, strapped to his back was a wooden spear, an option he could switch to if things got desperate.


    Jiang, watching from the sidelines, nudged Lin Wuye with a smirk. "Does Atlas have any conceivable way of lasting more than five seconds?"


    Lin Wuye exhaled, shaking his head. "Against the daughter of Master Daokan? The same Shen Xue who restored all our qi points earlier, on par with Yan? No. Not unless he discovers a hidden divine bloodline in the next few seconds."


    Layla folded her arms, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Honestly, I just want to see how long he keeps talking before Shen Xue gets tired of it and smashes him into the ground."


    Master Daokan raised his hand, signalling the start of the match. "Begin."


    Atlas took an exaggerated step back, twirling his staff in a way that was meant to look impressive but only succeeded in making him seem wildly uncoordinated. "Now, Shen, let''s talk about this rationally. Fighting is such a crude method of conflict resolution¡ª"


    Shen Xue lunged.


    Atlas barely had time to react before she was upon him, her longsword slicing through the air with practiced precision. He stumbled back, using the staff to desperately block the strike, but the sheer force of the impact sent vibrations rattling through his arms.


    "Hah!" he forced a laugh. "You''re fast, but I¡ª"


    Another strike. This time, he barely managed to twist his body in time to avoid taking a direct hit. Shen Xue''s movements were fluid, relentless, like a predator toying with its prey.


    Jiang smirked. "Three seconds. Not bad."


    Lin Wuye chuckled. "He''s still breathing, which is a surprise."


    Atlas decided now was the time for a tactical retreat. He jumped back, reaching behind him to grab the spear strapped to his back. With a dramatic flourish, he pointed it at Shen Xue. "Ah-ha! Behold, the weapon of warriors!"


    Shen Xue tilted her head. "You don''t know how to use that, do you?"


    Atlas hesitated. "That''s subjective."


    She sighed, then moved again. He thrust the spear wildly, hoping to create some distance, but Shen Xue was already too close. With a swift motion, she sidestepped his attack, grabbed the spear shaft, and wrenched it from his grip before tossing it effortlessly across the arena.


    Atlas blinked. "Right. Expected that."


    Layla laughed. "Five seconds. He''s exceeding expectations."


    Atlas exhaled sharply and pulled the dagger from his waist. "Plan C!"


    Shen Xue''s smirk grew wider. "You mean ''Plan Desperation''?"


    Atlas had no response¡ªmainly because Shen Xue was already coming at him again.


    She moved with deceptive ease, her sword slicing through the air in slow, deliberate arcs. To the untrained eye, it might seem like she was merely warming up, but Layla could see the truth. "She''s toying with him," she muttered. "She''s barely using a fraction of her strength. Even Bao would put up a better fight than this tragedy."


    Jiang nodded. "She''s testing him. Seeing how long it takes before he runs out of tricks."


    Atlas, meanwhile, was sweating bullets. His mind raced as he dodged and parried, barely keeping up. "Now, Shen, let''s be reasonable," he said between hurried breaths, sidestepping yet another swipe. "I am but a humble scholar! A man of intellect! Would you strike down an unarmed philosopher?"


    Shen Xue scoffed. "You''re armed. And you''re not a philosopher."


    "Minor details," Atlas said, ducking under another swing. "But let''s think about this logically. Wouldn''t it be a more valuable use of your time to fight someone, I don''t know, worthier?"


    She lunged, forcing Atlas to stumble backward. "Oh? And who do you propose?"


    "Jiang!" Atlas pointed wildly. "Jiang is strong. Trained. He¡ª"


    Jiang crossed his arms. "Not a chance."


    Atlas let out a strangled laugh, narrowly avoiding a downward slash. "Master Lin Wuye! A legendary warrior! Surely, a more engaging opponent!"


    Lin Wuye smiled. "You''re on your own, Atlas."


    Atlas groaned, barely managing to sidestep before Shen Xue''s blade although wood nearly took his arm off. "You''re all heartless!"


    Layla laughed. "Oh, I''m loving this."


    Master Daokan watched the fight unfold, his expression unreadable. "He''s clever, but cleverness alone won''t save him."


    Yan Shuren, his trusted disciple, crossed his arms. "It''s amusing, though. I''ve never seen someone try so hard to avoid a fight while actively fighting."


    Ren, the youngest yet already an undeniable prodigy, observed with keen interest. "He''s adapting. Not efficiently, but he''s trying. It''s almost admirable."


    Meyu, standing beside them, sighed. "Almost. He talks a lot, but he''s still going to get beaten into the ground."


    Yue Wuye, watched with an amused glint in her eye. "I think he knows that. But still, he fights in his own way. It may not be the strongest, but it''s uniquely him."


    Atlas, meanwhile, had somehow backed himself into a corner, staff gripped tightly as Shen Xue advanced. "Now, now, let''s not be rash. What if we¡ª"


    Shen Xue swung. Atlas yelped and barely ducked, the force of the strike sending a rush of air past his face. The sheer pressure of the blow carved into the ground behind him, rustling the trees at the edges of the arena. Leaves tore from their branches, scattering like frightened birds. Even the spectators felt the impact ripple through the air, a gust washing over them like a stormfront.


    Atlas blinked at the destruction behind him. "Okay, okay! How about a break? Just a small one? Water break? No?"


    Shen Xue grinned. "No."


    Out of pure spite, she channelled a fraction of her qi, sending a controlled yet forceful strike toward Atlas. The very air around her vibrated from the sheer pressure.


    But the moment it made contact, the energy crackled and dissipated, swallowed by an unseen force. Instead of immediately reflecting back, the energy lingered within Atlas, coursing through his body like a foreign entity seeking to root itself. His limbs twitched involuntarily, an uncomfortable heat pooling within his heart. The shockwave should have rebounded, but instead, it resides within Atlas. Shen Xue barely tilted her head, watching curiously as the energy sputtered and fizzled against his skin, yet did not lash back toward her.


    Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Oh?"


    Atlas, oblivious to what just happened, flailed in panic, his body feeling strangely heavier, like something unnatural was pressing against his insides. He barely managed to duck. He hadn''t even realized what his own body had done.


    "Ha! Missed!" he blurted out, before immediately scrambling out of the way of another precise blow.


    The next few moments were a chaotic display of comedic dodging¡ªAtlas twisting, rolling, and flinging himself to the side in ways that resembled more of a dance than actual combat. "Too slow!" he taunted before tripping over his own foot and narrowly avoiding what would have been a direct hit to his ribs.


    Layla snorted. "This is both the worst and best fight I''ve ever seen."


    But his luck couldn''t last forever.


    Shen Xue finally adjusted, realizing that her Qi-based attacks were useless. With one well-placed strike, she abandoned energy entirely and relied on sheer physical force, slamming the blunt force of her longsword squarely into his stomach. The impact sent him flying backward, his entire body feeling as though it had been struck by a battering ram.


    Atlas hit the ground with a loud thud, gasping as the wind was knocked out of him. But beyond the pain, a deeper, more insidious sensation churned inside him. The energy he had absorbed was still there, refusing to leave, slowly poisoning his very being. His limbs twitched violently as he tried to process what was happening.


    Jiang winced. "Oof. That looked painful."


    Lin Wuye chuckled. "He doesn''t have Qi to soften the blow. But... did you see that? The Qi attack didn''t affect him."


    Jiang furrowed his brow. "Wait. That energy didn''t fully return to Shen Could it be that Atlas''s body absorbs Qi?"The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Yan Shuren crossed his arms. "There are two possibilities. Either his body acts as a vessel, temporarily holding qi until he expels it through physical contact¡ªor, worse, his body simply has no way to regulate qi at all, meaning it will keep accumulating until it tears him apart from the inside."


    Jiang frowned. "So either he has to fight back, or he''ll be dealing with something far worse than just losing this match?"


    Yan Shuren nodded. "Exactly. But there''s another question to consider. If his body cannot regulate Qi, what happens when he finally releases it?"


    Lin Wuye, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. "There are two likely outcomes. If his body is merely storing the Qi, then when he does release it, it will be uncontrolled¡ªwild, chaotic, and potentially destructive to himself and those around him. However, if his body fundamentally rejects Qi as a foreign entity, then forcing it out could damage his meridians beyond repair. Either way, the longer he holds it in, the worse it becomes."


    Jiang frowned. "So he''s either a ticking time bomb or slowly poisoning himself just by standing there?"


    Lin Wuye sighed. "Exactly. Either he learns how to consciously control and release it, or he won''t make it out of this fight in one piece."


    Master Daokan, arms crossed, observed Atlas with a contemplative expression. "The question is, what happens if he does manage to release it?"


    Yan Shuren glanced at him. "You''re worried about the scale of the effect?"


    Master Daokan nodded. "If his body is storing Qi without control, then the release could be catastrophic. If it''s simply expelled, it might just disperse harmlessly. But if it rebounds with equal force..." He trailed off, letting the implication settle.


    Yue Wuye frowned. "That would mean anyone in range could be affected. Depending on how much he''s absorbed, it could cripple him or even Shen herself."


    Ren, watching closely, finally spoke. "Should we intervene if it comes to that?"


    Master Daokan remained silent for a moment before exhaling. "No. Not yet. He needs to figure it out himself. But if it spirals out of control, then we step in. Atlas has been a headache for too long, but I have no intention of watching him die today."


    Atlas wheezed, lifting a trembling hand. "Objection... to... this entire situation..."


    A sharp, searing sensation coiled within his chest, unlike anything he had ever experienced. It wasn''t just pain¡ªit was something worse. It felt like his own body was trying to reject itself, like an unnatural force was twisting through his veins, trying to find an exit. His limbs felt heavy, his breath uneven, his heart hammering as if it were moments away from shattering. Every fiber of his being screamed at him that something was wrong.


    And yet, Atlas scoffed, letting out a breathy chuckle. "Tch... is that all?"


    Because to him, no pain could ever compare to his past.


    The stench of burning wood and iron filled his lungs. The cries of desperation, the metallic taste of blood in the air, the overwhelming heat¡ªall of it had been etched into his very soul. He had stood amidst the wreckage of his old life, watching it crumble, powerless to do anything but survive.


    Pain? Pain had been starvation in the gutters, wounds left untreated, betrayals from those he once trusted. Pain was learning that the world had no mercy for the weak, that suffering was inevitable unless you found a way to stand above it all.


    Pain was realizing no one was coming to save him.


    So no, whatever this was¡ªthis roiling storm inside his body, this creeping venom in his bloodstream¡ªthis was nothing.


    Nothing compared to what he had already endured.


    Atlas exhaled sharply, shaking off the lingering echoes of the past. But his body disagreed. The storm within him raged stronger now, an unbearable heat pooling deeper into his core, sinking into his bones like molten iron. Every breath felt heavier, like his lungs were filling with something thick and suffocating. His fingertips trembled as they clenched around his staff, veins subtly pulsing with an unnatural glow that flickered in and out of sight.


    Shen Xue noticed it first, pausing in mid-stride. Her eyes flickered to his hands, her usual smirk fading just slightly. "Huh."


    From the sidelines, Lin Wuye narrowed his eyes. "His body''s reacting. The Qi inside him is still building up."


    Jiang scoffed. "At this rate, it doesn''t matter if he fights back¡ªhis body might break apart before he figures it out."


    Atlas, meanwhile, took a shaky step forward, finally managing to parry one of Shen Xue''s held-back strikes. He barely registered the motion, his mind split between the fight and the unbearable heat searing through his body. "Oh wow, would you look at that? I blocked something. Let''s all take a moment to appreciate this historic event."


    Shen Xue arched an eyebrow. "You''re still joking?"


    Atlas forced a grin. "Of course. If I stop, I might actually process how much pain I''m in, and we wouldn''t want that, would we?" The moment his staff met her blade, something in the air shifted. A faint, invisible ripple pulsed outward, a flicker of force that Shen Xue instinctively recognized.


    She adjusted her grip. "So you can parry now? Let''s see how long that lasts."


    Atlas groaned, shifting his stance. "Can we at least pretend I have a chance? Maybe give me an honorary warrior title? Atlas the... uh... Enduring? That has a nice ring to it."


    Shen Xue lunged again. Atlas barely blocked in time, his staff vibrating violently from the impact. The pain inside him twisted, tightening like a vice. He winced but forced out another quip. "Oh no, is that the best you''ve got? I expected more from the great Shen Xue!"


    Atlas barely had time to react before she struck again, this time faster. He managed to block once more, but the pain in his core worsened, like the very act of resisting her was accelerating the turmoil inside him. His breath hitched as another wave of agony crawled up his spine.


    Meyu frowned, watching from the sidelines. "His face is getting pale. And... is it just me, or does he look different?"


    Ren tilted his head. "His aura is shifting. The more he fights, the more unstable his presence feels."


    Master Daokan exhaled slowly. "His body wasn''t meant to handle Qi. But right now, it''s trying to adapt, whether he wants it to or not."


    Atlas staggered slightly, his vision flickering. His limbs twitched with an unnatural energy, his breathing ragged. He glanced at his own hands, the veins beneath his skin glowing faintly. "Okay. New problem. I think I might explode. And not in a cool way. More like a ''pieces of me end up in different provinces'' kind of way."


    Meyu covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. "He''s still talking like that?"


    Lin Wuye exhaled. "It''s probably a coping mechanism."


    Jiang smirked. "Or a death wish."


    Atlas, refusing to acknowledge the severity of his situation, wiped the sweat off his brow with a shaky hand. "Shen, I have to say, for someone so deadly, you really do have unfair advantages. You''re quick, precise, and let''s be honest¡ªfrankly too good-looking for me to focus properly. This is psychological warfare. I demand compensation."


    Shen Xue''s eye twitched.


    Layla snorted. "Oh, he''s going to regret that."


    Shen Xue exhaled, rolling her shoulders before gripping her longsword with both hands. "Fine. I''ll make sure you stop talking."


    She moved. Faster. The blade became a blur as Qi flared around her, amplifying her strikes. Atlas barely managed to parry the first blow, the impact rattling through his bones. The second one sent him skidding back, his feet struggling to find balance. The third? He wasn''t fast enough.


    The longsword slammed into his side, sending a shockwave through the ground beneath him. The earth cracked under the force, a spiderweb of fractures spreading outward. His clothes tore at the edges, the fabric unable to withstand the sheer weight of the strike.


    Atlas let out a wheezing laugh as he stumbled. "I... I feel like that was personal."


    Shen Xue scoffed. "Oh, it was."


    The pain in Atlas''s core deepened. His body convulsed slightly as more Qi poured into him, absorbed upon impact. His limbs felt heavier, his breath more erratic. The glow pulsing through his veins brightened, the energy inside him reaching an unbearable threshold.


    Meyu''s smile faded. "His body... it''s breaking down, isn''t it?"


    Lin Wuye''s expression darkened. "He''s absorbing too much, and it''s not dispersing. If he doesn''t find a way to let it out soon, it won''t matter how much pain he''s used to¡ªhis body will tear itself apart."


    Layla''s smirk faded as she watched Atlas''s erratic movements. His attacks were no longer calculated¡ªor as calculated as his usually sloppy combat could be. Now, they were instinctual, wild.


    "Wait¡­ he''s still attacking?"


    Shen Xue frowned, sidestepping another swing of his staff with ease. "He''s not thinking anymore." Another strike came at her, and again she parried effortlessly. "His body is moving on its own."


    The atmosphere around them shifted. Even as Shen Xue countered every move, something felt off. Atlas, despite the clear agony in his face, kept advancing. He had no technique, no form¡ªonly a desperate, automatic response to the energy wreaking havoc inside him. His body wanted to expel it, and the only way it knew how was to keep hitting her.


    Shen Xue''s grip on her sword tightened. "If this continues¡ª"


    "Enough," Master Daokan''s voice cut through the arena, his tone firm. "Shen Xue, do not use Qi strikes anymore. If you do, you may push him past the point of return."


    Shen Xue hesitated but ultimately lowered her stance slightly. "Understood."


    Lin Wuye exhaled, now focused entirely on Atlas''s movements. "We need to be ready to stop him if this gets worse. If he loses control completely, we might not be dealing with just a match anymore."


    Atlas, ever the opportunist, let out a weak chuckle despite his rapidly deteriorating condition. "Well, at least if I explode, you''ll all remember me as a trailblazer in the fine art of self-destruction."


    Shen Xue''s grip tightened further. "Shut up and stop moving."


    Atlas, of course, did neither.


    Instead, his instincts took over once more. His body jerked forward without his consent, swinging the staff wildly at Shen Xue. She parried effortlessly, but he didn''t stop. Every blocked strike sent another wave of agony rippling through him, the qi inside growing more volatile, more unstable.


    The wooden staff in his hands began to change.


    The air around it shimmered unnaturally, distorting like heatwaves on a summer road. The once ordinary wood darkened, almost as if absorbing the same energy wreaking havoc inside him. Faint lines of glowing inscriptions¡ªsymbols no one could immediately recognize¡ªetched themselves along the shaft.


    Layla''s eyes widened. "Is that... manifesting?"


    Master Daokan''s expression darkened. "No. It''s reacting to him."


    Jiang took a step forward. "That''s never happened before, has it?"


    Lin Wuye shook his head. "No. And considering the state he''s in, we have no idea what will happen next."


    Atlas''s consciousness finally slipped. His vision tunnelled, the world around him dissolving into darkness.


    He was somewhere else.


    A city, one long lost to time, loomed over him. Towering buildings, blackened by soot and fire, stretched endlessly into the sky. The air was thick with smoke, suffocating, oppressive. Screams echoed through the alleyways, fleeting and desperate before being swallowed by silence. The scent of iron and ash clung to everything, seeping into his skin like an old curse that refused to fade.


    Atlas knew this place. He wished he didn''t.


    A younger version of himself staggered through the ruins, barefoot and clad in rags. His stomach twisted with hunger, his limbs weak from exhaustion. He clutched a small pouch close to his chest¡ªhis only possession, filled with scraps barely worth eating. His breathing was shallow, every step heavier than the last.


    Then, the voices came.


    "Oi, look at this one."


    Atlas stiffened. He turned, met with the sight of three older boys blocking the alley''s only exit. Their clothes were better¡ªpatched but sturdy. Their eyes were sharp, cruel. Predators who had long since learned that the world favored the strong.


    "Didn''t we tell you?" the tallest one sneered. "This is our street."


    Atlas took a step back, his grip on the pouch tightening. "I found this first."


    The second boy laughed, a rough sound like gravel scraping against metal. "And now we''re finding it for ourselves. Hand it over."


    Atlas shook his head. He had fought too hard for this. He wasn''t going to let them take it. Not again. Not this time.


    But his body was too weak, his arms too frail. When the first punch came, he couldn''t even raise his hands in time to block it. Pain exploded in his ribs as he was knocked to the ground, dust rising around him. The second kick sent his pouch flying from his grasp.


    "No¡ª!"


    The third boy grabbed it before he could, shaking it open and sneering at the pitiful contents. "Barely enough for a rat. You really thought you''d get away with this?"


    Atlas gasped for breath, fingers digging into the dirt. On the cold road. Nobody around. He forced himself onto his hands and knees, his body screaming in protest. He had to stand. Had to fight. But he was just a starving, broken child. And they were bigger. Stronger.


    Pain? He had learned pain long before this moment. The bruises, the hunger, the loneliness¡ªthose had become constants, things he simply endured. But that day, something inside him had truly broken.


    Because as they laughed and walked away, leaving him in the dust, Atlas realized something worse than pain¡ª


    Powerlessness.


    Meanwhile, in the real world, Atlas''s body moved eerily in sync with Shen Xue, his reflexes sharpened despite his unconscious state. Every strike she made, he countered¡ªsloppily, but effectively. But with each clash, his body trembled, his breath becoming more erratic. The energy inside him was no longer just unstable; it was growing.


    Shen Xue frowned. "This isn''t right."


    Layla''s eyes widened as she observed him more closely. Then, realization struck. "Wait¡­ he''s not just absorbing it anymore."


    Meyu turned to her, panic rising in her voice. "What do you mean?"


    Layla swallowed hard. "He''s pulling in energy from the environment. Look at the weapons rack."


    They turned, and their stomachs dropped. The wooden weapons¡ªswords, spears, staffs¡ªwere crumbling into dust, the energy within them siphoned away. But worse, far worse¡ª


    Master Daokan stiffened. "Everyone. Hold your Qi."


    The masters around the arena exchanged alarmed glances. They could feel it now¡ªAtlas wasn''t just absorbing energy from Shen Xue''s strikes. He was pulling at the very essence around him. Even their own Qi trembled, as if being drawn toward him.


    Yuxe Wuye placed a gentle hand on Meyu''s shoulder, sensing her distress. "It will be fine. Master Daokan will handle it."


    But as she said it, her gaze never left Atlas. Because deep down, even she wasn''t certain of that anymore.


    Then, suddenly, Atlas''s body convulsed. A deep, guttural sound escaped his throat as the energy trapped within him reached its breaking point. His veins, glowing like molten lines beneath his skin, pulsed violently. The energy within him, wild and untamed, surged to the surface.


    A massive shockwave erupted from his core, the sheer force sending tremors through the ground. The moment his staff struck downward¡ªwhether by instinct or fate¡ªthe very earth beneath Shen Xue cracked apart. The force carved a deep, jagged rift behind her, splitting the arena floor in two. The ground didn''t simply break; it was as if an invisible blade had carved through the stone itself, exposing layers of earth that had remained undisturbed for centuries. The rift extended far beyond the arena, jagged and raw, a terrifying display of uncontrolled power.


    Shen Xue''s breath hitched. For the first time in the fight, her eyes widened¡ªnot out of surprise, but out of genuine alarm. She had been prepared for many things, but not this. Not an attack of this magnitude from someone who had no control over his own energy. Her instincts screamed at her to move, but even she had hesitated for just a fraction of a second, thrown off by the sheer destruction behind her.


    Layla, Meyu, and Yuxe Wuye were caught in the aftermath, the force of the strike sending a powerful gust outward, strong enough to knock them off balance. They staggered back, barely able to stay on their feet as the shockwave rattled the entire arena. Beyond the arena, the shockwave had not gone unnoticed.


    In the heart of Jinhai City, merchants and travelers alike paused as the distant sound of the explosion reached their ears. Birds scattered from the rooftops, and the very air seemed to hum with residual energy. The city guards, stationed at the high walls, exchanged uneasy glances. Even the sect elders, deep in meditation within their chambers, opened their eyes as a ripple of unseen force passed through their surroundings.


    Meanwhile, within the Imperial Palace of Jinhai, the current Emperor, Jinhai sat in quiet contemplation within his grand chamber, surrounded by his advisors and generals. The shockwave sent a subtle tremor through the air, making the golden incense burners sway slightly. The Emperor''s eyes snapped open, sharp and calculating, as he immediately recognized the disturbance for what it was¡ªa release of power unlike any in recent memory.


    A moment later, he turned toward one of his royal investigators, his voice calm yet firm. "Find the source. Immediately."


    The official bowed deeply. "At once, Your Majesty."


    The Emperor remained seated, fingers steepled together as he stared at the horizon beyond his palace walls. He was one of the few in the world who could match Master Daokan in raw strength and wisdom. And if something had shaken even the heavens themselves, it was not something he could ignore.


    Far beyond the Regime of Jin, across the vast ocean, within the towering halls of the underground network in Europe, Emery, seated amidst an array of intricate equations and sketches, felt the faint disturbance as if it were a whisper carried by the wind. His fingers froze mid-turn over a page of old parchment, his gaze flickering toward the horizon.


    "Well now," Emery murmured, drumming his fingers against the table. "Isn''t that interesting?"


    What... the hell?" Layla muttered, brushing dust off her sleeves as she regained her footing.


    Meyu''s heart pounded in her chest. "That wasn''t just a normal energy release. That was¡ª"


    Then she noticed something else.


    All eyes remained on Atlas, who remained unconscious, his body finally still. But the rift behind Shen Xue remained¡ªa scar in the earth, and a warning to all who had witnessed it.


    A hush fell over the spectators. Even the masters, for the first time in a long while, were left momentarily speechless.


    Master Daokan, however, was the first to recover, his voice low but firm. "That technique... I recognize it. It is not something he should be able to do."


    Lin Wuye, still processing what he had just witnessed, exhaled sharply. "If I''m not mistaken... that was an incomplete form of the Devouring Pulse. But it shouldn''t exist in someone like him. He has no cultivated Qi. No formal training. How is this possible?"


    Jiang, arms crossed, muttered, "And more importantly... what happens if he does it again?"


    Lin Wuye''s gaze lingered on Atlas''s unconscious form, his mind racing through possibilities. "That''s the question, isn''t it? If his body can naturally absorb Qi, then release it in such a destructive manner... he might not have any control over when it happens. This was incomplete, unstable. If he does it again, the next one could be worse."


    Master Daokan took a slow step forward, his expression unreadable as he extended his hand toward Atlas. His qi flared subtly as he analyzed the boy''s state, his senses stretching deep within him. Then, his eyes narrowed slightly.


    "Fascinating," he murmured. "His Qi is... gone. It''s returned to nothing, as if it never existed at all."


    Lin Wuye''s brows furrowed. "As it should have been. His body isn''t meant to retain Qi yet for a brief moment, it harnessed an immense force beyond reason. And now, it''s simply vanished? That should be impossible."


    Master Daokan straightened, his expression firm. "Whatever just happened, his body has reset. But that doesn''t mean he''s unharmed. He''s in a deep coma. His core may be empty again, but the strain on his body and mind... he won''t wake up anytime soon."


    Before anyone else could react, Meyu rushed forward, dropping to her knees beside Atlas. "Atlas!" Her voice cracked as she shook his shoulder lightly, her hands trembling.


    "You idiot, wake up! You always talk your way out of things, so talk your way out of this!"


    Her breaths came unsteady, panic settling deep in her chest. Atlas had always been unbreakable¡ªannoying, infuriating, reckless¡ªbut unbreakable. And yet now, he looked so still, so fragile, his usually sharp and witty face eerily quiet.


    Yuxe Wuye followed behind her, kneeling gracefully before placing a reassuring hand on Meyu''s shoulder. "He''s alive," she murmured, her voice a calm contrast to the storm raging in Meyu''s heart. "Master Daokan will ensure he''s taken care of. He will wake up."


    Meyu squeezed her eyes shut, gripping Atlas''s torn sleeve tightly. "He better. He always gets out of things. Always. He talks, he schemes, he finds a way. He wouldn''t¡ªhe can''t just¡ª" Her voice broke, tears slipping down her cheeks.


    "Not like this."


    Her fingers trembled as they clutched his sleeve, as if holding on tightly enough would keep him from slipping away.


    "He''s all I have left."


    Yuxe Wuye knelt beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. "He''s not gone, Meyu. He''s just... lost right now. But he''ll find his way back. He always does."


    Meyu hiccupped, burying her face against Yuxe Wuye''s shoulder, her body shaking. "He''s an idiot. A reckless, frustrating idiot.''''


    Yuxe Wuye stroked her hair gently, her voice soft. "Then trust him to be that idiot. To fight his way back."


    Meyu squeezed her eyes shut, nodding against her. "He has to."


    Layla, still standing a few steps away, folded her arms. Unlike the others, she didn''t rush forward, but that didn''t mean she felt nothing. Even in her past life, hardened as she was, she had never been immune to moments like this. Her fingers tightened around her sleeve.


    "Damn you, Atlas... you always find a way to make things worse."


    Despite her words, there was no mockery in her tone. Only a rare flicker of something else¡ªconcern.


    "So, what do we do with him?"


    Master Daokan exhaled. "We ensure he survives first. And then, we prepare for when he wakes up. Because this is only the beginning."


    Layla''s gaze lingered on Atlas''s still form for a moment longer before she exhaled sharply, shaking her head. As much as she cared, survival was still her priority. The coming winter wouldn''t wait for anyone, and no amount of sentiment would keep their people from freezing.


    She straightened, crossing her arms. "As cruel as it might sound, I need to head back tomorrow. We need supplies, and I don''t intend to sit around waiting when there''s work to be done. So, who''s going to take care of him?"


    Master Daokan didn''t hesitate. "I will." His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. "Shen Xue will assist me."


    Shen Xue nodded in agreement. "I''ll help. It was my match with him that caused this. It''s only right that I take responsibility."


    Layla gave them a long look before arching an eyebrow. "And what about when he wakes up? I assume you have some plan beyond just keeping him breathing?"


    Master Daokan''s expression didn''t change. "He''ll be useful. He''s already proved he can survive in the most unexpected ways. Perhaps it''s time we officially make him our own personal merchant as well''''


    Meyu, who had been silent up until now, visibly bristled. "Are you seriously¡ª"


    Before she could go off, Yuxe Wuye gently placed a hand on her arm and turned to Meilin. "We will leave tomorrow. Master Daokan has already ensured that we will be more than adequately treated in the main city."


    Layla, still watching Atlas, nodded slowly. "Then let''s make sure we''re ready."


    Meyu stood in silence, her gaze fixed on Atlas''s unconscious form. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides as she wrestled with the decision before her. Atlas had always been the one to push forward, the one to take risks while she stood at his side. Now, for the first time, he wouldn''t be there to lead the charge.


    Yuxe Wuye, sensing her turmoil, spoke gently. "You don''t have to decide now, Meyu. But whatever choice you make, it should be for yourself, not just for him."


    Meyu swallowed hard. "If I go with the Silver Lotus, I can handle Atlas''s business. Make sure everything he built doesn''t fall apart while he''s like this. But... if I stay..." Her voice wavered.


    "If I stay, I can make sure he''s not alone when he wakes up."


    She turned to Master Daokan, her expression torn. "If I stay, will I be allowed to?" Master Daokan studied her for a long moment before nodding. "If that is your decision, then yes."


    Meyu inhaled sharply, glancing one last time at Atlas. She had followed him for so long, through every scheme and reckless gamble, through victories and failures alike. Now, for once, she had to decide for herself.


    "I need to think about it," she finally admitted.


    Yuxe Wuye gave her a small nod. "Then think quickly. Whatever you choose, we leave at dawn."

 The Contract

    The road back to the main city was silent, save for the steady clopping of hooves against the dirt path. Layla and the others from the Silver Lotus Sect moved with purpose, their thoughts already focused on survival. The winter was coming, and despite everything that had happened, the world did not wait for tragedy to settle before demanding its due.


    Meyu, however, lingered at the gates, her gaze locked onto the distant form of Atlas, now left behind in the care of Master Daokan. She had made her decision. As much as she wanted to stay, to be there when he woke, she knew what he would have chosen. Someone had to keep his business running, and that responsibility fell to her. It was not just out of obligation¡ªit was out of respect.


    Yuxe Wuye stood beside her, her presence a steadying force. "You made the logical choice," she said, her tone as measured as ever. "Atlas would have done the same."


    Meyu exhaled slowly, nodding. "I know. But that doesn¡¯t mean it feels right."


    Yuxe gave her a knowing glance. "Logic rarely does. But this is how you honor him¡ªnot by waiting at his bedside, but by ensuring he has something to wake up to."


    The two stood in quiet understanding before turning to follow the rest of the group into the distance. The further they walked, the quieter the air became, until finally, they disappeared from sight.


    From the high walls of the sect, Master Daokan watched their departure, his expression unreadable. Beside him, Yan Shuren and Shen Xue stood in silence.


    "Our obligation now is clear," Master Daokan murmured.


    "Atlas."


    Shen Xue tensed slightly, knowing what was coming. Master Daokan turned his gaze toward her, his voice firm. "You will receive punishment befitting your strength. You are to train under my watch until you can ensure such a disaster does not happen again. You lost control of the match, and that is unacceptable."


    Shen Xue bowed her head in acknowledgment, but the weight of his words pressed against her pride. "Understood, father."


    Yan Shuren exhaled. "That technique he used¡­ It shouldn¡¯t exist."


    Master Daokan¡¯s brow furrowed. "And yet it does." He looked toward the unconscious Atlas, lying still in the sect¡¯s infirmary. "I am more concerned than I have been in years."


    He turned back to them, his voice carrying a rare edge of unease. "That technique. Absorption of qi. It is nearly identical to the forbidden techniques of Mo Cheng the Devourer."


    Shen Xue¡¯s expression darkened. "The man who stole rather than cultivated."


    Master Daokan nodded. "He did not cultivate Qi¡ªhe stole it. His techniques drained others, siphoning years of hard work in an instant. He fed upon the meridians of weaker cultivators, draining them to fuel his own power. He was a plague upon the martial world, and in the end, he was killed by my master. That technique should have died with him. And yet, here it is, manifesting in someone who has never trained a day in his life."


    His fists clenched. "How?"


    Yan Shuren, ever the rational one, offered a measured explanation. "There are only three ways such a technique could resurface. One¡ªhis bloodline carries remnants of it, intentionally or not. Two¡ªsomeone else, somewhere, has been practicing it, and Atlas is reacting to an external force. Three¡ªthis is not the same technique, but something even worse."


    Master Daokan¡¯s eyes darkened. "Worse?"


    Yan hesitated before speaking. "You asked me to investigate Meilin¡¯s Qi rot. The information I uncovered was¡­ disturbing. The nature of her affliction aligns with a forgotten path of cultivation. A technique that should have been wiped from history."


    Shen Xue frowned. "What technique?"


    Yan¡¯s voice was grim. "The Dao of Decay. The path followed by the Black Sage, Xu Mo."


    A heavy silence fell over them. Master Daokan inhaled sharply. "Xu Mo¡­ I should have remembered sooner."


    Yan continued, "The Black Sage did not fight wars¡ªhe simply touched cities, and they crumbled. He whispered words, and entire bloodlines withered. Even now, the ruins of his passage are places where no life dares to grow. The very concept of qi rot¡­ it is his legacy."


    Master Daokan¡¯s jaw tightened. "If this is truly related, then I have failed in my duty to remember history¡¯s lessons."


    His mind drifted back, decades into the past, to the battle that ended Xu Mo¡¯s reign. The battlefield was ruined, the air thick with death. He had barely been standing, his own body ravaged by the withering touch of the Black Sage¡¯s techniques. Before him, Xu Mo lay in a broken heap, a gaping wound in his chest where Daokan¡¯s final strike had landed.


    The Black Sage had smiled through bloodied teeth, his voice a whisper of malice. "You may have killed me, Daokan, but decay does not die. It lingers. It waits. And one day, it will return."


    Master Daokan clenched his fists. He had ignored those words for years, dismissing them as the final delusions of a dying man. But now, as he looked upon Atlas¡¯s unconscious form, he feared Xu Mo had spoken the truth.


    Yan Shuren broke the silence first, his voice heavy with the weight of realization. "Two forbidden, forgotten techniques¡ªone in Atlas and one in Meilin. And we are the ones who must guide them. How do we cultivate something that was never meant to be cultivated?"


    Master Daokan¡¯s expression remained impassive, but his mind turned sharply over the dilemma. "Meilin¡¯s Qi rot¡ªI noticed it long before she ever arrived at the sect. I should have investigated further. Now, we face an unknown path."


    Shen Xue frowned. "You never spoke of it before. Why?"


    Master Daokan exhaled. "Because at the time, it was only a theory. Now, it is a reality. If Xu Mo¡¯s legacy lives within her, then the method to train her must be rewritten entirely. The Dao of Decay was never meant for cultivation¡ªit was a force of destruction. If we do not find a way to stabilize it, it will consume her just as surely as Atlas¡¯s power will consume him."


    Yan crossed his arms. "Then the answer is clear. We do not train them in the ways of traditional cultivation. We train them in how to survive their own power."


    Master Daokan took a slow breath, steadying himself. "Then we start now. But this will not be a simple path. It is not just their survival we must consider, but the consequences of what they become."


    Before anyone could respond, a small voice interrupted them.


    "What¡¯s wrong with him?"


    They turned to see the child Atlas had bought, now awake and standing beside Physician Ming. The girl¡¯s eyes, still heavy with sleep, were locked onto Atlas¡¯s unconscious form, her expression unreadable.


    "He looks¡­ empty."


    Physician Ming placed a reassuring hand on the child¡¯s shoulder. "He needs time to heal."


    The girl did not look away. "But will he wake up the same?"


    Yan Shuren knelt slightly, offering her a gentle smile. "He will be fine. You don''t need to worry."


    Master Daokan nodded, his voice calm but firm. "Atlas is strong. He will wake up."


    The girl, with her empty eyes unwavering. "You''re both lying."


    The air grew still.


    "People who get hurt like this¡­ they don¡¯t wake up the same. If they wake up at all," she continued, her voice quiet yet sharp, carrying the weight of a child who had seen too much.


    "Why do adults always say things like that?"


    Master Daokan stiffened. The realization hit him harder than he expected. He had seen countless warriors break, seen men far stronger than Atlas and Meilin reduced to husks of themselves, but looking into the girl¡¯s empty eyes, he knew better than to lie again.


    Instead, he asked, "How did you wake up?"


    The girl tilted her head, an eerie calm settling over her face before she spoke.


    "I didn¡¯t. They woke me up." A ghost of something¡ªtoo twisted to be called a smile¡ªcrossed her lips. "And I screamed until my voice gave out."


    A cold chill ran through the room. Shen Xue clenched her fists. Yan Shuren swallowed, a rare unease flickering across his usually composed features.


    Master Daokan, however, remained steady. "You were experimented on. Forced to endure something you should never have gone through. And yet, you are here. Why?"


    The girl blinked, and for a moment, the indifference in her gaze made everyone feel sick. "Because they wanted to see what would happen."


    Physician Ming visibly paled, a tremor running through his hands as he instinctively took a step back. Xian Yue, the beautiful servant who had remained composed through many horrors, covered her mouth, turning away as though she might be sick. Even Shen Xue, hardened as she was, tightened her jaw, her usual sharp confidence wavering.


    Master Daokan, however, looked the most furious of all. His expression remained still, but beneath the surface, his Qi trembled¡ªa rare sign of his barely contained rage. His fingers curled into a tight fist at his side, his breathing slow and controlled. "Who did this to you?"


    The girl hesitated for only a moment before speaking, her voice eerily detached. "My parents sold me. They called me useless. A burden. They fought over who would get the coin, and in the end, they sold me to a trader who didn¡¯t even count me as a person¡ªjust weight on his cart."


    She lifted her gaze, staring at nothing in particular. "They trained us to be obedient. If we weren¡¯t, we were punished. Some were broken fast, some held on longer. It didn¡¯t matter. Eventually, we all broke."


    A sudden gagging sound broke the heavy silence.


    Ren, who had been walking nearby and overheard everything, stumbled to the side and vomited, his body rejecting the sheer horror of what he had just heard. He braced himself against a pillar, his breath ragged, his heart torn between disgust and overwhelming pity. His fists clenched as he tried to steady himself, but the fury bubbling inside him made it impossible to stay still.


    He wiped his mouth, his voice shaking. "How¡­ how could anyone do that to a child?"


    Her voice was hollow as she continued. "There was a Qi master there. I never knew his name, but I remember his face. He was different from the slavers¡ªcalm, collected. He didn¡¯t hit us or shout. He didn¡¯t need to."


    Master Daokan¡¯s expression darkened. "Describe him."


    The girl¡¯s eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Tall. Silver hair, even though he wasn¡¯t old. His hands never stopped moving, like he was always testing something. He had a mark on his wrist¡ªsome kind of seal. He smiled when the others screamed."


    Yan Shuren inhaled sharply. "That sounds like a descendant of Wu Xun."


    Shen Xue tensed. "The Thousand Hands Executioner?"


    Master Daokan¡¯s fingers tightened. "Wu Xun was said to have mastered every form of hand-to-hand combat, his strikes so fast that he could tear through armor like paper. But instead of becoming a protector of the weak, he became a butcher. He sold his skills to the highest bidder, wiping out entire clans in a single night."


    He exhaled sharply, his mind racing. "But Wu Xun has been dead for decades. If what you say is true, then this man must be his descendant. And if his bloodline still carries those techniques, then he is a threat that must be identified immediately."


    Without hesitation, Master Daokan turned on his heel, motioning to one of his hidden disciples lurking in the shadows. "Send word to my informants. I want everything on the remnants of Wu Xun¡¯s lineage. If there is an heir to his craft operating in the underworld, I want to know who they are, where they are, and what they are planning."


    The disciple bowed and vanished, the air shifting slightly in his wake.


    Yan Shuren watched, arms crossed. "This is dangerous. If Wu Xun¡¯s techniques have truly survived, we may be dealing with something far worse than just a rogue assassin."


    The silence that followed was broken by the girl¡¯s voice, as if she were asking something as routine as the weather. "So, what will you do to me? Make me lay down and do those things again?"


    The weight of her words struck like a hammer.


    Xian Yue, the ever-poised servant, turned pale, her hands trembling as she clutched at her robes. Several of the female attendants had to look away, their stomachs churning at the realization of just how much horror this child had endured. Physician Ming visibly recoiled, looking as though he might be sick.


    Master Daokan¡¯s fury deepened, his qi pulsing with restrained rage. Shen Xue¡¯s fists clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white. Even Yan Shuren, the ever-composed warrior had to take a slow breath to contain himself.


    But no one¡ªno one¡ªhesitated in their answer.


    "No," Master Daokan said, his voice carrying an unshakable finality. "You will never endure that again."


    Yan Shuren nodded. "From this moment forward, you are under our protection."


    Shen Xue took a step forward, her gaze unwavering. "Whatever was done to you, it ends here."


    The room, once filled with calculation and tension, now held a singular resolution. They had come here for Atlas. But now, they had two to protect.


    "Then I¡¯ll show her something else instead."


    Ren stood in the doorway, his expression a mixture of anger and determination. He had overheard everything, and though his heart ached with pity, he knew there was something more important than just feeling sorry for her.


    "I¡¯ll show her fun things to do around here," he continued, his voice filled with an unshaken resolve. "She doesn¡¯t need to keep remembering all of that. She needs to know what it¡¯s like to just... be a kid."


    Master Daokan, a man who rarely tolerated interruptions, said nothing for a moment. Then, something in his expression softened.


    "Go ahead," he said. "Who wouldn¡¯t allow that?"


    The journey back to the main city was a silent one.


    Layla rode alongside the others, the distant echoes of battle still haunting the land around them. The dirt road was uneven, marred with patches of dried blood from animals caught in the blast and the occasional crater¡ªa brutal reminder of Atlas¡¯ fight. Despite the cold wind that swept through the plains, the very air still felt charged, as if the remnants of his absorbed Qi had yet to fully dissipate. The land itself bore the scars of the explosion, where the ground had been scorched in some places and cracked in others. Broken trees lined the path, some snapped cleanly in half, others twisted unnaturally, as though something had torn at them from within.


    Layla exhaled, watching as her breath curled into the cold air. Winter was arriving fast. The once-fertile earth was hardening, and the trees had long since begun shedding their leaves. Even the wind carried an icy bite, seeping through her robes. She didn¡¯t react to it at first¡ªcold was something she had endured many times before¡ªbut Bao, always perceptive, noticed the slight tremor in her shoulders.


    Without a word, he reached into his pack and pulled out a thick woolen shawl. With a single motion, he draped it over her shoulders.


    ¡°You¡¯re shivering,¡± he said simply.


    Layla blinked, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. ¡°I can handle it.¡±


    Bao snorted. ¡°I know you can. But why should you?¡±


    She opened her mouth to retort but found no argument. Instead, she pulled the shawl closer, letting its warmth settle over her. Bao said nothing more, returning his focus to the road ahead. Layla simply sighed, choosing not to fight the simple kindness.


    By the time they reached the city, it was clear that Master Daokan had kept his word.


    Unlike their last visit, where suspicion and disdain had followed them like a shadow, the city guards barely hesitated before letting them pass. The market streets, usually filled with prying eyes and whispered judgments, instead met them with respectful nods. It was subtle but unmistakable¡ªan unspoken acknowledgment of the Shrouded Peaks Sect¡¯s endorsement. Master Daokan¡¯s influence had paved their way, and it showed in the way merchants and officials treated them.


    Meyu took the lead, her mind already working through what needed to be done. She had taken responsibility for Atlas¡¯ business, which meant she carried his coin pouch as well. The weight of it was a constant reminder of just how absurdly well-off he was, a fact that, much to Layla''s frustration, Layla couldn¡¯t deny.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Meyu said, stopping in the middle of the bustling market. ¡°We have supplies to get before heading back. Listen up, because I¡¯m only explaining this once.¡±


    She gestured toward the numerous stalls lining the streets. "The city¡¯s economy runs on a three-tiered currency system. Copper coins for daily purchases, silver for bulk goods or higher-end items, and gold¡­ well, gold is what nobles and the wealthy use. One gold coin is roughly a year¡¯s wage for a normal worker. Farmers, laborers, small-time merchants¡ªall of them rarely see more than a few gold coins in their lifetime. For most, silver is king. Oh, and there¡¯s also the barter system. If you have no money, you can trade something of equal or greater value. Unless you¡¯re Atlas. Then you just talk until they give up."


    Layla snorted but didn¡¯t comment.


    Lin Wuye, standing quietly nearby, slowly reached into his pouch and opened it. A single silver coin and three copper coins sat inside.


    Silence.


    Lin Wuye blinked.


    Layla stared. "That¡¯s¡­ all of it?"


    Lin Wuye coughed. "It would appear so."Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    Bao leaned over. "Wait, isn¡¯t that the sect¡¯s finance too?"


    Lin Wuye¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change. "...Yes."


    Layla massaged her temples. "Great. Fantastic."


    Meyu, however, simply rolled her shoulders. "Don¡¯t worry. This is already covered under the contract."


    Layla shot her a look. "Seriously?"


    Meyu pulled out the neatly folded document and began reading dramatically, mimicking Atlas¡¯ flair: "As per the legally binding agreement between Atlas and Master Daokan, all business dealings, expenses, and financial obligations pertaining to the acquisition of goods, resources, and trade contracts of the Silver Lotus Sect shall henceforth be managed by Ryl Trading, in accordance with the mutually beneficial terms outlined herein.¡¯"


    Jiang raised an eyebrow. "So, in simple terms?"


    Meyu said. "Atlas made sure to handle everything but since he''s in a coma.." Meyu had a visible sad face but masked it over a cheery one, "Ah but don''t worry, the terms are actually equal and beneficial to the sect. Mostly because he didn¡¯t negotiate thanks to Master Daokan. You can check the terms back when we reach the sect if you wish."


    Layla sighed. "That explains a lot and yes I will be checking it later with father."


    Bao crossed his arms. "Are you sure you can handle it?"


    Meyu¡¯s grin widened, and for a moment, her entire presence shifted. The air around her seemed to carry the faint aura of Atlas Ryland''s ridiculous confidence, as if she had absorbed too much of Atlas¡¯ antics over the years.


    She straightened her back, adjusted her sleeves, and smirked. "Oh, please. I¡¯ve spent years watching Atlas work. I can handle a few merchants and you¡¯re with Ryl Trading, which means we don¡¯t need to make deals. We are the deal. And going to what the contract state, we will provide food supplies in bulk¡ªgrains, dried vegetables, jujubes, apricots, wheat, and meat. We will provide bulk cloth for the winter, and spices as well."


    She cracked her knuckles. "Now, let¡¯s get ourselves a deal so good they¡¯ll cry about it later."


    Layla crossed her arms. "And if they don¡¯t want to negotiate?"


    Meyu¡¯s smirk widened. "Then I¡¯ll just do what Atlas does."


    Bao muttered, "Sweet talk them?"


    "No. Worse."


    What followed next could only be described as a spectacle of absurd proportions.


    The First Deal ¨C Bulk Grains


    Meyu approached the grain merchant with measured steps, her posture relaxed yet deliberate, her silk robe draping effortlessly over her figure. Her eyes, warm and inviting, locked onto the merchant¡¯s, and she gave him a smile that was both playful and knowing.


    "Ah, Miss Meyu! A pleasure as always! What brings Ryland Trading to my humble stall?" the merchant greeted, already eager.


    Meyu tilted her head slightly, her fingers lightly brushing the wooden counter, just enough to command his full attention. "Oh, just a little business, my dear friend. You see, I need a bulk order of grains, and I¡¯m willing to pay¡­ let¡¯s say, one gold for the whole lot."


    The merchant¡¯s expression tensed. "One gold? Miss Meyu, I respect you, but that¡¯s¡ª"


    Meyu leaned forward, resting her chin on her delicate fingers, her voice dipping into something honeyed yet firm. "Hmm? You wouldn¡¯t be suggesting that you¡¯d rather have your grains sit here, untouched, while my lovely, wealthy, powerful trade empire takes its business elsewhere, would you?"


    The merchant swallowed, suddenly aware of how close she was. "I¡ªWell, no, but¡ª"


    Meyu gave a small sigh, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her tone shifting into a playful chide. "You¡¯re such a smart businessman! I knew you¡¯d see reason! One gold, and I promise that next season, I¡¯ll consider buying from you first before checking your competitors."


    The merchant opened his mouth, then closed it. His resolve crumbled instantly. "I¡­ I suppose that¡¯s fair¡­"


    Jiang (whispering): "That was terrifying."


    Bao (stunned): "Did she just... seduce the price down?"


    The Second Deal ¨C Winter Cloth


    The fabric merchant¡¯s eyes widened slightly as Meyu approached, her lips curling into a subtle smile.


    "Miss Meyu, fine fabrics such as these don¡¯t come cheap. Two gold at least."


    Meyu sighed theatrically, placing a delicate hand on her hip, shifting slightly so that the movement drew attention to the perfectly fitted silk of her attire. "Oh, you¡¯re right! But¡­ that¡¯s assuming other buyers will come in this season, yes? With the winter closing in?"


    The merchant hesitated. "Of course, people always¡ª"


    Meyu took a single step closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Buyers who aren¡¯t already contracted? Buyers who haven¡¯t already spent their gold on food and survival? Buyers who aren¡¯t my friends?"


    A bead of sweat rolled down the merchant¡¯s forehead. "..."


    Meyu gave him a knowing wink. "How about half a gold and a little favour? I¡¯ll make sure your name is whispered in the right places."


    Merchant: sweating "...Fine."


    Lin Wuye (rubbing his temples): "I don¡¯t know whether to be relieved or terrified."


    Layla (muttering): "She¡¯s Atlas in disguise."


    The Third Deal ¨C Spices


    The spice vendor tried to steel himself, but as soon as Meyu tilted her head, her fingers grazing the spice jars, his defenses were already cracking.


    "These spices are rare imports, Miss Meyu. I can¡¯t just¡ª"


    Meyu gently tapped a jar, letting her clothe just enough to reveal her cleavage, her voice lilting with mock curiosity. "Oh, of course. Rare. Exotic. Highly sought after. And completely overpriced when you realize I can buy them cheaper at the docks."


    The vendor¡¯s confidence faltered. "You wouldn¡¯t¡ª"


    Meyu sighed, feigning disappointment, her gaze locking onto his with a slow, deliberate blink. "But I won¡¯t. Because I like you. And because you¡¯re about to give me an offer so good that I¡¯ll have no choice but to praise you to everyone I meet. Aren¡¯t you?"


    The merchant let out a shaky breath, utterly defeated. "I¡­ I¡­"


    Meyu: "Say it with me. ¡®Yes, Miss Meyu. Half a gold for everything.¡¯"


    Merchant: "Yes, Miss Meyu. Half a gold for everything¡­"


    Bao: "No. NO. That should NOT have worked."


    Jiang: "Oh gods, she¡¯s literally Atlas but hot."


    Layla stood beside Yuxe Wuye and Lin Wuye, watching as Meyu worked through the market with frightening efficiency. What started as mild amusement quickly turned into something else entirely.


    "This is scary," Layla whispered, turning to Yuxe Wuye. "I think she¡¯s infected."


    Yuxe raised an eyebrow. "Infected?"


    Layla nodded toward Meyu, who was currently smiling sweetly at a merchant while completely dismantling his will to resist. "With the Atlas disease. She¡¯s negotiating like him. Moving like him. That face¡ªthat¡¯s the devil¡¯s face. I swear it¡¯s the exact same as Atlas when he pulls his stunts."


    Lin Wuye, standing nearby, let out a long sigh.


    "If this continues, I fear for the economy of Jin."


    "Forget the economy. I fear for humanity." Layla watched in disbelief as another merchant literally thanked Meyu for taking his goods for half the price. "Are we sure no one else is infected? Should we be concerned? Should we check Bao? Jiang? Gods, is it contagious?"


    Bao, overhearing this, looked at her incredulously. "What? No! Don¡¯t lump me in with¡­ that!"


    Layla arched an eyebrow at Bao, unimpressed. "Oh really? Because I distinctly remember you carrying Atlas on a chair, parading him around like a king in Master Daokan¡¯s own grand hall¡ªand dropping a lifetime¡¯s worth of wealth just because he convinced you it was a worthy investment.


    Bao unable to fight back, just sighed in defeat.


    But the truth was undeniable. Meyu was, in fact, Atlas¡ªbut hot.


    Meyu walked through the streets humming cheerfully, swinging the ridiculously loud coin pouch at her side as if she hadn''t just committed daylight robbery with a smile. She bought a year''s worth of grains, spices and cloth for only 3 gold and 20 silvers.


    The rest of the group? Dumbfounded.


    Jiang finally spoke up, "Meyu¡­ do you even realize what you just did?"


    Meyu with an oblivious smile, "Yes, I did what Atlas would do."


    A long silence followed.


    Lin Wuye exhaled. "I cannot tell if this is a good thing¡­ or terrifying."


    Layla groaned, rubbing her forehead. "I think it¡¯s both. It¡¯s definitely both."


    With their negotiations complete, they made their way toward Ryl Trading¡¯s main shop. Upon arrival, Meyu didn¡¯t even hesitate. She clapped her hands twice, and within moments, a handful of Atlas¡¯ workers rushed forward.


    "Alright, I need winter necessities. Bring out the wood, weapons, extra food, and all essential supplies for Silver Lotus Sect. Get it all packed and ready for transport."


    One of the workers hesitated. "Miss Meyu, that¡¯s a large order. The cost¡ª"


    Lin Wuye immediately stepped forward. "Yes! The cost! We can¡¯t pay for this right now."


    Meyu casually pulled out the contract and held it up. "Oh, no worries! That¡¯s already been handled. As per the agreement between Atlas and Master Daokan, Silver Lotus doesn¡¯t have to pay a single coin until winter is over. It was one of the terms Master Daokan himself set."


    Layla froze. "Wait. Atlas didn¡¯t negotiate this?"


    Meyu shrugged. "Nope. He just accepted the terms outright."


    Lin Wuye frowned. "That¡­ doesn¡¯t sound like Atlas."


    Layla crossed her arms. "He would never just accepts deals knowing what kind of a man he is. He is probably the type to deal that squeezes the life out of them. Why didn¡¯t he negotiate?"


    Meyu tilted her head, thinking. "Well, there could be a few reasons¡­"


    She held up three fingers.


    "One, he was secretly planning something even bigger and just went along with it to avoid suspicion."


    Layla and Lin Wuye nodded. That made sense.


    She put a second finger down. "Two, he was testing Master Daokan to see how far he could push the sect before they realized they were being exploited."


    Bao muttered, "That sounds like him."


    Finally, she lowered the last finger, "Or three¡­ he was just really, really lazy that day and didn¡¯t feel like arguing."


    Silence.


    Jiang squinted. "That...is the most unlikely."


    Layla groaned. "Why is that somehow even worse?"


    Meyu just laughed, clapping her hands together. "Well, whatever the reason, the deal¡¯s done! So, let¡¯s get moving before someone realizes I just took half of the emperor''s economy and put it in our pockets!"


    Jiang sighing and making a facepalm, "We are going to be banned from this city one day."


    Layla looked at him, then at Meyu, then back at him. "One day? I give it a month at most."


    And with that, they left Ryland Trading, fully stocked, not a single coin more spent.


    With their negotiations complete, Meyu led them toward a row of sleek, well-maintained carriages, each one attached to muscular, well-bred horses. They were nothing like the battered transports they had arrived in.


    Layla raised an eyebrow, running a hand along the fine craftsmanship of the nearest carriage. "This¡­ is a lot fancier than I expected. How in the world did Atlas even acquire something like this?"


    Meyu, completely nonchalant, shrugged. "Oh, a noble gave it to him."


    Layla blinked. "A noble... just gave him this?"


    Meyu nodded, her expression unbothered. "Mhm. Well, technically, it was the Emperor¡¯s own relative."


    Jiang, who had been sipping from his waterskin, promptly choked. "The Emperor¡¯s relative?"


    Lin Wuye coughed. "Excuse me, what?!"


    Meyu waved a hand. "Oh, don¡¯t look so surprised. You should know by now that Atlas has a... way of making things happen."


    Yuxe Wuye narrowed her eyes. "No. No, no, no. You don¡¯t get to just drop that and walk away from it. How?"


    Meyu tapped a finger against her chin, as if recalling an old memory. "Oh, well, you see, there was this ¡®tiny misunderstanding¡¯ involving a tax audit, an ¡®accidental¡¯ forged document, and something about the noble¡¯s prized racehorses mysteriously ending up at the wrong estate. Twice."


    Lin Wuye pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please tell me he didn¡¯t blackmail an imperial noble."


    "Blackmail? Gods, no!" Meyu gasped in mock offense. "It was an enlightened trade. Atlas simply pointed out that should certain ¡®oversights¡¯ come to light, it would be a tragedy for the noble¡¯s reputation. In return, he generously offered to resolve the issue by taking these carriages off his hands¡ªpurely out of kindness, of course."


    Jiang¡¯s eye twitched. "He extorted an imperial noble and called it a trade."


    Meyu nonchalantly. "Something like that"


    Layla just stared at her. "Atlas is a menace."


    Yuxe Wuye observed the sturdy horses and nodded. "With this setup, we should arrive back in less than a week."


    Meyu, however, smirked. "Less than a week? I think you''re underestimating us. I say Three to four days, max."


    Jiang blinked. "That¡¯s impossible."


    Bao shook his head. "Absolutely not happening."


    The carriages sped through the vast plains at an absurd pace. The horses galloped at full tilt, their hooves kicking up dust as the wheels thundered across the path. Trees and landmarks blurred past them, the world a streak of motion.


    Inside, Lin Wuye maintained some sense of dignity, but the interior of the carriage was a warzone. The finely crafted wooden panels creaked under the strain of their unnatural speed. Cushions that were meant to offer comfort were instead being used as desperate stabilizers, grabbed at by everyone except Meyu.


    Yuxe Wuye, however, her hair, once neatly tied, had fully come undone, strands whipping wildly in every direction like a possessed spirit in the wind. Her usually serene beauty had taken on a slightly unhinged edge, her eyes squinting through the strands as if stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the chaos.


    Lin Wuye cast her a glance, then looked at himself¡ªperfectly balanced, sitting with practiced ease, his posture unshaken despite the turbulence. Then, he looked back at his wife. He adored Yuxe Wuye, but right now, with her hair flailing like a storm-wrecked banner, eyes twitching from strands whipping against her face, she looked less like a composed scholar and more like a woman personally offended by physics itself.


    Still, he loved her. Even like this. Maybe especially like this.


    He sighed. "Darling, you look¡­ radiant."


    Yuxe Wuye, her composure cracking ever so slightly as another violent gust nearly blinded her, responded without looking up. "Shut up, darling."


    Inside one of the carriages, Layla clung to the edge of her seat, her knuckles white as she tried to stay upright.


    "This is madness!"


    Across from her, Meyu sat perfectly still, her hands neatly folded in her lap. Her hair flowed freely in the wind, yet she remained unshaken, perfectly at ease in the chaos.


    Jiang bounced unceremoniously against the side of the carriage, gritting his teeth as he tried to stabilize himself. "Meyu, why are these horses so fast?! What are they?!"


    Meyu, lounging comfortably, reached into a pouch and pulled out a piece of dried fruit, taking a leisurely bite before responding. "Oh, they''re the Emperor¡¯s relative¡¯s prized racehorses. The fastest ones. The ones that always won."


    Layla, barely holding onto her seat, gawked at her. "AND YOU DIDN¡¯T THINK TO MENTION THAT EARLIER?!"


    Meyu simply smiled. "Relax! We¡¯ll be home in no time!"


    The journey did take only 3 days. She was right and by dawn as well.


    At the gates of the Silver Lotus Sect, three figures watched the carriages arrive at unnatural speed, kicking up dust and rattling the worn wooden doors of the entrance.


    First was Zhu Fen, the youngest disciple of the sect, barely twelve years old. His oversized robes, patched in places, fluttered as he squinted at the incoming vehicles. "Are we under attack?" he asked nervously, gripping the small wooden training sword at his side.


    Beside him, Elder Jian Bo, the oldest active sect member at sixty, stroked his thin white beard. His robes, faded with years of wear, barely hung onto his wiry frame, but his back remained straight. "No noble arrives at this speed unless they are here to extort us. Prepare to greet them as befits this sect."


    The third figure, Zhao Lihua, the only female elder besides Yuxe Wuye, crossed her arms. At twenty-eight, she was relatively young for an elder, but her sharp gaze carried experience well beyond her years. Clad in simple, well-maintained robes, she assessed the scene with a skeptical frown. "Or," she said dryly, "someone deeply unhinged is at the reins."


    As the sect¡¯s remaining disciples hurried to gather, Zhu Fen looked up at the two elders. "So... do we fight them or bow?"


    Jian Bo sighed. "We¡¯ll see. If they demand money, we have nothing left to give anyway."


    The carriages screeched to a halt at the entrance of the Silver Lotus Sect, dust swirling in the air as the exhausted yet deeply traumatized the ones in the carriage.


    Jiang stepped out with trembling legs, his face pale. "I will never doubt Meyu again... but I will also never get into a carriage with her in charge ever again."


    Bao groaned, his back popping audibly. "I think my soul left my body at least twice."


    Layla, meanwhile, was still gripping the carriage door, as if uncertain the world had truly stopped moving. "That... wasn''t a journey. That was a war."


    Yuxe Wuye, now fully composed but with hair that still looked vaguely haunted, exhaled slowly. "At least we made it."


    Lin Wuye, completely unaffected, patted his robes free of dust and turned to Meyu. "Tell me, did Atlas ever use this method of travel himself?"


    Meyu, stretching casually as if the past three days had been nothing more than a leisurely stroll, smirked. "Oh, no. He absolutely refused. He said, and I quote, ''I enjoy living.''


    More elders and disciples had gathered, drawn by the commotion of the speeding and wealthy carriages and the spectacle of the exhausted Sect new leader, Meilin Wuye and Lin Wuye, the advisor. A handful of nervous junior disciples whispered among themselves, while the more seasoned members stood at attention, ready to intervene if necessary.


    Among them, Zhu Fen, the youngest disciple, peeked out from behind Elder Jian Bo, his small hands gripping his tattered robes. His voice wavered as he spoke. "Elder Jian Bo... w-what¡¯s going on? Who are they?"


    Lin Wuye, stepped forward alongside Layla. "Calm yourself, Zhu Fen. No one¡¯s here to harm the sect. In fact..." He shot a quick glance at Meyu, who was dusting herself off with an entirely too-smug expression.


    "You could say we¡¯ve acquired something far more valuable."


    Layla smirked, placing a hand on her hip. "The sect now has its own personal merchant."


    A silence settled over the gathered members before Elder Jian Bo let out a deep, incredulous sigh, his already worn features twisting into a deep frown of disbelief. "A what? Lady Meilin, you do realize the sect has no money, yes? We can barely afford to feed our disciples, let alone hire someone!"


    Zhao Lihua crossed her arms, watching the exchange with thinly veiled amusement. "I have to agree with Elder Jian Bo. How exactly do you plan to pay this so-called ¡®personal merchant¡¯? With goodwill?"


    A few disciples murmured in agreement, concern growing as they considered their already struggling finances. The sect had barely managed to get by over the years, and now they were taking on a merchant?


    Meyu took a step forward, clasping her hands behind her back with a slow, deliberate movement that somehow made the gathered elders even more wary. Her smirk widened, that dangerously persuasive glint in her eye sharpening.


    "Ah, I see," she said lightly. "You¡¯re all assuming this is an expense. That¡¯s adorable."


    Elder Jian Bo¡¯s frown deepened, the lines on his face tightening. "That is typically how merchants work. They expect payment. Unless, of course, you¡¯re planning to enlighten us on how this ¡®arrangement¡¯ isn¡¯t a drain on resources we don¡¯t have."


    Meyu rocked slightly on her sandals, looking for all the world as if she had just been asked whether the sky was blue. "Oh, come now. Do you think a respectable merchant, like Master Atlas, would ever invest in something that didn¡¯t benefit him and everyone else? Give him a little more credit."


    Zhao Lihua raised a skeptical eyebrow. "And yet, you¡¯re the one standing here instead of him."


    Meyu¡¯s smirk didn¡¯t falter. "That¡¯s because someone has to keep his empire running while he takes a very dramatic and long nap. But don¡¯t worry¡ªhe left me with very clear instructions."


    Jian Bo crossed his arms. "Which were?"


    Meyu exhaled dramatically. "Well, first, I was supposed to ensure the Silver Lotus Sect didn¡¯t starve to death during the winter. Which, you know, is important. Second, I was to make sure no one tried to weasel out of a perfectly good deal just because they don¡¯t know how to read a contract. And third, I was to be patient while a bunch of skeptical elders questioned a brilliant business decision. And look at that, I¡¯m already succeeding at number three!"


    Zhao Lihua pinched her forehead. "Get to the point."


    Meyu grinned. "Gladly. The sect isn¡¯t paying us."


    A pause. Several confused blinks.


    "...Excuse me?" Elder Jian Bo said slowly


    Meyu pulled out a copy of the contract, tapping a perfectly manicured finger against one of the clauses. "Silver Lotus Sect owes nothing until winter is over. That was part of the terms Master Daokan himself agreed to. Atlas didn¡¯t even negotiate. He just gave him that."


    Layla, catching on immediately, nodded sagely. "Ah, of course. That makes sense." Then, with a perfectly executed thoughtful expression, she turned to Lin Wuye.


    "Doesn''t it?"


    Lin Wuye, sharp enough to follow her lead, rubbed his chin as if he had known this all along. "Absolutely. In fact, I would¡¯ve been concerned if Atlas had negotiated. This level of generosity was clearly part of a grander scheme."


    Meyu waved a dismissive hand. "I know, right? It¡¯s a mystery. But, if I had to guess, I¡¯d say it¡¯s one of three reasons." She lifted a finger. "One: He saw a greater long-term benefit to the sect thriving rather than struggling, which meant it was an investment rather than a favor." Another finger. "Two: He was planning something that required Master Daokan¡¯s goodwill, and this was just the setup." And finally, a third. "Or three: He was feeling particularly generous that day and wanted to see how much power he could get away with giving away before someone finally called him out on it."


    Jian Bo, however, still looked unimpressed. "That still doesn¡¯t explain what you¡¯re getting out of this. You don¡¯t work for free."


    Meyu sighed. "Of course not. I get a portion of future earnings from trade facilitated between the sect and the city merchants, using goods provided by Ryl Trading." Her smile widened.


    "Everyone wins. The sect gets food, winter supplies, and materials. I get to expand Atlas¡¯s trade network. And all of you get to sleep soundly knowing you¡¯re not going to have to scrape by on rice gruel and prayer until spring."


    A silence stretched among the elders and disciples. Some of the younger ones actually looked hopeful, but the senior members were still processing just how easily they¡¯d been maneuvered into accepting the arrangement.


    Zhao Lihua exhaled slowly, rubbing her temples. "So you mean to tell me that while we were struggling, begging local traders for fair prices, Atlas had already set up a deal where we wouldn¡¯t have to pay a single copper until spring?"


    Meyu nodded, completely unbothered. "Yup. And you¡¯re welcome."


    Jian Bo muttered under his breath before finally conceding with a heavy sigh. "Fine. But if this turns out to be a mistake¡ª"


    Meyu cut in smoothly, already turning on her heel. "Oh, don¡¯t worry. It won¡¯t." She flashed a dazzling grin over her shoulder.


    "Because I¡¯m very, very good at what I do."


    She took two steps before pausing, tilting her head as if she had just remembered something trivial. "Oh, right. One more thing." She turned back to face them, smile widening into something that was both playful and devastating. "Since Ryl Trading is covering everything for the winter... you¡¯re all working for us."


    Jian Bo blinked. "Excuse me?"


    "You heard me!" Meyu clasped her hands together cheerfully. "For the entire winter, the Silver Lotus Sect will be handling some very basic trade work in return for not starving. Simple, really."


    Layla scowled. "Wait a minute¡ª"


    Meyu whirled on her, eyes gleaming. "Ah-ah, dear Meilin. You don¡¯t want to sound ungrateful, do you? After all, we did sponsor everything. The food? The supplies? The warm, cozy winter instead of freezing in the mountains? That was us." Her voice dropped into something dangerously sweet. "And let¡¯s not forget... you¡¯ll be learning valuable business skills! Think of it as education. Literacy training. A favor, really."


    Lin Wuye looked between them, then let out a long sigh. "We¡¯ve been scammed, haven¡¯t we?"


    Meyu beamed. "No, no! Scamming implies you got nothing in return. This? This is an opportunity." She turned on her sandals, humming to herself as she walked away, already thinking of the most efficient way to put them all to work.


    Jiang, watching all of this unfold, muttered to Bao. "I hate how effective this is."


    Bao sighed. "I hate how much she reminds me of him."


    Before Jiang could agree, the sound of multiple heavy boots hitting the ground made them both turn. Meyu looked back at them with a knowing smirk. "Oh, did I forget to mention? The workers from Ryl Trading will be assisting with the rebuild. It¡¯s only fair that the sect does some work in return."


    The carriage doors swung open, and out stepped the workers from Ryl Trading.


    They weren¡¯t just ordinary merchants or traders¡ªno, these were laborers, haulers, and craftsmen, all built like warriors. Muscles rippled beneath their clothes, their arms thick from years of carrying heavy goods and working manual labour. A few of the women among them looked just as strong¡ªif not stronger¡ªthan some of the sect¡¯s own disciples.


    Jiang, who prided himself on his own physical prowess, felt insecure.


    He leaned toward Bao. "Uh. Am I imagining things, or do some of those women look more ripped than me?"


    Bao clapped a hand on his shoulder solemnly. "No, brother. They absolutely do."


    Layla, Lin Wuye, and Yuxe Wuye all looked absolutely dumbfounded, their expressions frozen in disbelief, eyes wide like characters straight out of an exaggerated drama.


    Layla turned to her father, still processing what she was seeing. "I thought women in this place weren¡¯t allowed to be laborers or work hard jobs?"


    Somehow, despite the distance, Meyu¡¯s ears perked up. She casually waved a hand.


    "Atlas doesn¡¯t care about gender, status or whatever you are. If you can work, you get paid. Simple as that."


    Layla blinked, then slowly nodded, a thought settling into her mind. As a former queen, she had fought against outdated status quos, pushing for women¡¯s rights in a world that resisted. Even in her previous life, she had defied expectations, abolishing archaic traditions despite being surrounded by those who sought to maintain them. The logic was sound. She couldn¡¯t even argue against it.


    Layla blinked again but now in confusion, "That still doesn¡¯t explain why some of the woman are so strong."


    Lin Wuye, his face one of smiling defeat, a tear falling down from his right cheek, simply patted her on the shoulder. "Meilin, my daughter, just let it be."