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—subtle, 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—she 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—she 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—defensive 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—Meyu. 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—Meyu 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—adjusting 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—until 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—trained well. Probably from birth."

His eyes flicked toward the needle still pressed against his neck, and he smirked. "Breath control? Impeccable. Not just calm—controlled. 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—"

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—who had seen Atlas work miracles before—crossed 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—the 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—"

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—when she had worn the crown, ruled from the gilded throne, played the great game of politics—what 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—because 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—she 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—no, Daokan's daughter—released 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—him, 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—the 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—it'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—his frustrating, insufferable, almost supernatural ability to dissect people in an instant—were 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—one 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—the warlord who brought the sect to its knees—would 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?

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—not 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—her 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—too many to count. Her arms, her back, her legs—each 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—I 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—"

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—"

Atlas clapped his hands together. "Overcharge? Me? Perish the thought, dear Meilin! Why, I will ensure the finest deals, the most competitive prices—nay, 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—" he placed a dramatic hand over his heart, "—may 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—ahem, partnership—were 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—though 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—he 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—he's laughing not only that but Lady Shen who had been quietly observing, looked utterly dumbfounded. Her father—Master Daokan, the man known for his stoicism and discipline—was 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—with Atlas still perched upon his impromptu throne—leapt 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''