The Broken Paths

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—they 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—one 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—nay, an essential—merchant, 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—wise, benevolent, extraordinarily handsome—values 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—a mix of overconfidence and charm—only 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—one 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—all kneeling like devout disciples at temple. Layla looked on the verge of collapsing, her entire body shaking from the sheer pressure. And Meyu—Meyu 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—low 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—it'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—an 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—slick, 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—foreign, 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—without a second thought—slid 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—something 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—larger 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. 

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—tell 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—how 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—he 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—so 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—his 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—his 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—our daughter—first 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—the 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—what 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—a 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—if 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—her leaving him, even hypothetically—stung 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—pettiness. 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—after 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—not 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—I 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—such 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—a 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—"

"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—the 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—the 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—"

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—silent, 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—!"

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—fast, smooth, desperate, but without a single wasted breath.

"I bought her because I had to—because 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—he 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—a 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—I knew—if 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—wasn'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—far 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—it 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—but 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—if 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—Layla, her parents, Jiang, Bao, Yan, Meyu, and all the disciples—turned 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—a 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—a 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.