The next morning, Tian Hao found himself wandering the sect grounds, the early sunlight casting long shadows across the neatly paved pathways. The air was crisp, and the distant chatter of disciples echoed softly, punctuated by the occasional clang of training weapons. He walked aimlessly, his hands tucked casually into his robes, as if he were just another disciple with nothing pressing on his mind.
He meandered down paths he had yet to explore, his curiosity guiding his steps as he traced the unfamiliar corners of the sect grounds. The Skyward Lotus Sect was vast, its grounds sprawling with ornate pavilions, meditation gardens, and training halls. Tian Hao knew he had barely scratched the surface of what it had to offer, his usual inclination being to avoid the more serious aspects of sect life. Today, though, he felt different—driven, perhaps, by a desire to understand the place that he had been taking for granted.
As he approached a shaded pavilion nestled amidst a grove of cherry blossoms, he slowed his steps, his attention caught by a group of core disciples gathered nearby. Their robes stood out, the embroidery of the sect’s symbol—elegant petals of a lotus in bloom—glinting in the sunlight, while the fabric rippled like water with each movement, marking them as among the best Skyward Lotus had to offer. The disciples were huddled together, their voices low but filled with tension, their expressions grim as they spoke in hushed tones.
Tian Hao leaned casually against one of the pavilion’s wooden pillars, crossing one ankle over the other while lazily tracing a finger along the carved wood as he listened in on the conversation. He feigned disinterest, his gaze drifting lazily across the blooming flowers while his ears honed in on every word.
“The feast is just a few days away,” one of the disciples muttered, his voice edged with concern. “How are we supposed to entertain those visiting sects? We don’t have the resources like the bigger sects do. If things go poorly, our reputation could be in jeopardy.”
Another disciple, a young woman with a tight braid of dark hair, nodded, her brows knitted together in anxiety. “Exactly. It all falls on people like Liang Chen and Elder Han to keep up appearances. They’re the ones carrying our sect’s reputation right now. The rest of us… we’re just trying not to make things worse.”
Tian Hao frowned, his brow furrowing slightly. He continued to listen, his casual demeanor belied by the intensity of his focus. He heard more mentions of Liang Chen—the “shining star” of the Skyward Lotus Sect, a name spoken with admiration but also a hint of desperation. It seemed that Liang Chen was expected to impress the visiting sects, to be a beacon of their strength in these uncertain times.
One of the disciples standing at the edge of the group sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. “If this goes poorly, it could set us back years. The Sect Leader is doing his best, but our standing is more precarious than most realize. The visiting sects are expecting something impressive, and if we disappoint them, it could mean fewer alliances, fewer resources… we can’t afford that.”
Tian Hao’s eyes widened slightly at that. He hadn’t realized just how fragile their sect’s position was. The carefree life he had taken for granted, the comfortable status that came with being the Sect Leader’s son—it was all a façade. The reality was that his father’s position wasn’t as secure as it seemed. Even if Tian Shou had said as much to Tian Hao previously, it hadn’t really sunk in before now.
Tian Hao moved away from the pavilion, his footsteps slower now, his thoughts churning. He walked aimlessly, his gaze distant, the disciples’ words replaying in his mind. His status as the Sect Leader’s son wasn’t something earned through respect or his abilities—it was a shield, a way to protect the sect’s reputation from further damage. He had been oblivious, treating his position like a privilege, but now he saw the weight it carried. His father, Tian Shou, wasn’t just indulging him out of love; he was shielding Tian Hao to keep up appearances, to protect the sect’s fragile stability.
Tian Hao let out a deep breath, his gaze drifting towards the main hall in the distance. The upcoming feast, the expectations of the visiting sects, the pressure on Liang Chen and Elder Han—all of it was now painfully clear to him. If he kept up his reckless, carefree ways, he wouldn’t just be embarrassing himself; he would be putting everyone at risk. His father’s position, the sect’s reputation—it all depended on everyone playing their part, and that included him.
Stolen story; please report.
He paused in his tracks, his expression shifting from one of thoughtfulness to determination. He couldn’t just sit back and continue as he had, not when the stakes were so high. He had to take steps to ensure he wouldn’t embarrass the sect during the feast, to show that he could at least try not to be a burden.
A faint smile tugged at his lips, his mind already racing with ideas. Perhaps it was time for him to contribute—if not through traditional cultivation, then through his own, unique methods. He didn’t need to become a prodigy overnight, but he could certainly try to improve enough to avoid being the weakest link.
Tian Hao turned towards the direction of his secluded garden, his strides more purposeful now. He had his own way of doing things, a path that didn’t fit neatly into the sect’s rigid framework, but that didn’t mean it was worthless. He knew he had the capacity to surprise people, to do things they wouldn’t expect from someone like him. He just needed to put in the effort—to show them that he could be more than just the spoiled son of the Sect Leader.
As he entered the garden, he was greeted by the familiar sight of the willow branches swaying gently in the breeze, their leaves casting dappled shadows on the ground. The soft murmur of the stream, the scent of blooming flowers—all of it calmed him, grounding him in the present. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking in the serenity of his little haven, before letting out a long, steadying breath.
He opened his eyes, a flicker of determination shining within them. He glanced towards the pile of scrolls that Fatty Wu had brought him the day before—a collection of cultivation theory, spiritual herb guides, and even a few scrolls on etiquette. Tian Hao had laughed at the sight of them, had called them “boring reading material,” but now he found himself reaching for one of the scrolls, his fingers brushing against the smooth parchment.
Tian Hao unrolled one of the scrolls on etiquette, his eyes scanning the neat, precise characters. He frowned as he tried to make sense of the intricate rules laid out before him, crumpling the edge of the scroll in frustration before letting out an exasperated sigh. It seemed there was a proper way to do everything—how to bow, how to sit, how to pour tea, and even how to address each sect elder according to their rank and achievements. He stumbled over the terms, his brow furrowing as he read about the 'Zuoyi' (左揖) bow, a gesture of respect involving placing the left hand over the right while cupping them together, a custom that denoted humility when greeting someone of higher status. He practiced the movement, his hands feeling clumsy, the positioning awkward as he tried to mimic the illustrations on the scroll.
Next, he moved on to the proper way to serve tea during formal occasions, something that seemed deceptively simple but was, in reality, an elaborate ritual. The scroll detailed the 'Gongfu Cha' (工夫茶) method, emphasizing the importance of grace and precision. Tian Hao tried to follow along, pouring tea from a small clay teapot into tiny porcelain cups. The instructions stressed that the spout should never face the guest directly—a sign of disrespect—and that the cups should be filled only seven-tenths full, symbolizing the balance between heaven and earth. His hands shook slightly, and he ended up spilling some of the tea, muttering a curse under his breath. It was far harder than he had imagined, each movement requiring a level of control and finesse that he simply did not possess.
Then there were the forms of address—dozens of them—each tied to the specific hierarchy within the sect. Tian Hao struggled to memorize the intricate phrasing and elaborate honorifics, many of which were rooted in ancient traditions that felt foreign even to him. Terms like 'Qianbei' (前辈, Esteemed Senior) and 'Zhenren' (真人, True Person) were not just titles; they were steeped in the weight of cultural history and carried nuances that required careful attention. He had to remember which honorifics denoted not just rank but also the level of cultivation and specific accomplishments—whether one was a Pill Master or a Formation Expert. Tian Hao found himself stumbling over the words, his frustration growing with each mistake.
He had been priding himself on his ability to charm others with his casual demeanor, but this was an entirely different game. Here, respect was shown through ritual and discipline, not wit or humor, and Tian Hao realized just how out of his depth he truly was. Still, despite the difficulty, he pressed on, determined not to be the one to bring shame to his father or his sect.
“Alright, Skyward Lotus Sect,” Tian Hao muttered to himself, a glimmer of resolve in his eyes. “Let’s see what this lazy young master can do.”
He pushed himself to his feet, his muscles protesting slightly after the long period of stillness. He stretched, his arms reaching towards the sky, then glanced towards the scrolls once more. He had a lot of work to do, a long way to go before he could truly be proud of himself, before he could stand alongside disciples like Liang Chen without feeling like a burden.
With that thought in mind, Tian Hao picked up another scroll, unrolling it as he sat back down, his eyes scanning the text with a newfound determination. It was time to start taking things seriously—time to prove that even a lazy young master could rise to the occasion, in his own way.