“Senior Brother Zhao Jin!” Ming Fan stammered, his face paling as he struggled to regain his composure, the unexpected appearance of his senior shattering the jovial atmosphere. The cup slipped from his trembling fingers, clattering against the table before rolling off, the spilled Celestial Jade Spirit staining the polished wood like a mark of shame.
Zhao Jin, his eyes blazing with righteous fury, stormed towards their table, his aura crackling with barely restrained power. The air in the teahouse seemed to thicken, a heavy pressure descending upon everyone present. Conversations fell silent, and the music and murmurs ceased abruptly, as if Zhao Jin's presence had commanded the entire room's attention.
His voice, low and menacing, cut through the teahouse’s gentle melodies like a shard of ice through silk.
“Disgraceful! Utterly disgraceful!” Each word was a lash, stripping away the disciples’ newfound joy, replacing it with guilt and shame.
Ming Fan's heart sank, the joy he had felt moments before rapidly replaced by a cold knot of fear. He could see the same haunted expressions on his fellow disciples' faces, their eyes downcast, shoulders slumping as Zhao Jin's fury bore down on them.
“Do you call yourselves cultivators of the Pure Path? Indulging in worldly pleasures, consorting with… with… hedonists!” He gestured towards the half-empty cups, his lip curling in disgust.
“You bring shame upon our sect, upon our ancestors, upon our lineage, upon everything we stand for!! You tread the path of demonic cultivators, not the path of purity!”
One of the disciples, emboldened by the wine, though clearly terrified, tried to explain. “But Senior Brother Zhao Jin, it was just a few—”
“Silence!” Zhao Jin roared, cutting him off. “Do not defend your transgression! Your actions speak louder than any words, and they speak of a corrupted spirit, a path that leads towards the demonic arts! You think this… indulgence brings you closer to enlightenment? It leads only to ruin, to the degradation of your cultivation, to the very destruction of your souls!”
His words, sharp as shards of ice, pierced through the disciples’ fragile defenses, their earlier laughter and camaraderie now a distant memory. “The elders will hear of this! Your actions will not go unpunished! You will learn the true meaning of austerity, even if it takes a decade of solitary confinement to cleanse your tainted spirits.”
The cheerful mood at their table evaporated like mist in the morning sun. The disciples froze under Zhao Jin’s furious gaze, their newfound joy replaced by a chilling mix of guilt and shame. Their faces paled, their laughter dying in their throats, their bodies stiffening as if an invisible force had gripped them, their earlier camaraderie now a shared burden of impending punishment.
Tian Hao, however, remained unperturbed. He leaned back against his cushions, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips. He observed the scene unfold as if he were a mere spectator at a play rather than the catalyst for the chaos erupting before him.
'This is all so predictable,' Tian Hao mused internally, his eyes twinkling with amusement. 'Zhao Jin and his kind... so wrapped up in their rigidity, they can’t see the value of a little fun. They think fear is the only tool to maintain order. Maybe one day, they'll learn that a bit of chaos can cultivate more growth than a hundred lectures.'
The senior disciple’s glare finally settled on him, a mix of barely controlled fury and something that made Tian Hao wonder if perhaps the other wasn’t so dissimilar after all—a shared recklessness that transcended their differing paths.
“And you,” Zhao Jin spat, his voice dripping with venom, “you serpent! You dare corrupt the Pure Path Sect’s disciples, leading them astray with your hedonistic ways? You think this is a game, Skyward Lotus whelp? You think you can slither into our midst, whispering your hedonistic lies, and escape unscathed? You will pay for this transgression. The heavens themselves will weep at your audacity. I swear upon the sacred flame, upon the very essence of the Dao, I will see you brought low for this transgression! The elders of both our sects will hear of this. Mark my words. Retribution will be swift, and it will be… exquisitely painful.”
He gestured around the teahouse at those who were now staring, whispering, “Let this be a lesson to all who would dare to corrupt the righteous path! The Pure Path Sect does not tolerate such… demonic influence!”
Tian Hao chuckled, his amusement echoing in the sudden quiet, though the steel he now held in his gaze tempered his usual laughter.
“Retribution, Senior Disciple Zhao? My, my, such dramatic pronouncements,” he replied, his voice laced with playful mockery.
The disciples visibly flinched, their eyes darting between Tian Hao and Zhao Jin. Ming Fan's face turned a shade paler, his heart pounding at the audacity of Tian Hao's words. Even the faint smirks they had moments ago disappeared, replaced by a mixture of fear and disbelief. They could feel Zhao Jin's fury like a storm about to break, and Tian Hao’s casual disregard of it only made the tension thicker.
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“One would think I'd stolen your sect’s most prized meditation cushion rather than merely sharing a bit of… worldly wisdom. Perhaps your path could use a bit more spice, Senior Brother Zhao Jin. A little flavor to balance out all that blandness? Perhaps the Pure Path Sect would have something more interesting to offer the world than lukewarm tea and stale pronouncements. Or are those the only flavors you’re allowed to taste?”
He winked at the disciples who quickly averted their eyes.
Zhao Jin’s face contorted with rage, his fists clenching, his spiritual pressure spiking for a moment as though he were about to unleash something far less elegant, something closer to pure, unadulterated fury. “You think this is a joke?” Zhao Jin hissed, his aura intensifying. “I assure you it is not." He took a deep breath, regaining control, then turned his attention to the shamed Pure Path disciples who now huddled together .
"Get out!" Zhao Jin barked, his earlier fury now a cold command. "Return to the sect accommodations. Your behavior is a disgrace, a stain upon the purity of our path. Perhaps a few weeks of solitary confinement and meditation on the true Dao might clear your minds of this demonic influence.”
Ming Fan and his fellow disciples, their newfound confidence and laughter dissolving into a mix of shame and fear, scrambled to their feet, a couple of them swaying slightly. Their heads hung low, but as they were led towards the exit by the furious Zhao Jin, they snuck a few longing glances at Tian Hao.
Tian Hao stuck his tongue out before making a gagging gesture as though vomiting, mimicking Zhao Jin’s stern disapproval while using his fingers to form two bunny ears behind his head. A playful jab at the senior disciple's severity, as if all that talk of righteousness were less a mark of his piety and more like the silliness of a toddler's tantrum. He then mimed a dramatic, over-the-top bow, like those he’d been practicing, or rather not practicing with Lin Mei back at the sect.
A few quiet giggles erupted from the departing disciples as their eyes lit up for a split second, the warmth in their gaze a reminder that their brief encounter with Tian Hao.
Tian Hao watched them go, his gaze lingering on Hua Hua. She, too, gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod, her gaze steady but unreadable. Her expression was carefully neutral. But even as she kept her mask perfectly in place, he couldn’t help but notice the way her lips twitched as if suppressing a smile, the slight warmth that still colored her cheeks.
They vanished out the door, leaving Tian Hao alone with his own amusement and the remnants of their laughter echoing softly in the space where they once sat.
With them gone, he turned his attention back to his own drink. Savoring another sip as he listened to the muted laughter echoing from a far corner, where two well-dressed cultivators, their auras humming with restrained power, sat amidst what Tian Hao thought must be their collection of admirers. Their robes, embroidered with intricate golden patterns that shimmered with every movement, conveyed an unmistakable air of prestige. The fabric was of a richer quality, a deep azure hue that marked their higher status, with sleeves adorned by sigils denoting ancient lineage.
These weren't the practical, utilitarian robes of lesser sects but garments designed to stand out—luxurious, meant to flaunt their wealth and power with ease. It was clear they were from one of the larger, more prestigious cultivation clans—the kind that treated gatherings like this as playgrounds, opportunities to display their influence without consequence.
He knew that he had just made an enemy in the Pure Path Sect. But he was unconcerned. He'd followed his desires, not just the whispers from Big Sister System and the reward it promised but because he'd remembered something, some story about a famed general who said, “'Know your enemies, but also know their limitations'. Perhaps a bit of pleasure loosens a sword’s grip better than any battle or pronouncement."
"Well, Big Sister,” he thought, as he replayed the events of the evening, Zhao Jin’s threats a mere whisper against the more potent reality of the fun he'd had and the memory of Fang Hua’s lingering glance, “that could have gone worse. She’s definitely interested. Not bad for a little tea party. Besides,” he added inwardly, “someone has to challenge their rigid beliefs. It’s for their own good, really. A little chaos is good for the soul. How else can they learn?”
“Not bad, indeed, little Hao. Cultivation through conversation. Sometimes, actions like yours create ripples that carry dangerous currents, pull towards shadows not your own.”
Her choice of words made him consider whether she might see something he, in his current level of cultivation, could only imagine or hope might one day show itself.
Just then, Tian Hao took a moment, leaning back with a satisfied sigh as he watched the teahouse gradually return to its usual hum of activity. He let the tension seep away, his thoughts drifting briefly to Zhao Jin's contorted expression of fury. 'They'll learn, eventually,' he mused, the corners of his lips curling slightly.
Fatty Wu appeared, plopping down beside him with a satisfied groan. “So, Young Master, what mischief have you stirred up this time?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the faint aroma of roasted meat still clinging to his fingers.
Tian Hao chuckled, taking another sip of his tea, relishing the warmth that lingered on his tongue, the pleasure swirling gently within his now-settled dantian.
“Oh, just… expanding some perspectives,” he replied, gesturing towards the teahouse entrance where Zhao Jin’s retreating figure had disappeared moments before.
He could still hear the echoes of the senior disciple’s angry pronouncements, the faint tremble in Ming Fan’s voice—the fear of some unknown punishment, the weight of their elders’ displeasure. He knew their newfound freedom from the rigid doctrines would not last long—that Zhao Jin and the elders would tighten their grip once more, dragging them back into the confines of what was considered 'pure.'
But for now, at least, Tian Hao hoped the taste of something different would stay with them—a reminder that there was more to cultivation than empty austerity.
A wry smile spread across his lips. 'Change starts small,' he thought, lifting his cup towards the flickering lantern light. 'Even if they return to their chains, they’ll always know there’s another way—one that doesn't fear laughter or warmth.'
Fatty Wu eyed him, raising an eyebrow at the silent toast. “To what, Young Master?”
Tian Hao smiled. “To the cracks in the walls, Fatty. May they grow wider, until one day, they shatter.”
Fatty Wu laughed, clinking his cup with Tian Hao's, the carefree sound blending seamlessly with the resumed hum of activity in the teahouse. For now, chaos had retreated, but its whispers lingered, promising more to come.