Brothel Manager 2 :Path of DUAL CULTIVATION

The sun blazed mercilessly over the Burning Sun Pavilion, its golden rays scattering across the tiled roofs and shimmering banners that danced in the desert wind. The air was thick with heat and the faint scent of incense that wafted through the open corridors. Inside the central hall, a young man sat cross-legged before an ornate bronze table, his eyes half-closed, brows furrowed in deep thought.

Ron Lee had been sitting there for hours, unmoving, the shadows shifting slowly across the marble floor as the sun inched westward. The tea in front of him had long gone cold, yet his mind burned hotter than ever — a whirlwind of unanswered questions and uneasy suspicions.

He had not seen Mo Han, Jia Kai, or Fatty Lambu — the ridiculous fellow the Pavilion disciples called "Hairless Pimple" — for three days. No farewell, no message, no clue. Just gone.

The doors creaked open, and two servants in brown robes entered, their heads bowed low. One of them trembled slightly as he approached. "Young Master Ron," the man said softly, "we have returned from the outer fields and... there is still no trace. Even our distant spies could not find any sign of where they went."

Ron's eyes slowly opened. They were sharp and calm, like still water concealing a dangerous current. "No trace?" he repeated.

"None, Young Master. It's as if they vanished into thin air."

Ron's lips tightened. His fingers drummed against the bronze table, each tap echoing like a hammer in the tense silence. "Vanished into thin air... That's not possible," he muttered. "Even the wind leaves a trail of dust, even a shadow fades slowly. No one disappears without leaving something behind."

The servant exchanged nervous glances with his companion before speaking again. "Young Master, the only thing we heard from the guards was that Mo Han had been asking around about the upcoming tournament for Elder Rank cultivators. He seemed... eager. If we're not mistaken, we might see him again there — in one month's time."

For a long moment, Ron said nothing. His gaze shifted toward the sunlit courtyard outside the open window. The garden was still — too still. Even the birds had gone quiet.

Finally, he sighed, his voice low and tired. "Call off the search."

The servants looked at each other in disbelief. "But, Young Master—"

"I said stop searching." Ron's tone carried a finality that brooked no argument. "If Mo Han wishes to hide, he will not be found. And if he plans to reappear at the tournament... we'll meet him there. Let fate decide the rest."

The servants bowed deeply. "Yes, Young Master."

As they left, Ron leaned back, closing his eyes again. A faint smirk appeared on his lips, though it was more bitter than amused. "Mo Han... just what are you planning this time?"

Outside, the pavilion bells tolled, their sound lost in the endless desert wind.

---

Far from the Burning Sun Pavilion, beyond the mountains and over the long stretch of green plains, the magnificent Green Jade City stood like a jewel carved from heaven's own stone. The walls shimmered faintly with the embedded essence of spirit jade, radiating protective energy that kept the city cool even under the fiercest sun.

But inside one of the courtyards, the mood was anything but serene.

A group of elders from the Dong family sat around a long marble table, their expressions dark and heavy. On the wall behind them hung the portrait of a handsome young man with clear eyes and a proud smile — Dong Ming, the family's former young master. A garland of white spirit lilies adorned the frame, their fragrance faintly sorrowful.

An old man with silver hair and cold eyes slammed his hand on the table, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Two months! It's been Two months, and still no trace of that wretched Mo Han! You call yourselves investigators?"

One of the younger elders swallowed nervously. "Elder Dong, we've sent men to all nearby sects and rogue associations. We even checked the records of spirit caravans leaving the city. There is no one named Mo Han in any of them. The Han family themselves deny any relation."

"Deny?" the old man spat, his beard trembling. "Of course they deny it! The coward killed my grandson and vanished! Do you think I'm a fool? Someone is protecting him."

The others remained silent. The air seemed to grow colder despite the warm afternoon.

From the side of the hall, a young woman stepped forward. She was tall and graceful, dressed in a light green robe embroidered with lotus petals. Her name was Lian Hua — the daughter of one of Dong Ming's close allies and a skilled cultivator in her own right.

She bowed respectfully. "Elder Dong, I've personally searched through the border towns. No one has seen Mo Han or his companions. It's strange. If they had fled, they should have left traces — but there's nothing. No witnesses, no aura, not even a rumor."

Elder Dong's eyes flickered with suspicion. "You sound almost as if you admire him."

Lian Hua met his gaze calmly. "I don't admire him, Elder. I simply acknowledge the truth. Whoever Mo Han is, he's not an ordinary cultivator. To vanish this completely... someone powerful must be hiding him."

The old man growled but said nothing more. The truth was bitter — and undeniable.

Outside the courtyard walls, the flags of the Dong family fluttered silently in the wind. The city continued its daily bustle, but within the noble estate, grief and anger brewed like poison waiting to spill.

---

Meanwhile, far away in a tranquil valley shrouded by morning mist, the true reason for Mo Han's disappearance lay hidden.

In a secluded wooden house nestled beside a silver-blue waterfall, a young woman sat before a table covered with scrolls and talismans. Her name was Soya Khan — the famed beauty of the Khan family, known for her cold intellect and mysterious aura.

She was not alone. Two servants knelt before her, their heads bowed. "Young Mistress," one said hesitantly, "the family elders are still asking questions. They want to know who that man was... the one you helped during auction at green jade city."

Soya didn't raise her eyes. Her fingers glided across a parchment, sealing it with a drop of azure wax. "Tell them nothing."

"But, Young Mistress, they suspect—"

"I said nothing," she repeated, her voice calm but absolute. "Not a word of his name. Not a whisper."

The servants hesitated, then bowed again. "Yes, Young Mistress."

When they left, silence filled the room. The faint hum of spiritual energy from the waterfall echoed softly, mingling with the rustle of leaves outside.

Soya leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, her mind wandering to many questions. When her father had questioned her, she had simply said:

"He is a powerful person, one who may one day shake the heavens themselves. Do not make him an enemy."

Her father, Mina Khan, had frowned deeply, but even he had sensed the weight in her words. In the end, the family had obeyed her silence.

And so, as the world above buzzed with rumors — as Ron Lee wondered, as the Dong family plotted revenge, and as the Khan family held their silence — a storm was brewing quietly beneath the surface.