Brothel Manager 2 :Path of DUAL CULTIVATION

Elder Zhu's ki flared sharper. "You would shelter this boy because he fetches your interests? Because you fancy his strange talent? Ping, the pillar of a sect is obedience."

"The pillar of a sect," Elder Ping murmured, finally turning his head, "is law that outlives tempers."

He walked past Elder Zhu without haste and stood at Mo Han's side, the difference in their heights turning his presence into a stubborn root rather than a wall. He peered up at Mo Han's face, lines at the corners of his eyes easing a fraction.

"You would leave," Elder Ping said, almost conversational.

"Yes," Mo Han answered. He did not bow, and Ping did not ask him to.

"And where would your feet go, boy? Do you have any sect in mind?"

Mo Han held the elder's gaze. "To a place that can bear the weight of what I am."

A long pause. The courtyard seemed to hold its breath.

Elder Zhu hissed, "Ping—"

Elder Ping raised a palm, not to strike, simply to measure the sunlight leaking through his fingers. "This matter ends here. Leave."

"I won't agree!" Zhu pointed with a serious look.

The elder's spiritual pressure faltered for a heartbeat. Elder Ping's cultivation was not the highest on the peak, but there was a weight to him like an old tree grown through rock—hard to move without breaking your own bones.

Ping lowered his hand and looked again at Mo Han, a strange light smoldering in his tired eyes. "You said you are leaving within the day."

"Yes."

"Stay," Elder Ping said.

The word dropped like a stone into a well. The crowd's murmur surged and snapped, then went still. Even Yao Fan forgot to breathe for a beat.

Mo Han's expression did not change, but his eyes sharpened. "On what terms."

Elder Ping's mouth quirked. "The best will be given to you. No one will cause any disturbance this time. Everything will be served for your growth."

Jia Kai's fingers tightened on her sleeve. Fatty Lambu leaned forward, eyes wide.

Elder Zhu barked a laugh, brittle as clay. "You intend to pull him back with riddles and scraps of sect? Ping, don't embarrass yourself."

Ping flicked him a glance. "You have drunk enough of other people's wine for one morning. Be silent."

He turned, finally, fully to Mo Han. "Stay, Mo Han. I can see your potential. You are the only one who successfully learned the Sun-Piercing Sword. You are the next hope of this sect."

The courtyard trembled with the audacity of the promise.

Mo Han said nothing.

Elder Zhu spat to the side. "Empty words from an old man hiding in scrolls."

Elder Ping did not look at him. He watched Mo Han. "Speak, boy… will you stay? Say one word!"

The courtyard held its breath.

Mo Han stood in the middle of the stone ring. Elder Ping's ember-red eyes watched him without blinking; Elder Zhu's knuckles were white around his sleeve. Jia Kai's hands tightened on her robe. Fatty Lambu swallowed so loudly a few disciples on the edge turned to stare.

Mo Han lifted his chin a fraction. "Elder Ping," he said, voice even, clear, "I want to leave. My path has no ties with the Burning Sun Pavilion any more."

A murmur broke like a wave—shock, disbelief, relief, envy—then died as Elder Ping's staff tapped once on the stone.

"Very well," Elder Ping replied at last, the words dry as winter wood, yet carrying to every ear. "Leave by this evening. As a final favor from a keeper of ledgers you never read, I will stop anyone from disturbing you." His gaze slid—not a movement so much as a shadow—until it rested on Elder Zhu. "Anyone."

Elder Zhu's jaw worked. Yao Fan's mouth opened, then closed. No one volunteered to test the library elder's promise.

"Disperse," Ping said.

The spell of stillness broke. Disciples peeled away in clusters, their whispers curling through the pillars.

"So he really leaves—"

"walks away like he owns his fate—"

"Elder Ping shielding him? I've never seen Zhu back down—"

"that servant will either die young or stand on a sky we'll never touch—"

Mo Han didn't look left or right. He inclined his head once to Elder Ping, then turned on his heel. Jia Kai fell into step with him without a word.

Fatty Lambu lingered a heartbeat longer, threw a frightened glance at Yao Fan, then scurried after his brother, clutching his pill bottle.

Behind them, Elder Ping stood on the steps, one hand resting lightly on his staff. He did not watch Mo Han go. He watched Elder Zhu until the elder looked away first.

—

They walked the long path without speaking. Only when they reached the stone house, Fatty opened his mouth.

"Brother Mo," he hissed, half whisper, half wail, "are we really leaving today? Today today? What about our pots? And my blanket? And—and…?"

Mo Han didn't break stride. "Pack what you can carry in one hour. Everything else is a lesson about attachment."

Fatty clutched his chest. "Are you sure…?"

Jia Kai's patted his shoulder. "Move, Lambu."

The next sixty breaths were a blur of motion. Lambu thundering into the servants' barracks like a panicked ox, then thundering out again with half his belongings tied into a bulging bundle that would have crushed a lesser man.

Jia Kai slipping into her stone house, picked the necessary things.

When Mo Han stepped out, Jia Kai was waiting, spear across her back, hair bound simply, eyes clear. Lambu stumbled after her, his bundle comically huge and tied to one end of a Stick, his face already sweaty…but his grin determined.

"I'm ready," he puffed.

Mo Han exhaled loudly. "Don't you have a storage ring?" Mo Han asked with a disappointed look.

"Oh… sorry." Fatty immediately tossed his heavy stuff into storage ring.

They went to the administration hall as a simple procession: a man, a woman, a fat brother, a crane, an eagle, no backward glance. Inside, the registrar's hands trembled slightly as they slid the disciple tokens across the desk.

"You… truly depart?" the clerk asked, unable to keep the curiosity from his voice.

"Truly," Jia Kai said.

Jia Kai signed. Lambu held the brush like a sword, bit his lip, and wrote his name as if carving it into the sect's door.

-

by Peter 'Frying' Pan