The Broken Paths

The morning after Shen Mu's defeat, the Silver Lotus Sect gathered in the main hall. The battle was won, but leadership had to be decided.

Lin Wuye sat at the head, exhaustion evident but his mind sharp. The elders murmured among themselves before the most senior among them stood. "This war has made one truth clear: Lady Meilin possesses the mind of a commander. We propose she take command of the sect's martial affairs while Master Lin Wuye remains as its advisor and administrator."

Layla, who had been taking a sip of tea, choked. "Excuse me?"

Her father gave her a pointed look. "Meilin, you led this sect to victory. This is just a formality."

She looked around at the serious expressions. "You do realize I didn't actually fight with Qi like the others, right? I just told everyone where to go."

One elder nodded. "And yet, without you, we would not be here."

Layla groaned, rubbing her temples. "So let me get this straight—I have to handle all the war stuff, while my father buries himself in paperwork?"

Lin Wuye coughed. "That was always the plan."

Layla sighed before muttering, "I should have run when I had the chance."

Immediately, one of the elders scoffed, his wrinkles deepening as he shook his head. "This is absurd! A commander must be a seasoned cultivator, not—"

"Not what?" Bao interrupted, arms crossed, eyes sharp. "Not the person who just led us to victory? Not the person who kept us alive while others panicked?" He jabbed a finger toward the elder. "With all due respect, Elder, if you'd like to lead the next war, we'll be happy to take notes."

Several disciples snorted, muffling their laughter. Another disciple, still bandaged from the battle, groaned, "If Lady Meilin hadn't been in charge, I'd be dead. I'd rather follow someone with a brain than someone with a bloated ego!"

The elder's face darkened, but he muttered something under his breath and fell silent.

Jiang Wei, the most seasoned disciple, lifted his head from where he had been listening, his sharp eyes narrowing. In a slow, deliberate motion, he turned toward the elder, his expression locked in an unsettling smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Oh? Would you care to repeat that, Elder?" he asked, his tone polite but dripping with unspoken challenge.

Meanwhile, Meilin's mother sat on the sidelines, hands folded in her lap, watching the chaos unfold with the tired expression of a woman who had seen this nonsense too many times before. She let out a soft sigh and muttered, "This family is going to give me gray hairs before winter even comes."

Lin Wuye coughed into his fist, clearly suppressing a smile. "The decision has been made. Meilin, you are the commander. No more arguments."

Layla sighed in defeat, rubbing her forehead as if trying to physically push away the headache forming. "Fine, fine," she muttered. "But if I'm going to be a commander, I need to start planning for winter."

Her mind was already shifting, calculating supplies, food rations, and defensive reinforcements they would need before the first snowfall. The reality of her position settled in, and she realized there was no turning back now.

She exhaled sharply. "Survive the winter first. Everything else can wait." The aftermath of war always left a strange silence in its wake.

Layla walked through the remnants of the battlefield, the familiar metallic scent of blood still lingering, though now it was overpowered by the scent of fresh lumber and soil. The Silver Lotus Sect was alive—not just in the sense that they had survived but in the way they moved, rebuilt, and pressed forward.

Workers hauled stones to reinforce the eastern wall. Disciples worked tirelessly to restore the damaged training grounds. The once-razed gardens, now trampled into dust, were being resown. Even the wreckage of her fallen tower was being cleared, though the foundation remained scarred. In another section of the sect, she noticed a handful of disciples tending to the few animals they had left—a small herd of mountain goats, a few chickens, and a lone ox used for hauling heavy supplies. They would need more if they wanted to sustain themselves through the winter.

A week. That was the time they needed to complete the basic repairs, but in truth, they only had a month to fully prepare before winter arrived in full force.

As she went over their remaining supplies, a frown creased her brow. Their grain stores were dwindling, their cloth stockpiles were nearly depleted, and there were barely enough livestock to maintain their food supply. If they didn't resupply soon, survival through the cold season would be miserable at best, lethal at worst. She recalled back in her past life that winter was as much a killer as any blade.

A memory surfaced, sharp and unyielding. She had been a newly crowned queen, walking through the outskirts of her capital during the first snowfall of the season, accompanied by her guards and advisors. The streets had been quiet—too quiet. Then she saw him. The streets had been quiet—too quiet. Then she saw him. A child, barely ten, curled up against the cold stone wall of an alley. His lips were blue, his tiny hands frozen stiff. She had rushed to him, calling for aid, but it was too late. His eyes were already lifeless.

She turned sharply to her guards. "How did this happen? Why was no one watching the streets?"

One of her advisors scoffed, barely looking up from his fur-lined sleeves. "My Queen, he was a commoner. The weak perish in the cold. It is the way of the world."

Silence followed.

Layla felt something cold—not the winter chill, but something deep in her chest. Slowly, deliberately, she turned to face the advisor, her expression unreadable. Then, in one swift motion, she drew the dagger from her belt and slit his throat.

Gasps erupted around her, the warm spray of blood staining the fresh snow. She watched as he gurgled, falling to the ground, clutching his throat in disbelief.

"Then let me change the way of the world," she murmured, stepping over his dying body. "From this moment forward, no one in my kingdom will freeze to death again." That night, she had made a decree—no one in her kingdom would suffer the same fate. Winter would never take another innocent life under her rule. She knew from her previous life that food was, the top priority—without it, all their rebuilding would be pointless. But cloth was just as essential; a cold body was a weak body, and a weak body would fall to sickness. A starving army was useless, but a freezing one was just as doomed.

Beyond that, she recalled another necessity that many overlooked: a clean and sustainable water source.

Another painful memory clawed its way to the surface. She remembered sitting on her throne, the grandeur of the palace doing little to mask the weight pressing down on her shoulders. The heavy doors to the throne room burst open, and a man stumbled in—her childhood friend's father. His clothes were disheveled, his eyes wild with grief. Guards moved to restrain him, but he shoved them off, his voice hoarse with fury. A man, a loyal subject, had stood before her, grief-stricken and furious. "You were supposed to protect us! " he had said, voice trembling with sorrow and rage. She had no words, confused with this rage asked "Why are you so angry? What has happened?" 

He pointed a trembling finger at her, his breath ragged. "You are our Queen but you betrayed us" he roared. "My son is dead because of you! Because of this kingdom!"

The guards moved to seize him again, but Layla raised a hand, stopping them. She met his gaze, and for the first time, she saw not just rage, but despair. The kind that festered deep, impossible to mend.

Her lips parted, but no words came. What could she have said? That she hadn't known? That she had tried? None of it would matter. He was right. She had no words, only regret.

It was then that she had sworn to build proper sanitation systems, no matter how absurd her advisors had found the idea. Now, standing in the Silver Lotus Sect, she knew she would have to do it again.

Layla tapped her fingers against her forehead and her mind was racing through solutions. It was common practice for sect members to relieve themselves wherever convenient—against trees, near rivers, in empty courtyards. That needed to change. They needed designated areas, separate from their water sources, with proper disposal methods.

Would they resist? Absolutely. But she wasn't going to give them a choice.

Her fingers tapped against her folded arms as she made a mental checklist. Food, cloth, reinforcements, additional water sources, and—most importantly—a designated area for excrement disposal, far enough from their drinking water to prevent contamination. It was a lesson she had learned the hard way, and she had no intention of repeating it. Layla took note of every movement, every conversation around her. Some sect members still looked at her with newfound respect. Others—mostly the elders—watched with caution, as if uncertain whether they had raised a leader or a storm.

"You've done well, Lady Meilin," one of the elders finally said, adjusting his robes. His eyes flickered across the reconstruction, approving yet reserved. "Had we not followed your strategies, we would not be here today."

Another elder, however, scoffed lightly. "Survival is only the first battle. We must ensure stability."

Layla turned to them, crossing her arms. "Then ensure it. I already have plans set in place for the winter preparations. Our grain storage will be secured, and the defensive formations will be completed within days."

The elders exchanged looks, perhaps surprised she had anticipated their concerns. One of them nodded. "Very well. And what of the main city?"

Meilin exhaled. "I was just about to bring that up."

Later that evening, Layla found herself sparring with Jiang Wei, the sect's most seasoned disciple. He had fought in countless battles before Shen Mu's attack, and despite his age, his movements were precise and efficient. She valued his insight—not just in combat, but in the ways of war.

"Your footwork is too rigid," he muttered as he parried one of her strikes with ease. "You rely on calculated movement, but in real battle, chaos is the only constant."

She gritted her teeth, adjusting her stance before countering with a feint that, while clever in execution, was still sluggish. Jiang Wei stepped back with ease, barely needing to block. She managed to correct her footing in time, avoiding an embarrassing stumble, but her movements were still stiff.

Jiang Wei sighed, rubbing his temples. "Better. At least you're not tripping over yourself anymore. But you're still too rigid."

Layla scowled. "It's called strategy."

"It's called being predictable." He flicked her forehead lightly, earning a glare. "If I can read your every move, so can an enemy. You're improving, but you still fight like a scholar trying to choreograph a duel instead of reacting to one."

She huffed, rolling her shoulders. "So what do you suggest?"

Jiang Wei smirked. "Survive the next five rounds without me landing a hit, and I'll tell you."

Layla's confidence flickered for a brief second before she rolled her shoulders. "Five rounds? Easy."

Five rounds later, not only had she failed to avoid a hit—she had been thoroughly humiliated. Each attempt ended with her flat on the ground, pinned, disarmed, or nursing a new bruise. By the third round, she had barely even lifted her sword before Jiang Wei had already countered. By the fifth, she was starting to think he had been taking it easy on her from the start.

Lying on her back, staring at the sky, she groaned. "So, do I at least get a consolation prize?"

Jiang Wei smirked down at her, arms crossed. "Sure. You get the honor of knowing you lost in record time. Faster than even the junior disciples, I might add."

After their training session, she met with Bao, who was overseeing what remained of their livestock. "It's bad," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "We barely have enough to sustain the sect, let alone trade."

"We need to secure more animals," Layla said. "And paper. We're running low on documentation materials."

Bao groaned. "You just survived a war, and you're already thinking about paperwork?"

She smirked. "Survival means nothing if we're not prepared for the future."

As the night deepened, Daokan arrived unexpectedly, though no one seemed to notice him—except Meilin. As she turned a corner near the training grounds, she nearly jumped out of her skin at the sight of him standing there, arms folded, gaze unreadable. How did he even get in here without anyone seeing him? He tilted his head slightly, watching her reaction with what could only be described as mild amusement. Then, in the most nonchalant tone possible, he said, "If you and your sect survive the winter, find me."

Meilin exhaled sharply, placing her hands on her hips. "Master Daokan, would it kill you to be more specific?"

Daokan smirked—actually smirked—before turning away. Over his shoulder, he added, "You're resourceful. Figure it out."

She scowled, muttering under her breath. "One day, I'm going to return the favor and be just as petty when you need something."

Later that night, as she sat by the fire with her father, mother, Bao, and Jiang Wei, she brought up the encounter. "Did any of you see Master Daokan earlier?"

Lin Wuye glanced at her over his tea. "Master Daokan? No, why?"

Bao raised a brow. "The old man was here? When?"

Jiang Wei frowned. "I was at the training grounds all evening. If he were around, I would've noticed."

Her mother, ever calm, gave a small sigh. "Meilin, are you sure you weren't just tired?"

Layla blinked, processing their collective confusion. She repeated, more dumbfounded this time, "You're telling me none of you saw him? He was standing right there talking to me."

Silence.

Jiang Wei gave her a skeptical look. "Are you sure you didn't get hit in the head one too many times today?"

She groaned, rubbing her forehead "You know what? Forget it."

Shaking off the odd encounter, she turned her attention back to a more pressing matter. "Anyway, we need supplies before winter sets in. Where's the best place to get them?"

Bao stretched his arms, cracking his neck. "The main city, obviously. We've got traders there who deal in bulk. Metal, textiles, even livestock if you know the right people."

Jiang Wei nodded in agreement. "We also need proper building materials. The sect repairs are holding for now, but if we want to reinforce anything before the heavy snowfalls, we'll need stronger timber and stone."

Layla tapped her chin. "Alright. Looks like a supply trip is unavoidable."

Her mother, who had been quietly listening, finally spoke. "If you're going to the main city, there's something you should know."

Layla raised a brow. "What is it mother?"

Her mother sipped her tea before answering. "Daokan's original sect is in the main city."

Layla blinked. Then she blinked again. Slowly, her expression twisted into a mix of exasperation and realization. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

She sighed, dragging a hand down her face and have a visible vein on her forehead throbbing "So this old man gives me some vague 'find me' nonsense, and now I learn that he's been in the city this whole time? I swear, one day I'm going to track him down just to punch him in the face for being so dramatic."

The Journey to the Main City

The journey took several days, the winding mountain paths eventually giving way to well-trodden trade roads. Meilin sat in the carriage, watching as the dense forests of the sect's territory faded into sprawling farmlands, where laborers toiled in preparation for the coming winter. Occasionally, they passed small villages—some barely more than clusters of huts, others large enough to boast bustling marketplaces.

Seated across from her parents in a simple carriage, Layla listened to the rhythmic clatter of hooves against the dirt road. She couldn't help but recall how different things had once been. In her previous life, she had traveled in a gilded carriage, lined with the finest silks and cushioned seats befitting a queen. Servants would have tended to her every need, ensuring the journey was as effortless as possible. Now, the worn wooden frame beneath her creaked with every bump, and the chilled air seeped through the cracks. The further they traveled, the more the air changed—crisp mountain air fading into the thick, smoky scent of industry. Lin Wuye, noticing her quiet observation, spoke up. "Our sect is nestled deep in the mountains, away from the political strife of the empire. The main city, however, is its beating heart, chaotic but full of opportunity. It lies nearly a week's journey from our home."

Bao, sitting near the carriage driver, leaned back against the wooden frame. "It's overwhelming at first, but you get used to it. The city isn't just one massive cluster—it's divided into districts, each with its own purpose." The city loomed ahead, its towering stone walls standing as a reminder of the world beyond sect disputes.

As they passed through the final stretch before the city gates, the contrast became even more apparent. The roads were wider, flanked by merchant caravans, nobles in extravagant carriages, and farmers leading carts filled with produce. The walls of the main city loomed ahead, carved from dark stone and standing tall like an unyielding sentinel.

Layla inhaled deeply as they entered, immediately noticing the stark difference in air quality—dense with the scents of burning coal, roasted meats, and perfumed oils. She frowned slightly. Perfumed oils? Had that always been a thing, or was this something new? For a moment, she wondered if her invention from her past life that somehow carried into this world, or if it had always existed here. The chatter of merchants calling out their wares blended with the sounds of distant hammering and the clinking of coins exchanging hands. The sound of hammering metal, merchants advertising their wares, and the scent of roasted chestnuts mixed with the crisp air.

She turned to her father. "The perfumed oils—have they always been around, or is that something recent?"

Lin Wuye stroked his chin before answering. "Perfumed oils have existed long before the current emperor. However, their quality and purpose differ greatly depending on who uses them. The common folk use them for masking unpleasant odors, while the nobles have refined versions infused with rare herbs and flowers from distant lands."

Layla exhaled, nodding slightly, but a nagging thought crept into her mind. Perfumed oils existed long before the current emperor, but had they always been this widely used?

She had introduced the concept of perfumes in her past life—distilling scented oils, refining them into something more than just a cover for foul odors. Even as far as to advance revolutionise the scented industry but if that was the case, then why did Jinhai hadn't further advance upon her creation? Was this something entirely separate? Had he ignored it, or had the world simply evolved in ways she could no longer predict?

How much time had truly passed since her first death? Hours? Days? Months? Years?

Her breath quickened. She hadn't noticed it at first, but the thought burrowed into her mind like a parasite, clawing at her sense of reality. Her fingers clenched around the fabric of her sleeves as her heart pounded against her ribs.

Or even decades? Was this even the same world? It had to be since Jinhai himself was here.

But what if it wasn't? What if everything she had built, everything she had sacrificed, had simply been… rewritten? Her inventions, once groundbreaking, were now afterthoughts, diluted into the background of an empire that had long since moved past her contributions. Jinhai was different—because this world was different.

Her breaths grew more erratic, her chest tightening as the realization struck her like a crushing weight. The city around her blurred, voices melding into an incomprehensible hum. She wasn't here. She was somewhere else—adrift in a world that should have been hers, but wasn't.

She and Jinhai had been the closest thing to forming a union between two great kingdoms. He had known of her sanitation concepts, her push for fair treatment of women and children, her revolutionizing of the perfume industry—ideas that had once shaped an empire. But here? Here, none of it had come to pass. It made her sick to her stomach. If these things had never been introduced, then was this truly her world? Or just a warped reflection of it? 

A hand touched her shoulder—warm, grounding. "Meilin," her mother's voice was gentle, but firm. "Breathe."

She gasped, as if surfacing from deep waters, only now realizing how tightly she had wound herself. Her mother's grip remained steady, her expression unreadable, but concern flickered in her eyes. "You're trembling. What's wrong?"

Layla exhaled shakily, forcing herself to swallow the rising panic. "Nothing," she lied, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just… thinking."

Her mother didn't believe her, that much was clear, but she didn't press. Instead, she squeezed her shoulder once before releasing her. "One step at a time, Meilin. Whatever it is, you're not facing it alone."

She nodded, inhaling deeply, willing herself to believe it.

She force herself to suppressed the thought for now, refocusing on the bustling city around her.

Jiang Wei sitting beside Bao, stretching his arms after the long journey, pointed toward the various sections of the city. "You've got the noble district near the palace—high walls, lavish estates, and enough politics to make your head spin. Then there's the commoners' district, where most merchants and laborers live. The poor quarter is... well, exactly what it sounds like. You don't want to linger there."

Bao smirked. "Then there's the infamous red-light district, home to brothels and gambling dens. Emperor's district is off-limits unless you have high-standing connections."

The carriage came to a slow halt, the driver announcing their arrival. Layla exhaled and stepped out, paying the driver as Jiang Wei and Bao flanked her in a protective stance, their eyes scanning the bustling streets for potential threats. Her father and mother walked side by side, their expressions unreadable but firm.

The market was alive with activity, reminiscent of the vibrant night markets from centuries past. Lanterns hung from wooden stalls, casting a warm glow over vendors shouting out their wares—spices from the east, silks from distant lands, bundles of herbs promising miraculous cures. The scent of roasting meat and fried dough wafted through the air, mingling with the more unpleasant stench of unwashed bodies and livestock pens.

"Fresh fish! Straight from the river this morning!" a merchant bellowed.

"Jewelry fit for a noblewoman! Handcrafted with the finest jade!" another called out, shaking a necklace for emphasis.

Further ahead, a different kind of transaction took place. A group of shackled individuals stood on a wooden platform, their gazes vacant, their bodies frail. A well-dressed man waved his hands toward the highest bidder. "Strong backs, willing hands! A lifetime of service for the right price!" He laughed, counting a stack of coins as a hooded buyer stepped forward to inspect the goods.

Layla's stomach twisted. Slavery. She had abolished it in her past life, ensuring that no man, woman, or child would be bound in chains under her rule. But here, it thrived, just another aspect of how this world functioned.

Her mother, sensing her unease, placed a steadying hand on her arm. "This is how the big city works, Meilin," she said quietly. "We may not like it, but we can't change it."

Her father sighed, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "The empire is built on trade, power, and control. Money flows through every transaction, and those without it are left behind. This is reality."

Layla clenched her fists but said nothing. She had changed a kingdom before—perhaps, in time, she could change this one too.

A sudden shift in the auctioneer's voice caught her attention. "And now, for the crown jewel of tonight's sale!" His voice dripped with exaggerated enthusiasm as he gestured toward a fragile, young girl being dragged onto the platform. Her delicate frame was wrapped in tattered silk, her wide, hollow eyes devoid of hope.

"A rare beauty! Gentle, obedient, untouched! A treasure fit for any discerning master!" the seller declared, his grin wide and sickening. The crowd murmured in interest, a few men stepping forward, their gazes sharp with predatory hunger.

Layla felt her stomach churn. Every muscle in her body tensed, her vision narrowing as rage pulsed through her veins. Her intelligence, her carefully calculated mind—none of it mattered in that moment. Her body moved before she could think, her feet carrying her forward as she shoved her way through the crowd.

"Meilin!" her father's voice snapped behind her, but she barely heard it.

Jiang Wei caught her arm, his grip firm. "You can't do this! We'll handle it another way."

"No," she snarled, wrenching herself free. "Not this time."

She surged forward, ignoring the hands trying to restrain her, ignoring the stares turning in her direction. The auctioneer barely had time to react before Meilin was there, standing before the girl, placing herself between her and the leering buyers. The world had wronged this child, just as it had wronged so many before.

But not today. Not if Layla had anything to say about it.

The Merchant

Atlas adjusted the weight of a wooden crate beside him, shifting some of his goods into place. The scent of dried herbs and freshly cut wood filled the air around his small shop, a modest stall nestled between a blacksmith and a tea vendor. He wiped his hands on a cloth and turned to his companion, Meyu, who was carefully tallying their inventory.

"You know, we're running low on ironwood. That sells fast during winter," she murmured, her dark eyes flicking over the parchment in her hands.

Atlas grinned. "We're running low on a lot of things. But if we haggle well, we'll restock by the week's end."

Meyu scoffed, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Haggling? You mean swindling."

"It's only swindling if they realize," he shot back with a smirk.

She shook her head, a faint smile touching her lips. "Sometimes I wonder why I stick around."

Atlas glanced at her, his expression briefly serious. "Because I bought you fair and square, remember? And then, out of the kindness of my heart, I freed you. You're here because you want to be."

Meyu rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes, my noble saviour. You're still not getting a discount on your own merchandise."

Before Atlas could respond, movement near the square caught his attention.

At first, he thought nothing of it. Just another passerby, a young girl who couldn't look older than 16—if he were to be honest—looked rather fair. But then his sharp eyes caught sight of the two prominent figures chasing closely behind her. That was unusual. Nobles rarely mixed with common markets, and those who did never walked unguarded. The presence of these figures piqued his curiosity.

"Atlas?" Meyu's voice pulled him back, but he barely heard her. His gaze had already shifted toward the commotion ahead. The slave auction.

He had passed by it countless times before, never paying much mind. He wasn't a saint, he bought Meyu as a slave and the city's rules weren't his to change. But this time, something made his stomach turn. A child, barely clinging to life, being paraded on the auction block. This was too much even for him.

Meyu followed his line of sight and sighed. "You're thinking about doing something stupid again, aren't you?" Depends on your definition of stupid," Atlas muttered, already reaching for his pouch.

Her voice was softer this time, lacking its usual teasing edge. She crossed her arms, her fingers clenching at her sleeves as she followed his gaze. "Slavery is cruel, Atlas. I know that better than anyone. But this... this is more than just cruelty. This is depravity." Her voice shook slightly, her usually steady demeanour cracking. "When I was a slave, I saw what they did to children like her. The punishments, the conditioning, the so-called training—it's not about making them obedient. It's about breaking them completely. Turning them into something less than human. She exhaled sharply, her fists clenching. "And the ones who resist? They don't last long. They disappear. Or worse... they become examples." She becomes more somber and visible pain can be seen on her face, ''All the children I met died and the fact she survived is..."

Atlas turned to her, the sharpness in his usual wit dulled. He had known Meyu's past in fragments—never spoken outright, never elaborated upon. But he had seen the scars, the moments where her confidence flickered, the way she always scanned a crowd for potential threats. Now, those pieces came together with sickening clarity.

"Meyu..." he started, but she shook her head, eyes burning with something between anger and sorrow. "Don't. Just do what you have to do. But if you walk into that crowd, you'd better make damn sure you win."

His fingers grazed the weight of his coins.

He wasn't sure why he was doing this.

Atlas took a slow, measured step forward, weaving through the throng of merchants and spectators. The slave auction had already reached an alarming height—one gold coin. A fortune for most, the equivalent of a year's hard-earned wages. His brows furrowed. Atlas had money, far more than the average merchant, yet he lived a deliberately modest life to avoid drawing the attention of the higher-ups. Wealth meant influence, and influence meant trouble.

The auctioneer's voice boomed over the restless crowd. "One gold coin! Do I hear one and five silvers?"

Atlas grimaced. He had at most thirty gold coins to his name. He could afford to bid, but if the price soared too high, even he would struggle.

Just as he was preparing to raise his hand, a sudden scream cut through the market's noise.

"You sick bastards!" A female voice, raw with fury and grief.

Atlas turned sharply, his gaze locking onto a young woman—no older than sixteen—her face flushed with rage, tears brimming in her eyes. She struggled violently, thrashing against the grip of two men trying to restrain her. One, an older man with an air of quiet authority. The other, a sharp-eyed warrior who radiated the presence of a trained fighter.

"Let me go!" the girl—Meilin, if Atlas caught it right from the murmurs naming her from a sect—snarled. "How can you just stand there while this happens?!"

Her captors murmured hurried apologies, their expressions tense as they tried to subdue her without drawing too much attention.

Atlas tilted his head. He had assumed she was a noble, given the way she carried herself, but now… something didn't add up. Nobles turned a blind eye to these things. They didn't throw themselves into the fray like a commoner with nothing to lose.

Intrigued, Atlas stepped closer, keeping his gaze on the stage while his ears tuned in to the unfolding chaos behind him. If he was going to make his move, it had to be soon.

He raised his hand. "Two gold coins."

A hush fell over the crowd. The auctioneer's eyes gleamed with excitement. "Two gold coins! Now that's a serious bid! Do I hear two and five silvers?"

Before anyone could counter, a furious voice rang out. "You sick, depraved bastard!"

Atlas barely had time to react before Layla's rage-filled glare locked onto him. Her entire body trembled with fury, her tear-streaked face twisted in disgust. "You're just as bad as the rest of them! Buying and selling people like cattle!"

Jiang Wei moved swiftly, covering her mouth before she could draw even more attention. She thrashed in his grip, muffled curses still escaping as he lifted her with ease. Her father stepped forward, approaching Atlas with a stiff, composed expression. "I apologize for the outburst," he said, though the words felt hollow. His gaze lingered on Atlas with something close to disdain, as if he found the entire interaction distasteful. "She does not understand how things work here."

Atlas met his stare evenly, suppressing the urge to scoff. This man, whoever he was, had the air of someone who saw himself above others. The apology was nothing more than a polite formality, devoid of sincerity.

Still, Atlas said nothing. He simply nodded, his focus returning to the auction. If she thought she had seen the worst of life, she was mistaken. Because unlike her, he had no illusions about how the world worked.

The auctioneer slammed his gavel down. "Sold! To the gentleman for two gold coins!" The crowd murmured, some disappointed, others approving of the hefty price paid.

Atlas stepped forward as the child was pushed towards him. She was small—far too small for her age, her body frail and thin like brittle twigs. Hollow eyes stared out from a gaunt face, her skin marred by hidden bruises peeking from beneath the tattered silk draped over her shoulders. The sight of her made Atlas's stomach churn, and for a brief moment, he felt bile rise in his throat. He swallowed it back.

The girl, however, did not resist. Instead, a single thought echoed in her hollow mind: Whatever this master is going to do to me, it can't be worse than what I've already endured.

Atlas took her by the wrist gently, guiding her away from the stage as the crowd resumed their business. Eyes followed him, judging, whispering. He could feel their disgust, their curiosity, but he ignored them. He knew the truth—he wasn't like them. He wasn't taking her as property; he was saving her, just like he had saved Meyu.

He led her through the winding streets back to his shop. As they arrived, Meyu looked up from her work, her sharp gaze softening the moment she saw the child. Pity flickered across her face, but she forced a smile, crouching down to meet the girl's empty eyes. "Hey there, little one. You're safe now."

The child stared at Meyu, her thoughts dull but observant. She was... beautiful. Her skin smooth, her hair long and well-kept, her stance strong. She was tall too—so much taller than herself. An envious whisper formed in her mind, but she was too exhausted to hold onto it.

Atlas exhaled, rubbing his temples. "Meyu, I need you to help me find that girl—the one who lost her mind back at the auction."

Meyu arched a brow. "The noble-looking one? I remember her face. Shouldn't be too hard to track down."

And she was right. It wasn't long before they found Layla again. The tall authority figure was trying to calm her down and Atlas slowly walked in their direction with Meyu and the child.

When Atlas approached, Layla turned, her expression twisting into something venomous the moment she laid eyes on him. Hatred burned so intensely in her gaze that it sent a rare shiver down his spine.

The child, standing quietly by his side, felt nothing at all. Layla took a step forward, her voice dripping with pure malice. "What do you want now? Come to gloat about your purchase?" Her eyes burned with disgust, piercing through Atlas as if he were the lowest form of existence.

Atlas sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. His mind worked in rapid succession, analyzing every word, every movement, every possible reaction. Layla was sharp—just as sharp as he was. If he gave her a weak argument, she'd tear through it in an instant. He needed to be precise, logical, and, above all, undeniable.

"I didn't buy her to keep her. I bought her to free her," he said, carefully controlling his tone, making sure it was neither defensive nor pleading. Just fact.

Layla scoffed, folding her arms. "Right. And I'm supposed to believe that? Just like that?" Her voice rose, laced with venom. "You're no better than the rest of them! A man who sees people as commodities and pretends to have a conscience when it suits him! If you're such a do-gooder, why didn't you free everyone? Surely you can, but no—you choose to act only when it suits you. You pretend like you're some kind of hero, but in reality, you're just a fucking coward!"

Atlas didn't flinch. Instead, he absorbed her words, twisting them over in his mind like a puzzle. Layla's distrust wasn't baseless—it was built on experience, on the knowledge that men like him existed in droves. If he wanted to convince her, he had to give her something solid.

Meyu, who had been standing beside Atlas, stepped forward, her expression calm yet firm. "Atlas isn't like them," she said, lifting her arm to reveal the faded but still visible slave mark on her wrist. "I was a slave too. He bought me. And then he freed me."

Layla's eyes snapped to Meyu, and a new kind of fury overtook her features. "Then why are you still acting like one?!" she shouted, her voice trembling. "Why are you standing by his side, defending him?!"

Meyu held her gaze, unflinching, but this time, her voice softened. There was no anger in it—just a quiet understanding. "Because even when I was a slave, he never treated me as one," she said, her tone almost motherly. "He treated me as a friend. He never raised a hand against me, never locked me away. He burned my contract the day he bought me. He destroyed my chains with his own hands. The only reason I stayed was because I wanted to."

Atlas took note of Layla's slight hesitation. There. Doubt. It was a small crack in her otherwise ironclad stance, but it was enough. Now, he had to widen it.

"You want proof? Fine. You'll have it." His voice was smooth, deliberate. "I won't ask for your trust, Layla. But winter is coming, and if I am what you say I am, then you'll see it soon enough. Watch me. Watch everything I do. If by the end of winter, you still believe I'm a monster, then say it to my face."

Layla's jaw tightened, her mind warring with itself. Finally, she exhaled sharply. "Fine. I'll be watching. But don't expect me to trust a single word either of you say."

Atlas merely nodded, his mind already working on his next move. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

Before he could react further, a sudden impact struck the back of his head. Darkness swallowed his vision as he crumpled to the ground. Jiang stood over him, shaking out his hand as if knocking Atlas out had been nothing more than a chore.

Meyu gasped, stepping forward in alarm. "What are you doing!? He's a good man!"

Jiang swiftly restrained her, gripping her arms as she struggled. "We're taking him back," he said flatly.

Layla exhaled sharply, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she looked down at Atlas's unconscious form. "He wanted me to see what kind of man he is," she murmured, her voice eerily calm. "Then I'll see for myself—at the sect."

Nearby, the child stood frozen, her gaze darting between the arguing adults. Their raised voices, the tension in the air—it was all too familiar. The way they snapped at each other, the way one moment was quiet and the next erupted into chaos, it sent her spiraling into memories she wished had stayed buried.

Her parents had fought like this. Shouting, blaming, and in the end, selling her off as if she were nothing. The sound of their voices blended with the present, overlapping in her mind, distorting reality. Her breathing became shallow, her small hands trembling as her vision blurred.

A sudden wave of dizziness overtook her. The voices, the sounds, the memories crashed into her all at once, suffocating her. She swayed on her feet, her body unable to handle the surge of fear and exhaustion, and before she could utter a word, the world around her went dark.

Lin Wuye was the first to react, his sharp eyes catching the child just as she collapsed. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and scooped her into his arms. "We don't have time for this. I'm taking her to Master Daokan's sect."

Layla's gaze drifted to the frail body in her father's arms. The child's thin frame, the bruises barely hidden beneath tattered fabric, the way her limbs seemed too light, too weak—it sent a wave of nausea rolling through her. She had suffered too. She knew what it meant to be powerless, to be at the mercy of others who only saw her as something to be used. For a moment, her hands trembled at her sides, her breath uneven. The weight of old memories pressed against her chest.

She said nothing, only nodded in silent agreement. A gentle hand settled on her head—her mother's quiet reassurance. Layla barely reacted, still staring at the unconscious child as her father adjusted his grip and turned away.

Meanwhile, Meyu knelt beside Atlas, pressing two fingers to his temple. With a precise flow of Qi, she worked to stir him awake, muttering under her breath. "Come on, Atlas... you need to get up."