Atlas barely flinched as a warm cloth dabbed at his neck, absorbing the thin trail of blood trickling from where the needle had pierced skin. The servant tending to him moved with careful precision, as if afraid that one wrong move might set off something—him, Shen Xue, or perhaps the tense silence still weighing on the room.
But Atlas? He simply watched Shen Xue with a lopsided smirk, as if the moment had already passed, as if her attack had been nothing more than an amusing game to him. The sharp amusement in his gaze, however, didn't quite hide the depth of his scrutiny.
"I imagine this is the part where I apologize" he mused, tilting his head slightly to give the servant better access.
"Or maybe it's the part where I grovel for forgiveness? You seem the type to appreciate proper decorum. Maybe I should offer my hand or better my head just because I was right and you took offense to it"
Shen Xue remained still, arms crossed, gaze clearly annoyed. Atlas chuckled, low and knowing.
"But I won't. Because I'm not sorry."
Layla's eyes narrowed. She wasn't sure what irritated her more—the sheer audacity of his words or the undeniable truth buried beneath them. Atlas never did anything without reason, and she had no doubt he had one now. The room waited for him to elaborate, even Daokan watching with an expression carved from stone.
Atlas exhaled through his nose, his amusement tempering into something sharper, something edged with reality.
"I survive in this world because I see things for what they are. Because I don't walk into a room blind and hope for the best. That's how you die, and I rather enjoy living."
He let the words settle before continuing, voice softer now, but no less dangerous.
"You call me perceptive like it's a flaw. Like knowing the truth, finding the cracks, and pulling them apart is some kind of sin."
He met Shen Xue's gaze directly, unflinching.
"But that's how I stay alive. That's how I win. This world isn't kind—it's cruel, it's ruthless, and it will chew up anyone too blind to see the knife at their throat before it's too late."
Layla found herself gripping her arms tighter, nails digging into fabric. Because she couldn't deny it. She didn't want to agree with him, didn't want to acknowledge that his methods—his frustrating, insufferable, almost supernatural ability to dissect people in an instant—were necessary.
And yet, wasn't it the truth?
She had doubted him. When he made that deduction, she had refused to believe he could piece it together in seconds. She had thought;
No, it's not possible. But it was. And if I had been in his place, would I be able to do it?
No...
The answer chilled her more than anything.
Atlas had seen what no one else did. Not her, not Daokan, not Meyu. He had done it in mere moments, with nothing but instinct, wit, and sheer audacity.
And now, a horrifying thought took root in her mind—one she couldn't shake, no matter how much she wanted to.
If Atlas had been part of the Lotus Sect, if he had been at their side when they faced Shen Mu—the warlord who brought the sect to its knees—would he have been able to outmaneuver him? Would he have been able to predict every move, every possibility, dismantle his forces, and unravel him before he even realized he lost or dead even?
Would Atlas have been able to defeat Shen Mu without losing a single drop of blood?
Layla felt something uneasy settle in her chest. Because for the first time, she couldn't confidently answer no.
Master Daokan's voice broke the silence. "And what will you do with the child?"
Atlas glanced at him, tilting his head.
"What will I do? The same thing I'd do for any child. I'll care for her. Feed her. Give her a place where she isn't just another broken tool."
His smirk wavered, though his voice remained steady.
"I won't be teaching her Qi—not because I don't want to, but because I don't even know how. And frankly, it's too much of a headache."
He leaned back, his expression momentarily distant, as if recalling something long buried.
"They were powerless. Useless, by most accounts. But they were the slaves I freed and I never expected anything from them except to be themselves."
His gaze returned to Daokan, sharp yet honest.
"That's how I'll treat her. She's not a weapon, not an asset. She'll have her freedom, and if one day she decides she wants to leave to me, she'll walk away without chains."
Before anyone could respond, Lin Wuye cleared his throat.
"Perhaps we should focus on why the child is in such a state in the first place."
Master Daokan nodded, his expression with sadness.
"I went out earlier to see her with the physician. The child is malnourished, but worse—her body bears the scars of forced cultivation. She has over fifty bruises, some fresh, others layered over older wounds. Someone has been pushing her beyond her limits, draining her potential far too early. She wakes up in a panic, barely sleeps, and struggles to speak."
A heavy silence fell over the room. Atlas's jaw tightened, but his outward expression remained neutral.
But beneath his words, a storm brewed in his chest. Someone had done this to her. Someone had turned a child into a husk, covered in bruises—too many to count. Her arms, her back, her legs—each a road map of cruelty. And she flinched at the smallest movement. Not just pain. Fear. A fear ingrained deep, one that couldn't be erased overnight. Atlas smiled, but inside, his mind was already turning, already planning.
Someone had done this. And someone was going to pay.
"She deserves better." His voice was quieter now, but firm.
Daokan met his gaze. "Then it's settled."
Layla took a deep breath. "And what about the supplies for my sect? We need food, clothing, necessities. The situation is dire."
Daokan nodded. "The hardships you faced in the main city—I will handle it. By tomorrow, when you leave the sect, you and your people will receive more than adequate treatment from all the merchants. No more scorn, no more denial. I will see to it personally."
Layla studied him carefully before exhaling. "Good. That's a start."
Daokan then turned towards Layla. "And as for you, I have a proposal."
Layla crossed her arms. "I'm listening."
"Atlas will act as the Silver Lotus Sect's personal merchant. In return, you will have access to fair profits and protection under our name should Atlas failed at his role."
Layla grinned. "Oh?"
Before Atlas could open his mouth, Daokan smoothly turned to him.
"And you, Atlas, will ensure the smooth execution of this arrangement."
Atlas blinked. "Wait, hold on a second. I was going to negotiate my own—"
Daokan's smile was polite, almost pleasant.
"Ah, yes, about that. I assume you still want that audience with the Emperor? You remember, of course, your little... pleads at the gate earlier?"
Atlas stiffened, his mind flashing back to the embarrassing spectacle he had caused just hours before. He coughed, then immediately straightened, expression shifting into exaggerated enthusiasm.
"Master Daokan, my dearest, wisest, most generous master" Atlas beamed, clasping his hands together in exaggerated reverence.
"It would be the honour of my life to serve the esteemed Silver Lotus Sect. Why, it is practically my destiny to ensure the sect thrives through my impeccable business acumen! Truly, this is a blessing upon me!"
Layla stared. "That was fast."
Atlas sighed dramatically. "A man must know when he is in the presence of greatness. And who am I to argue with fate?"
He placed a hand on his chest, feigning sincerity.
"Consider me your most loyal servant, bound by duty, honor, and a totally not-forced contract."
Layla sighed. "Fine. But if he overcharges us, I swear—"
Atlas clapped his hands together. "Overcharge? Me? Perish the thought, dear Meilin! Why, I will ensure the finest deals, the most competitive prices—nay, I will bring prosperity the likes of which your sect has never seen! The name Atlas Ryland shall be sung in your halls for generations to come!"
Layla groaned, rubbing her temples. "This is going to be a nightmare."
Atlas winked. "Think of it as a learning opportunity."
Layla shot him a glare. "I'd rather think of it as torture."
Daokan ignored them both. "Then it's settled."
Atlas gave an exaggerated bow. "Your faith in me shall not be misplaced, O mighty Master Daokan. From this day forth, I dedicate my unparalleled skills to the Silver Lotus Sect. And if there's ever a moment where my brilliance falters—" he placed a dramatic hand over his heart, "—may the heavens strike me down where I stand."
Layla kicked his shin.
Atlas yelped, hopping on one foot. "Treachery! Betrayal! Meilin, you promised to kill me later, not cripple me now!"
Layla simply amused and said in the same tone as Atlas,
''This was for using my pathetic little shivering body as you said. I am nothing-nay-a fragile girl like you put it''
Daokan simply sighed. "Get to work."
At his command, a pair of servants quickly entered the room, one carrying a stack of parchment and a fine quill, while another unrolled an inkstone with practiced efficiency. The terms and conditions of Atlas's newfound servitude—ahem, partnership—were written down immediately.
Another wave of attendants followed, this time bearing additional platters of food, their warm aroma filling the chamber. Bowls of steamed rice, fragrant roasted duck, and fresh vegetables were set on the table, a gesture of hospitality to their guests. The tension that had once clouded the room slowly began to ease into something more manageable.
Meyu leaned against the wall, arms crossed as she observed the scene. "Well, this is an improvement," she muttered.
"At least no one is threatening to stab each other anymore. A marked success, really."
Layla, rubbing her hands, huffed. "It's only temporary."
Atlas, seated at the table, looked as though he were preparing for his own funeral. He picked up the quill and added minor details to the contract with all the enthusiasm of a man sentenced to death. Master Daokan read his minor details and simply allowed it. Atlas expresses his tragedy as he stared down at the contract.
"Oh, what cruel fate is this" he lamented.
"To bind a free spirit such as myself to parchment and ink! Is there no mercy in this world?"
"Sign it, Atlas" Daokan said dryly.
Atlas let out a long, exaggerated sigh and dramatically dipped the quill into the ink.
"If I must" he muttered, dragging out the moment as if each stroke of the quill drained his very soul. With a final flourish, he signed his name, then leaned back in his chair with an expression so deeply sorrowful one might have thought he had just signed away his firstborn child.
Meyu chuckled, shaking her head.
"I've never seen someone look so miserable about making money."
Atlas gave her a betrayed look. "It's not about the money, Meyu. It's about the principle."
He placed a dramatic hand over his heart. "I am a man of dignity, of freedom! And now? A mere merchant! A peddler of wares! I weep for the loss of my untamed spirit."
Layla snorted. "You were a merchant before this."
Atlas gasped. "Meilin, please. At least let me have my moment of grief."
Daokan, entirely unfazed, simply took the parchment and began reviewing it.
"With the support of Shrouded Peaks, this agreement will be reinforced, ensuring smooth trade routes and secured passage for our goods," he remarked, nodding in approval.
"It is done."
Atlas slumped against the table. "It is done" he echoed dramatically, staring forlornly at the ceiling.
"And thus, Atlas Ryland, once a noble free-roaming spirit, is now shackled to the ruthless world of commerce."
Meyu smirked. "I'm going to enjoy watching you suffer."