BANG!
The marble table trembled under the force of Elder Huo's fist. Scrolls rolled off the edge, tea sloshed out of cups, and half the council jolted as if lightning had struck.
"This is BARBARIC!" he roared, his long, greying beard quivering with rage. "Are we not the revered council of the Thousand Lotus Sect? Have we truly fallen so low that we now squabble like children in a village market?!"
The ancient meeting hall, once a place of scholarly wisdom and deep contemplation, now echoed with the sounds of discord and bickering. Once-honored elders were now flinging words like daggers, each insult sharper than the last.
"The Sect Meeting of the Five Great Pillars is next week!" Huo continued, pointing a trembling finger around the room. "And instead of preparing for the most important summit in a decade, we're arguing over who gets to go like it's a festival invitation!"
"Oh, please," Elder Ren scoffed, flicking his fan open with an exaggerated snap. "You say that as though you didn't light Elder Ming's robes on fire last month."
"That was ritual purification!" Huo snapped back. "He insulted the sacred flame technique!"
Ren rolled his eyes. "He sneezed while you were chanting."
"You dare diminish the fire spirit's wrath to a sneeze?!"
And just like that, the room descended into chaos again.
Voices overlapped like crashing waves. "We must send our most esteemed!" — "You? You haven't left the sect grounds in twenty years!" — "I'll represent us!" — "Your sword arm shakes more than your tea hand!"
An elder from the northern side began pounding his staff against the floor in rhythm to his argument. Another started quoting ancient proverbs with increasing volume while slapping someone with a folded scroll.
It was a verbal battlefield, and the casualties were pride, logic, and tableware.
At the far end of the hall, Elder Bo sat in a meditative pose, sipping his tea, eyes distant as if transcending this mortal plane. Beside him, Elder Yuan noisily gnawed on candied pork ribs, entirely unconcerned with the shouting.
"Honestly," Yuan muttered around a mouthful, "they've been at this for an hour. They'll tire out soon."
Thunk!
A rogue bowl of dumplings struck Elder Yuan squarely in the forehead, splashing sauce onto his robes.
There was a pause.
Elder Yuan slowly turned to the center of the room, his mouth full, his eyes twitching.
"…WHO THREW THAT?!" he bellowed, slamming down his drink so hard the rim cracked.
The argument halted just long enough for everyone to glance at the dumpling bowl.
"Serves you right!" someone shouted. "This is serious!"
"Oh, serious? Like flinging soup is serious?" Yuan stood, still gripping a rib like a weapon. "You ruined my lunch!"
"You're always eating!"
"And you're always talking!"
"Sect Leader gave us this duty because he trusted us to make the best decision!" someone shouted.
Elder Huo scoffed and gestured around at the mess. "And this is what trust looks like?! It's a miracle the heavens haven't smitten us yet!"
Yuan groaned and sank back into his chair, flicking a sauce-stained napkin aside. "We're supposed to be the greatest sect council in the world. But here we are… fighting for a spot like children lining up for sweets."
Somewhere close, but unseen...
"How is this so difficult? Just pick someone and move on."
The voice echoed not through the hall but within a mind—dry, sarcastic, and increasingly concerned.
"You'd think this was a matter of life and death. Or free pork buns."
It belonged to none other than Aithur Zian.
The Sect Leader. Master of the Nine Peaks. Supposedly.
"This is exactly why I didn't choose. I knew they'd turn it into a spectacle."
He had been lurking just outside the chamber, hidden behind one of the tall pillars lining the corridor, listening to every outburst and utensil-impact.
"They're all so eager to go, yet no one wants to just let go. If I had made the decision, they'd whine about favoritism. If I don't, they do this."
He sighed internally.
"I should have stayed on that mountain. There were birds. Peace. A rock that looked like a goose. It was paradise."
Back in the hall, the elders had now descended into speculative warfare, arguing not only who should go but how many honor guards, what formation they should travel in, and even what color robes best represented the sect.
"I say golden thread on black silk!"
"You look like a funeral banner in that!"
"A sect's dignity is in its image!"
"No, it's in its wisdom!"
"Then we are already lost!"
SLAM.
Another wave of silence washed over the room as a hand was raised—calm, wrinkled, and commanding.
Elder Mo.
He was the eldest among them, rumored to be over two hundred years old and still sharp enough to cut through the noise with a glance.
"This is pointless," he said softly.
The hall fell still.
"We are wasting our time. Our energy. Our breath. We were chosen to be guides, not gossips."
Some looked abashed. Some simply nodded.
Mo turned his gaze to the towering doors at the front of the chamber. His eyes gleamed knowingly.
"It is clear we cannot resolve this ourselves," he said. "Which is why I believe... the decision must fall to the Sect Leader."
"Don't say it. Don't you say it."
Mo smiled.
"And we should welcome him… as he returns from his mountain journey."
"WHY?!"
As if the heavens timed it for dramatic flair, the great doors groaned open.
A servant, looking far too cheerful, stepped in and announced with booming formality:
"Presenting the return of Sect Leader Aithur Zian, Heir of the Eternal Lotus, Guardian of Nine Peaks, Whisperer of Dragons, Holder of—"
"That's enough," came a tired voice.
Aithur stood there in the doorway, hair tousled, robe half-dusted with pine needles. His boots were still muddy from the mountainside. He looked less like a legendary leader and more like a man who had fought a squirrel over trail food.
But to the elders, he was a beacon.
They all stood at once.
"Sect Leader!"
"Welcome back, my lord!"
"You honor us!"
"No, you doom me."
Aithur forced a polite nod, stepping forward as a wave of enthusiastic elders surged toward him.
"What great sin did I commit in a past life to earn this?" he wondered, as his name was chanted with renewed vigor.
"I just wanted to go fishing."