Every nerve in Li Wei's body was drawn tight. His hand gripped the handle of the tray he carried, the polished wood creaking faintly under the pressure.

  On the stage, Xiao Lan’s spear trembled against the assault of Zhao Feng’s lackey. The latter’s sword flashed again and again, raining down like a storm. Xiao Lan parried one, stumbled through the next, and barely avoided the third. His breathing was ragged, his stance loose. One misstep, and it would be over.

  The crowd cheered, applauding the battle. In some way, watching a fight between two very capable fighters can be boring. The fight could either drag on passively for several minutes or end in a flash. However, the sort of fight playing out now, between two fighters who had a clear discrepancy in strength, where one is clearly weaker yet barely holding on against the stronger... These got the heart thumping and made for an exciting watch!

  “Finish him!” someone shouted from the stands, though it was hard to tell if they were referring to Zhao Feng's lackey or Xiao Lan.

  “Don’t hold back!” another yelled, and laughter rippled through the arena like fire on dry grass.

  Li Wei’s tray shook slightly as he noticed the faint gleam of Xiao Lan’s blood staining the dueling platform. His chest felt tight, the familiar burn of helplessness coiling within him.

  He moved quietly between the tables, replacing teacups and pouring wine where needed. When he reached Patriarch Shigo Tianyu’s table, he noticed Su Qingyue’s cup was empty. He hesitated for half a heartbeat, then stepped forward and bowed slightly. “Honored guest,” he said, “your cup is empty. May I offer a refill?”

  Su Qingyue looked up, her expression composed, her eyes calm and cool. She shook her head lightly. “There’s no need,” she said. “I don't wish to trouble you.” Her tone was gentle yet final. To anyone else, it would have sounded like a polite refusal, but Li Wei felt the sting of disappointment more sharply than he expected. The request had been an excuse, a thinly veiled reason to step away, to leave the Upper Pavilion for a while.

  Still, he bowed. “Understood.”

  He turned to go, but her voice stopped him.

  “You seem restless,” Su Qingyue said, her gaze following the motion of his eyes.

  The words made his heart skip a beat. He forced a small smile. “Forgive me. It’s merely the noise of the crowd. It’s… overwhelming.”

  Her gaze flickered to the stage below, where Xiao Lan barely deflected another strike. “The one struggling,” she said after a moment, “Is he your friend?”

  The question landed like a stone in still water. Li Wei hesitated for the briefest moment, then gave a small nod. “Yes,” he said quietly. “We… grew up together.”

  Before Su Qingyue could respond, Guo Liang let out a loud laugh, startling the nearby servants. “Ah, that explains your expression,” he said, smirking. “Trash befriends trash, it seems fitting. Birds of a feather, as they say.” He leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table. “Tell me, servant, does watching him squirm remind you of your own failures? Or are you hoping he’ll at least last longer than you did when you still had your cultivation?”

  Li Wei’s hands tightened around the tray, but he bowed his head deeper to hide the flicker in his eyes. “I only serve the guests,” he said evenly. “My friend’s battle speaks for himself.”

  Guo Liang snorted. “Speaks? It screams of weakness, more like.”

  Li Wei kept his eyes lowered. “My friend… is doing his best.”

  Guo Liang chuckled. “Doing his best? His best is pathetic. Look at him—barely standing! A weakling like that deserves the dirt, not sympathy.”

  “Senior Brother,” Su Qingyue said. Her voice was not loud, yet it carried enough weight to halt Guo Liang mid-smirk. She didn’t look at him when she spoke. Her gaze had returned to the stage, where Xiao Lan had just barely blocked another sword strike, the edge of the blade grazing his shoulder. “Even the weak can fight bravely,” she added softly. “Your words are harsh.”

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  Guo Liang shrugged. “Truth is often harsh.”

  “Perhaps,” she replied, “but that does not make cruelty a virtue.”

  Guo Liang frowned but said nothing. Patriarch Shigo Tianyu’s silence beside them was warning enough. The elder’s eyes had not shifted from the arena, but the stillness of his expression made Guo Liang swallow his retort. Even though I'm master's first disciple, master dotes on junior sister a lot, almost like a father. Guo Liang supressed a sigh.

  Shortly after Patriarch Shigo Tianyu joined the Heavenly Sword Pavilion a decade back, he found an orphan boy in a mortal village whom he saw potential in. He took the boy as a disciple and brought him back to the Pavilion to train him. That boy was Guo Liang.

  Years later, the patriarch stumbled into a girl in the wilderness whom he also saw potential in. He brought her back to the sect and trained her. That girl was Su Qingyue. The patriarch had always shown some favoritism toward the latter. While Guo Liang would get harshly scolded for making a mistake in his cultivation, his junior sister would get a pat on the head and get told to try harder. For a while, Guo Liang was envious. But as him and Su Qingyue interacted more and adventured together beyond the Pavilion, that envy transformed into affection, and that affection transformed into obsession. Oh, junior sister, he thought. One day... I will make you the happiest woman in the world.

  Beside him, Su Qingyue exhaled quietly, oblivious to his thoughts. The crowd roared again as Xiao Lan staggered backward under a vicious strike, barely holding his ground. Dust swirled around him in the light.

  Li Wei bowed again and stepped back, his heart pounding. He could not stay here much longer. Every passing second was agony as Xiao Lan faltered below. He needed to move, needed to act. But how? Leaving his post during the trials was forbidden. Servants caught abandoning their duties would be punished severely. Yet watching Xiao Lan’s humiliation and crippling wasn’t an option.

  He still remembered the pain of that day three years ago; Zhao Feng’s sneer and cold laughter, the burning agony that tore through his body as his cultivation shattered on a similar stage.

  And now... it was happening again... to his best friend.

  The stage below blurred for a moment as Xiao Lan stumbled to his knees, the lackey’s sword grazing his shoulder. The crowd erupted in jeers.

  Li Wei’s jaw clenched. His eyes darted toward the exit at the side of the pavilion. It was a long corridor that curved toward the servants’ quarters, a path that would lead him behind the main arena. If he could slip away for even a few minutes…

  As Li Wei’s mind churned, he barely noticed Su Qingyue’s eyes flick toward him again, calm but measuring.

  For several long moments, she said nothing. Then, almost idly, she picked up her empty cup and turned it in her hand, watching the way the sunlight caught the rim.

  “Servant.” Her voice broke into his thoughts, calm and clear.

  He snapped back to the present, bowing again. “Yes, Lady Su?”

  She studied him for a moment, her eyes unreadable. Then she tilted her head slightly, as though in thought. “Tell me,” she said lightly, “does your sect have a beverage called Moonlight Dew Nectar?”

  Li Wei blinked. “Moonlight… Dew Nectar?”

  “It’s a rare delicacy,” she explained, her tone casual, “a drink distilled from moonlit dew collected atop spirit flowers under a full moon. My sect’s archives mentioned the Azure Cloud Sect once served it at a festival long ago.”

  Guo Liang looked up, intrigued. “Moonlight Dew Nectar? That’s practically extinct. Not even royal courts have that anymore.”

  Su Qingyue smiled faintly. “Which is precisely why I’m curious if this sect still remembers the recipe.”

  Li Wei hesitated. “I… am not sure, honored guest. I have never heard of it being served here.”

  Her gaze softened, and a faint knowing glint flickered in her eyes. “Then, perhaps, you could check for me. It may take time to find—don’t worry, I can wait.”

  Li Wei stared at her for a moment. Her tone was calm, polite, even indifferent to an outside ear. But the weight of her words settled in his chest like a silent permission.

  He bowed deeply, his voice steady. “Yes, Lady Su. I will inquire at once.”

  She inclined her head slightly. “Take all the time you need…”

  Patriarch Shigo Tianyu did not speak, but his eyes slid briefly toward Su Qingyue, a faint spark of amusement hidden behind his impassive mask.

  Guo Liang muttered something about “pointless whims,” but Su Qingyue ignored him.

  Li Wei turned sharply and left, tray still in hand. As he descended the pavilion stairs, his pace quickened, each step carrying him further from the murmurs of the guests.

  When he reached the corridor, he broke into a run, his heart pounding against his ribs. The noise of the crowd faded behind him, replaced by the muted echoes of his footsteps against stone.

  He no longer cared about appearances. He threw the tray into a corner and slipped through the side passage that led down to the servant’s staging area behind the main arena. The air there was cooler, dimmer, carrying the scent of dust and old incense. He could hear faint shouts from the arena above—Xiao Lan’s name, followed by the clash of weapons.

  “Hold on, Xiao Lan,” he muttered under his breath. “Just a little longer.”

  He moved quickly through the narrow hallways until he found the back entrance to the stage.

  As he ran, Su Qingyue’s calm eyes flashed through his mind, her gentle voice saying, Take all the time you need.

  She knew. Somehow, she had seen through him, or at least enough to understand that he needed to go.

  He slipped off the servant’s robe as he ran, revealing the plain dark tunic he wore underneath. From beneath it, he drew out the mask—the Angry Buddha—and tied it across his face.

  After nearly a month, the Masked Disciple was reborn once more.