The rain stopped before dawn.
Mist clung to the Clear Stream Sect, softening its edges and dulling its sound. Stone paths gleamed wet and clean, as if the night had scrubbed away everything unpleasant. Incense burned early, thick and sweet, drifting through the courtyards in lazy spirals.
Zhou Wei carried water from the well, shoulders aching pleasantly with the familiar weight. Routine steadied him. It always had. He kept his head down, his pace even, and his awareness tight and controlled.
The sect felt restless.
An undercurrent of anticipation hummed beneath the calm, subtle but unmistakable. When Zhou Wei narrowed his focus, he found the source quickly.
Elder Zhang.
The man stood in the main courtyard, surrounded by disciples seated in neat rows. His voice carried easily, smooth and measured, shaped by decades of authority.
"Purity is not restraint alone," Zhang said. "It is discipline. Sacrifice. The willingness to deny oneself for the greater path."
Zhou Wei slowed at the edge of the crowd, careful not to draw attention. He set the bucket down and listened.
Zhang's emotions radiated outward, impossible for Zhou Wei to ignore now. Control lay at the center of them, heavy and practiced. Satisfaction curled beneath, smug and indulgent. And threaded through it all was desire, tightly leashed but very much alive.
The contrast made Zhou Wei's stomach turn.
Mei Lin knelt near the back of the assembly, hands folded in her lap. Her face was calm, composed. Only the faint tremor in her breathing betrayed her tension.
Zhou Wei felt her fear spike each time Zhang's gaze passed over her.
"Those who stray," Zhang continued, "invite corruption. They endanger not only themselves, but everyone around them."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the disciples.
Zhou Wei clenched his jaw.
He watched Zhang smile gently, watched him play the part so perfectly it would have fooled anyone who did not know what hid beneath. The warmth inside Zhou Wei stirred, not in hunger, but in quiet anger.
This was the danger of righteousness. Not cruelty alone, but cruelty justified.
The sermon ended with bows and murmured thanks. Disciples dispersed, returning to training halls and duties. Zhang lingered, exchanging a few quiet words with senior members before turning away.
His gaze landed on Mei Lin.
Zhou Wei felt the shift instantly. Her fear sharpened, threading with resignation. Zhang inclined his head slightly in her direction, a gesture so subtle no one else would have noticed.
A summons.
Mei Lin rose and followed him, steps measured, back straight. Zhou Wei waited until they disappeared into the inner corridors before moving again.
He did not rush.
Panic would not help her. Impulse would not help him. He finished his assigned tasks first, letting routine mask his intent. When he finally followed, he did so as he always had. Quietly. Unremarkable.
The corridor outside the meditation chambers was empty.
Zhou Wei paused, listening.
Inside one room, emotions churned violently. Fear pressed hard against fragile resolve. Confusion. Shame. Desire, unwanted and suffocating.
Mei Lin.
Zhou Wei leaned against the wall, forcing himself to breathe slowly. He did not reach out. He did not interfere. Not yet.
Minutes passed.
The door opened.
Mei Lin stepped out alone this time. Her expression was composed, her posture careful. She looked every bit the obedient servant.
Only Zhou Wei felt the truth beneath it.
Zhang's presence remained inside the chamber, irritation simmering where satisfaction should have been. He had been denied again.
Mei Lin walked toward Zhou Wei without looking at him, steps steady. As she passed, she spoke softly, eyes fixed ahead.
"He asked why I was avoiding him."
Zhou Wei fell into step beside her, just close enough to hear. "What did you say?"
"That I was ill."
Fear rippled through her again, quickly smothered by determination. Zhou Wei felt it and nodded once.
"That was enough," he said.
They turned down a narrow side passage, away from the main flow of servants. The air smelled damp and green, moss creeping along the stone.
Mei Lin stopped.
Her composure cracked. She pressed her hands to the wall, shoulders shaking as she fought for breath.
"I can't keep doing this," she whispered. "Every time he looks at me, I feel like I am already dirty. Like I am lying just by existing."
Zhou Wei said nothing.
He stood close enough that she could feel his presence, but he did not touch her. He let the silence hold her words without judgment.
"He talks about purity," she went on, voice raw now. "About sacrifice. But when he looks at me, all I feel is hunger."
Zhou Wei nodded slowly. "Because that is what it is."
She turned her head slightly, eyes red. "Then why does everyone listen to him?"
"Because it is easier," Zhou Wei replied. "It is easier to believe the lie than to face the truth beneath it."
Mei Lin laughed bitterly. "If that is righteousness, then what does that make me for wanting to escape it?"
Zhou Wei met her gaze then, fully.
"It makes you honest," he said.
The warmth inside him pulsed, slow and steady. Not demanding. Waiting.
Footsteps echoed faintly nearby. Voices approached. Zhou Wei stepped back, widening the distance between them just as a pair of inner disciples passed, barely sparing them a glance.
When the corridor cleared again, Mei Lin straightened.
"I don't want to be like him," she said quietly. "I don't want to become something ugly."
Zhou Wei considered her words carefully.
"Then do not become him," he said. "Choose something else."
Her breath caught.
"That is the problem," she said. "I don't know what that something else is."
Zhou Wei did not answer.
Because that answer could not be given. It had to be chosen.
As they parted ways, the mist began to thin, sunlight pushing through in pale shafts. The sect resumed its rhythm, sermons finished, discipline restored.
But the lie had cracked.
And through that crack, doubt seeped in.
Zhou Wei walked away, feeling the first true weight of the path settle onto his shoulders.
Hypocrisy had been revealed.
Now came the waiting.