Chapter Thirty-One: You Must Learn to Be Grateful

October 18th, early morning.

The sky outside the window was shrouded in a hazy gray, as if veiled by a layer of gauze. In the distance, faint traces of light hovered on the horizon, unable to pierce the heavy clouds.

Tia awoke, her shoulder-length golden hair tumbling carelessly over her shoulders. She threw back the velvet quilt, stepping barefoot onto the plush carpet, her toes sinking into its soft fibers. Crossing the room, she let her slender fingers glide over a row of clothes in the wardrobe, finally pausing on a white long-sleeved T-shirt.

Her pale lavender nightdress slipped from her body, revealing skin as fair as alabaster. She pulled the T-shirt over her head, the purple beneath faintly visible through the thin white fabric. White cloth was always this way—any color of undergarment would show through, especially for a woman with her figure. But such details did not concern her. She bent to pull on pale lavender panties, the fabric hugging her skin and tracing the flawless line of her waist and hips.

Next came a pair of white wide-legged trousers, then a sky-blue feathered cloak thrown lightly over her shoulders. She didn’t fasten the cloak; it swayed gently with her movements, accentuating the curves of her chest. Gathering her golden hair into a neat ponytail, she strode toward the door.

In the hallway, an elderly man in a tailcoat had been waiting for some time. His back was straight, silver-white hair perfectly groomed. “Good morning, Miss,” he said.

Roland bowed slightly. “There’s someone in the parlor who wishes to see you.”

“Who is it?” Tia paused, a faint crease forming between her brows.

“He claims to be involved in some of the master’s business affairs.” Roland’s tone was calm.

Tia was thoughtful. She knew perfectly well how Joson had died. It was the exposure of those shady dealings by the Baiyu Court that had brought about his demise. Without betraying any emotion, she walked toward the parlor.

The gilded, resplendent parlor held a young man with short hair, sitting uneasily on the sofa. The moment he saw Tia enter, he sprang to his feet like a nervous schoolboy before his headmistress. “Good morning, Miss.”

She glanced at him, then walked to an armchair and sat gracefully, crossing her legs. “I don’t recall seeing you at the funeral.”

“My name is Wang Wu, Miss,” he replied, wiping sweat from his brow. “I was always handling certain... human trafficking operations for Mr. Joson, so it wasn’t appropriate for me to show up in person.”

Tia’s fingers tapped lightly on the armrest, waiting for him to continue.

“I’ve come unannounced because there’s a matter that only you can resolve.” Wang Wu swallowed hard. “Our partner, the Li family, was taken by the Embroidered Guards last night. They have deep ties to us—if they can’t withstand interrogation…”

Tia’s gaze sharpened instantly. She turned to Roland. “Call the Six Gates and tell them I have a criminal here for them to arrest.”

Wang Wu’s face drained of color, sweat beading on his forehead. “Miss, I’m telling the truth!” His voice rose in desperation. “Everything I earned from those businesses went straight to Mr. Joson! He ordered me to do it!”

Tia sat with her hands resting on her knees, her voice as light as a feather. “He’s already dead. I can return all the illicit funds to the Six Gates.”

Were it not for Baiyu Court, she would have gladly accepted all of Joson’s legacy, no matter how tainted. Bloodstained wealth and underhanded deals meant nothing to her. Conventional morals were but chains binding ordinary people. But Baiyu Court’s existence forced her to make a choice. Until she destroyed Baiyu Court, she had to sever all ties with these dark legacies. She dared not cross the lines Baiyu Court had drawn.

“Miss!” Wang Wu tried to protest further.

“Silence!” Roland snapped, his aged voice echoing through the vast parlor. He stepped forward, silver hair glinting coldly in the light. “After all the years of wealth and privilege Mr. Joson gave you, not only did you fail to pay your respects, you didn’t even offer a word of thanks. And you come here without so much as a proper suit, wearing casual clothes—you show no respect for the late Mr. Joson, nor for the young lady of the house.”

Wang Wu was stunned, lips trembling, but no words came. He had done Joson’s dirty work, and most of the money had filled Joson’s pockets. Now, in trouble, not only did the young miss refuse to help, she was turning him in—and yet he was to be grateful? Even a dog would not be so humiliated.

His face flushed crimson.

“In this world,” Tia said softly, “all we seek is peace of mind. Prominence, wealth, power over others—everything is in pursuit of that peace.”

She stood, the sky-blue cloak swaying softly behind her. “You spent last night in fear and dread. Now I’ve freed you from that terror, giving you the certainty of imprisonment. Shouldn’t you be grateful?”

Wang Wu felt as if a venomous serpent had fixed its gaze upon him. His body trembled, and all resentment melted away. Face ashen, he stammered, “O-of course, Miss, I am deeply grateful and hold you in the highest respect.”

A flash of satisfaction crossed Tia’s heart, quickly suppressed. She ignored Wang Wu, took out her phone, and messaged Liu Shuangling: “Senior Sister, something’s come up—I can’t go to Qingyun Sect. Could you come over and pick up the groceries?”

Roland also called the Six Gates to report the situation.

Wang Wu stood awkwardly, as if forgotten, while Roland hung up. In that instant, a tall figure appeared in the hall.

Roland instinctively assumed a defensive stance.

Tia waved a hand gently. “No need to be alarmed. She’s one of us. Senior Sister, please explain to the Sect Leader—say that the criminal elements Joson once controlled came seeking shelter, and I’m handing them over to the Six Gates.”

“Very well.” Liu Shuangling’s eyes flashed with approval. So long as Baiyu Court lived, it was best not to get involved with the criminal underworld. Even when she went out at night in a black cloak to conceal her spiritual pressure and identity, she only used villains as experiments to test methods for rapid spiritual growth. The goal was to ensure that, if ever discovered, it would not arouse Baiyu Court’s killing intent.

When the weak challenge the strong, they must always be vigilant—never overstep the lines drawn by those in power before having the strength to defy them.

…

Qingyun Sect.

Morning light filtered through carved wooden windows, casting dappled shadows across the rosewood dining table. At the head of the table sat Baiyu Court, a bowl of steaming wontons before him. Each wonton was plump and round, its wrapper thin as cicada’s wings, the rich fillings—shrimp, beef, and more—faintly visible inside.

He picked up a wonton; the broth slid from the wrapper, creating ripples in the bowl. Suddenly, Liu Shuangling spoke. “Master, I’d like to participate in the Talented Scripture Showcase and help spread the fame of our Qingyun Sect.”

Baiyu Court paused, the wonton suspended in midair. “What’s that?”

He rarely paid attention to short video platforms, and variety shows were utterly foreign to him.

Liu Shuangling, seated at his left, explained, “It’s an online variety show sponsored by Shanghai TV, selecting eight young Spiritualists to compete and demonstrate their mastery of scriptures. They’re on their sixth season now.”

She took out her phone, slender fingers tapping the screen. “Their viewership is quite good,” she said, showing him a replay of last season. “There are 230,000 likes and over two thousand comments.”

Baiyu Court glanced at the screen, which showed a young Spiritualist writing scripture, the video overlaid with a flurry of live comments.

He popped the wonton into his mouth, savoring the broth as it burst across his tongue. Liu Shuangling hadn’t lied, but he sensed there was more to her purpose than merely promoting Qingyun Sect. It didn’t matter; he nodded. “Very well. Go ahead and participate.”