Elder Zhu's ki flared sharper. "You would shelter this boy because he fetches your interests? Because you fancy his strange talent? Ping, the pillar of a sect is obedience."
"The pillar of a sect," Elder Ping murmured, finally turning his head, "is law that outlives tempers."
He walked past Elder Zhu without haste and stood at Mo Han's side, the difference in their heights turning his presence into a stubborn root rather than a wall. He peered up at Mo Han's face, lines at the corners of his eyes easing a fraction.
"You would leave," Elder Ping said, almost conversational.
"Yes," Mo Han answered. He did not bow, and Ping did not ask him to.
"And where would your feet go, boy? Do you have any sect in mind?"
Mo Han held the elder's gaze. "To a place that can bear the weight of what I am."
A long pause. The courtyard seemed to hold its breath.
Elder Zhu hissed, "Ping—"
