The mask of the arrogant young master was surprisingly easy to wear, at least on the outside. Yun Yi stood on the wide, open terrace overlooking the Western Pavilion, a serene figure in flowing white robes. He took a slow sip of his spirit tea, projecting an aura of absolute command as he watched the frantic ballet of his retainers below. The Yun Manor was an anthill stirred by a giant stick. Maids darted like startled fireflies, guards jogged with a newfound urgency, and even the usually placid gardeners seemed to be moving with a desperate, self-preserving speed. All of them scrambling in terror at his whim.
Internally, however, his heart was hammering against his ribs, and he had to consciously still a tremor in the hand holding the teacup. It was all a lie, a desperate bluff, a performance for an audience of hundreds who had no idea their "Young Master" was barely holding himself together. But as he watched them, a strange, unfamiliar spark ignited deep within him. It was a dark thrill, a flicker of intoxicating power that felt dangerously good. He couldn't explain the sensation, but his mind immediately supplied a label for the unsettlingly good feeling: it was the Villain System, humming in quiet approval. It seemed a terrifying "Main Quest" was all it took to get his nascent "villainous" instincts churning.
Meanwhile, across the sprawling Yun Manor, the ripples of the Young Master's summons were felt most acutely by those closest to his inner circle.
In her quiet study, the summons, delivered by a breathless servant, did not even make Lin Xuan look up from the complex financial report she was meticulously auditing. She simply processed the words, her mind sorting them with cold, almost preternatural efficiency.
A full staff assembly? At night? Her lips thinned into a perfectly straight line, a rare sign of her internal processing. Unscheduled. Unprecedented. And almost certainly, illogical.
She dipped her brush in ink, making a small, precise annotation on the scroll, a record of this highly irregular demand. Hopefully, he isn't doing anything entirely illogical again. Diplomatic fallout is tedious.
In the main training yard, the news was met with a thunderous, joyous bellow that rattled the very spirit-stones in the ground. Lin Wuke, who had just finished demonstrating the finer points of a "disciplinary kick" on a punching dummy that now resembled abstract art, strode over to the nearest junior and slapped him happily on the back, nearly sending the boy sprawling.
"Listen up, Xiao Worm!" he boomed, his voice rumbling with terrifying glee. "The Little Boss is calling for us! Finally! My fists were starting to forget the exquisite thrill of a good brawl! It's time for some real action! Someone's about to get a proper beating!"
The summons reached Lin Ke in the quiet, dust-mote solitude of the manor's deepest archives. He listened to the breathless servant with an expression of polite, unreadable patience, then gave a single, slow nod. The boy dismissed, Lin Ke calmly placed a bookmark in the ancient ledger detailing the family's historical land disputes.
A full staff assembly. He'd seen the old City Lord call such gatherings to announce decade-long wars, and the Young Master call one because he'd merely thought the manor's name was boring. To Lin Ke, the reason was merely a variable in a complex equation. The work was the reality.
He let out a quiet sigh, the sound of dust settling on forgotten grudges, and began mentally planning the logistical nightmare of gathering everyone, estimating the inevitable property damage, and calculating the required spiritual qi expenditure for calming the resulting chaos.
In the warm, fragrant kitchens, Lin Yanyan was meticulously stirring a pot of bubbling, vibrant green Spirit-Nourishing Soup, ensuring the delicate balance of essences. When a junior cook skidded in with the news of a full staff summons, her hand, usually so steady, trembled so violently the spoon clattered loudly against the pot.
Her sweet face went utterly pale, her large eyes wide with a very specific, culinary kind of terror. Her mind was not on war or plots or magical disasters; it was on a far more terrifying kitchen catastrophe. "A full meeting?" she whispered, aghast. "Now? Does he expect a banquet? For three hundred? With no advance notice?"
The horrifying possibility of being asked to conjure a multi-course, spiritually infused feast out of thin air made her stomach clench with an intensity that rivaled any cultivation bottleneck, threatening to ruin her delicate palate for days.
Lin Caixia heard the news not from a mere servant's whisper, but from the sudden, grotesque symphony of panicked footfalls scuffing the polished elegance of the manor's halls. She meticulously, almost surgically, cracked open her workshop door, her gaze sweeping out like a horrified connoisseur observing a travesty.
Guards sprinted past in sweat-stained tunics. And worse, mismatched greaves. Maids, hair askew, looked like they'd dressed in the dark, committing unforgivable sartorial sins. A wave of pure, unadulterated revulsion washed over her, making her delicately manicured fingers clench. "A full staff assembly? Now?" she breathed, the very words tasting like ash in her mouth. Her eyes twitched, not with fear, but with an agonizing appraisal of the impending visual catastrophe.
The Western Pavilion, usually a place for quiet contemplation or small, refined gatherings, now became the eye of the manor's storm. Even before the last summons had been delivered, a heavy thudding echoed across the central courtyard. It was the synchronized, eager march of the "Beat You Up" Battalion. Two hundred strong, they were a moving wall of brute force, their faces alight with rough anticipation. Despite their sheer numbers, or perhaps because of Lin Wuke's terrifying efficiency, they were the first to arrive, filling the pavilion's grand hall with a palpable, restless energy. Behind them, though less eager, trudged the manor's regular guards, their armor glinting dully in the dim evening light, their expressions wary.
Following the boisterous arrival of the brawlers, a different kind of precision entered the pavilion. Lin Xuan appeared, her composure as flawless as ever, despite the unusual hour. She was trailed by a fifteen-year-old assistant, a junior scholar whose brows were furrowed in fierce concentration. The girl clutched an ancient, leather-bound notebook, her quill scratching furiously across its yellowed pages even as she navigated the crowded hall.
As Lin Xuan moved through the assembly, the noisy "Beat You Up" Battalion surprisingly quieted, a low murmur rippled through their ranks. "That's Advisor Lin," one bulky cultivator whispered, nudging his comrade. "Heard she once convinced the Young Master not to declare war on a mountain range, just because the Feng Shui was off.""No, you fool," another corrected, visibly straightening his posture. "She balanced his entire spiritual cultivation accounts and found the loophole that let him absorb half a rival sect's spirit veins without shedding a drop of blood. She's terrifyingly competent, and she'll make you feel stupid just by looking at you." Lin Xuan's presence, though quiet, seemed to exert a subtle, chilling order on the chaotic energy left by the battalion, as if her very aura demanded logical alignment, or at least a cessation of senseless yelling before she felt the need to make them logically stop.
Not one to be deterred by silence or subtle intimidation, Lin Wuke spotted her. His face lit up with the terrifying joy of a puppy greeting a particularly unamused cat. He waved both hands enthusiastically, a grin splitting his face. "Lady Logic! Over here! Good to see you! How's the thinking business? Found any more secret loopholes we can exploit with our fists?" He began elbowing his way through his men, clearly intending to launch into a one-sided conversation of epic proportions.
Lin Xuan offered the faintest, almost imperceptible nod in his direction, a barely acknowledged twitch of her chin that somehow conveyed more gravitas than a full bow. Lin Wuke, interpreting this as an invitation, continued, "How's the Inner Battalion, Lady Logic? Are they eating good? Do you need anything at all? His boisterous sincerity was as baffling as it was endearing.
It was at this moment that the three personal maids, Lin Xu, Lin Meimei, and Lin Ling, hurried into the pavilion. Their movements were swift and precise, a blur of white silk as they navigated the throng. They had just completed their frantic double-check, ensuring every single summoned staff member had received the Young Master's directive. Spotting Lin Xuan, they bowed deeply in unison, their expressions a mix of professional deference and lingering anxiety. With quiet professionalism, they positioned themselves a respectful distance behind Lin Xuan and Lin Wuke, becoming an almost invisible presence.
As the last of the staff squeezed into the Western Pavilion, a hush began to fall over the assembly. That's when several pairs of eyes drifted to the ancient jade-sandalwood tree standing solitary near the far wall. Lin Ke stood beneath it, a quiet, almost unnoticeable figure, as if he had simply materialized there. No one had seen him arrive.
Lin Xuan was the first to react. Her perfectly composed posture tightened, and she executed a deep, respectful bow in the direction of the tree. It was a gesture clearly aimed at Lin Ke. A ripple went through the ranks; the immediate, profound respect from Advisor Lin is contagious. Soon, the entire hall began to bow, starting with Lin Wuke, whose boisterous energy had just moments ago filled the training yard. He now bent his massive frame in sincere deference. Lin Ke merely offered a quiet, almost weary wave of his hand, a dismissive gesture that signaled their acknowledgment was received and that they should straighten up.
The last to make their way into the increasingly crowded Western Pavilion were Lin Caixia and Lin Yanyan, linked arm-in-arm, though it looked more like Lin Caixia was dragging her culinary counterpart. Lin Yanyan's sweet face was contorted in a rare frown, her free hand clutching at an emerald earring. "For the last time, Caixia," she hissed, her voice barely audible over the growing murmur of the crowd, "these jade green earrings were a personal gift! I am absolutely not replacing them with those gaudy blue oceanic pearls just to 'match my eyes' for a sudden, unexpected meeting!"
Lin Caixia, meanwhile, barely seemed to hear, her eyes already scanning the assembled staff with a look of mounting dread. "But the blue would shimmer! It would elevate the entire ensemble! The sheer clash of your greens with the current décor is simply unconscionable!" she constantly grumbled, pulling Lin Yanyan further into the hall. Her voice was a low, desperate whine that promised a lecture on harmonious color palettes once this unscheduled assembly was finally over.
However, the moment they stepped fully into the pavilion, Lin Caixia's entire demeanor shifted. Her eyes, moments ago wide with aesthetic horror, sharpened, assessing the room with a keen, almost predatory glint. As if taking a cue from this subtle transformation, Lin Yanyan detached herself, moving with practiced efficiency to stand near Lin Xuan and the other maids. Lin Caixia, on the other hand, strolled directly towards Lin Ke, a figure of serene confidence, as if she possessed absolutely no fear of the ancient veteran.
Lin Caixia stopped precisely two paces in front of him, her posture impeccable, her eyes narrowed not with challenge, but with the focused disdain of a grandmaster judging an unfinished embroidery. "Old man," she began, her voice a low, precise indictment that carried clearly through the stunned silence, "listen to me well: this boring black suit doesn't do justice to your aesthetic. In fact, it's a horror to the manor's very essence!"
In the background, a murmur rippled through the staff. "What is aesthetic?" someone whispered. "And why is it demanding justice from Butler Lin Ke?"
Lin Caixia snapped her head towards the source of the murmur, her eyes blazing with a fury far more potent than any cultivation sect's wrath. With a dramatic flourish, she began strolling toward Lin Xuan's group, her gaze sweeping around the pavilion like a furious, spinning loom. Her eyes, filled with utter disgust, meticulously judged every fiber of fabric she saw, each uninspired stitch, every mismatched hue.
Then, a shudder seized her as her mind conjured the monstrous image of Lin Wuke's "beat you up battalion." Barbarians utterly devoid of class, culture, or the slightest inkling of fashion. Her vision blurred. "The sheer ugliness of it all!" she whimpered, pressing a hand to her chest as if warding off a spiritual attack.
She was about to unleash a torrential, aesthetically charged ramble, but Lin Xuan subtly tugged Lin Yanyan's sleeve. As if it were a practiced cue, Yanyan stepped forward. With a sweet, almost angelic smile and an excited voice, she deftly popped a large, sugary candy into Lin Caixia's gaping mouth. "Oh, Elder Sister Caixia!" Yanyan exclaimed, her voice dripping with admiration. "Your robe! The shimmer of that silk is truly divine! And your jade jewelry, it catches the light in such a breathtaking way! You look simply magnificent, as always!"
A big, almost childish smile instantly blossomed on Lin Caixia's face, the large, sugary candy still visible in her cheek. She turned, clutching Lin Yanyan's hand with unexpected force, her eyes gleaming with utter delight. "Mmmph-mmph-royalf-thilk-ish-divine!" she mumbled enthusiastically, bits of candy threatening to escape as she tried to extol the virtues of royal silk while her mouth was still full.
A collective sigh of relief, thick and pervasive, instantly swept through the entire pavilion.
Not one to let a good thing go unappreciated, Lin Wuke seized the opportunity. He instantly distanced himself from the now-pacified but still-muttering "fashion beast." His eyes, usually eager for a brawl, now held the wide, wary look of someone who had just narrowly escaped a dangerous spirit beast. He backed away, slowly at first, then turned and subtly melted back into the ranks of his battalion, leaving Lin Yanyan to handle the after-effects of her sugar-coated diplomacy.