The morning the invitation arrived, Li Wei woke with a taste of iron and jasmine in his mouth—the lingering artifact of late-night herb tea and Mei Ling's shy warmth. The title the system had awarded him—Junior Pervert—was ridiculous and oddly useful, but it fit on a list like a mischievous talisman; it was the kind of thing a man could hide in his pockets and pull out when he needed to make a point. He dressed, practiced a few quiet breathing cycles, and walked toward the training yard feeling like a rumor about to become real.
Master Han was waiting by the eastern gate, an unreadable silhouette against the pale sky. He drew Li Wei aside without show. "You have visitors—one private," he said, voice flat. "Do not engage in foolishness. If you behave, you may be shown an opportunity. If you fail—" His meaning was plain and uncomforting.
Li Wei bowed. "I understand, Master."
The blue orb—his private, blinking companion—pinned a new notice into his vision.
[NOTICE]
Host: Li Wei
New: Preliminary Invitation to Sect Inner Circle—Conditional.
Requirement: Complete three discreet tasks issued by envoy; maintain secrecy and secure at least two willing partners for sanctioned dual cultivation demonstrations.
Reward: Increased renown; potential sighting by Inner Sect members.
Warning: Failure risks public censure and revocation of paired practice privileges.
Li Wei's pulse performed a small, ecstatic staccato. An invitation, even a conditional one, was a ladder rung. Inner Circle attention meant not only power but access—access to stronger masters, to advanced techniques, and to the kinds of women few outer disciples ever saw. More importantly, it meant leverage. He would have to be clever.
The envoy arrived at dusk, a figure like a white shark among lanternlight—hooded robe, gait soft. They did not reveal their face. The envoy's voice was a paper cut: precise, dry, efficient.
"You are Li Wei of the Outer Disciples."
"Yes." Li Wei bowed, politesse sharpened by anticipation.
"You have been noticed. Three tasks will be assigned over the next fortnight. Complete them discreetly. Succeed and you will be invited to the preliminary round of the sect's inner-circle evaluation. Fail, and the evaluation will not include you."
The first task was handed in the form of a small jade talisman and three short instructions written on fragile rice paper:
1. Retrieve a lost alchemical vial from the Abandoned Greenhouse—no witnesses.
2. Recover the symbolism fan of Senior Disciple Yun Shuang—currently missing—without her learning who returned it.
3. Obtain a private word of recommendation from a junior inner disciple—convince them, in private, that you are worthy of being observed.
Simple on paper. Practical difficulty: the greenhouse was rumored to hold leftover spirit beasts and a no-go for casual outer disciples; Yun Shuang's fan had been taken by a petty prankster who hid it within the south barracks; and junior inner disciples did not owe favors to outer scum.
The envoy's final words came soft as a scythe. "You will also be observed for demeanor. Do not fail because of shameful conduct. We are willing to see curiosity—never lunacy."
Li Wei tucked the talisman into his robe and walked out into the night. The orb hummed quietly, like a companion lymph in his ear. This was a step. It would change his life if he used it well.
The Abandoned Greenhouse sat beyond the herb garden, a glass and timber skeleton half-swallowed by vines and lichen. It smelled of old earth and fermenting nectar, a sweet rot that made the nose itch if one listened too long. An outer wall had caved in, leaving a jagged mouth into a world of overripe orchids and the quiet rustle of something that might be a small spirit beast.
Li Wei did not go alone. Mei Ling insisted on accompanying him, citing concern and the argument that two people could work discreetly without suspicion. He agreed. For one, he liked her presence; for two, the system liked consent.
They slipped through the broken wall like lovers sneaking into a forbidden garden. Shadows pooled; leaves brushed like whispered hands. The greenhouse was a ruin of ancient pots and sagging metal. As they moved deeper, a faint chittering grew—small, knotted like laughter. Li Wei crouched and peered: a cluster of Spirit Moths—luminous, the size of a man's palm—flitted near a glass case where the vial sat, nestling in a bed of dust and violet petals.
Spirit Moths were not vicious so much as curious; they would nibble at an unsuspecting hand and leave one delicate toxin that would make the unlucky dreamy for a day. He had to be careful.
He could have used the Heavenly Groping Hand to create a cushion and grab the vial, but the orb blinked with a subtler suggestion: Use charm—coax the moths away without violence. The system favored ingenuity. Li Wei swallowed his urge to be loud and instead took a breath like a musician before a solo. He hummed a soft, absurd tune—the sort of silly lullaby plucked from his childhood—and, to his own surprise, the moths seemed to answer. They drifted, curious. Mei Ling, wide-eyed, clapped softly as the vial became reachable. He picked it up, heart racing—not from danger but from the thrill of executing something quiet and clever.
The orb rewarded them after they left the greenhouse unharmed.
[TASK 1 COMPLETE]
Reward: +120 Qi; small increase in envoy's favor.
They returned the vial to the envoy without a word and waited for the next sign. The talisman burned faintly in Li Wei's palm.
Recovering Yun Shuang's fan proved to be a more mundane affair, but one ripe for theater. The fan had been pinched in a prank and hidden inside the south barracks' communal laundry basket by a marauding junior who enjoyed petty theft. Finding it required bribing a slightly cowardly laundry boy with a couple of silver coins and a compliment in the right ear. Li Wei did the compliment part like a practiced actor—simple words, accented with sincerity—and received the fan in a sweep of grateful hands.
Returning it anonymously felt almost sacred. Yun Shuang, who had once scowled at him when he first arrived, now found the fan tucked under her training mat; when she discovered it, her face softened into a private, confiding smile. Li Wei watched from a distance, chest sticky with a strange happiness. The orb gave him a minor reward as if pleased with his discretion.
[TASK 2 COMPLETE]
Reward: +90 Qi; minor renown among outer disciples.
The third task demanded more edge: speak privately to a junior inner disciple and win their favor. Li Wei thought of many strategies—bribery, blackmail, brash displays—but chose a different path. He remembered something the envoy said about demeanor. He recalled Master Han's words about humility and craft. He would approach with honesty.
The junior inner disciple was a young woman named Hua Lin—petite, eyes like wet ink, and the kind of expression that made readjustments of posture seem like acts of ritual humility. She practiced in the inner veranda near the alchemy hall where the air hummed with refined Qi. Li Wei found her alone, adjusting a small set of jade weights as if they were pieces of a private arithmetic.
He walked in, bowed, and offered the truth: he was an outer disciple trying to climb rather than cheat. He admitted his system's oddities and promised discretion. He didn't plead; he told a clear, concise case for why observation could be useful for the sect—why a man who could convert desire into power might be an asset if his daring could be guided.
Hua Lin listened like water receives rain. At the end, she did something Li Wei had not expected: she smiled, small and almost kind. "Curiosity is not a crime," she said. "But neither is foolishness a virtue. If you are serious about cultivating technique, I will give you a word. But you must prove discipline—two weeks of morning drills with me."
He accepted immediately. The envoy's talisman grew warm and then cooled; there was no congratulatory trumpet—only the quiet satisfaction of a box checked in the cosmic ledger.
[TASK 3 COMPLETE]
Reward: +200 Qi; private endorsement by Hua Lin (junior inner disciple).
As the envoy collected the talisman and bowed once, the hooded figure's voice was a cautious chord. "You have performed well for a novice. Continue, and you may be offered more. Remember—discretion."
Li Wei left the meeting with a head thrumming with possibility and a palm sticky with talisman dust. The system logged an achievement and whispered a new hint:
[ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED]
Name: Shadowed Favor (Rank D).
Effect: Increased chance of inner disciple eyes turning toward the host.
Bonus: Access to limited inner instruction if trust maintained.
News of his small successes rippled through the sect in the subtle, corrosive way gossip did. Not all praise was public, but the way people shifted when he entered the training yard told a story in itself: some with interest, some with envy, some with a speculative warmth. Xue Lian was unmoved on the surface, but when Li Wei passed she gave him a single, long look—one that carried a scale of assessment rather than condemnation. Master Han, who was hard to read at the best of times, gave him a curt nod that might have been a compliment.
Not everyone wanted Li Wei to rise. On a bright afternoon, when the sun fell like a coin on the practice field, he encountered a grin he had not wanted: Lan Yue, the senior he'd sparred weeks before, walked toward him accompanied by a new presence—a man in the outer guard, broad-shouldered and cleanly malicious. Lan Yue's smile was the kind that could slice bread; it was pleasant until it wasn't.
"You've been busy," she said in a voice that was honey and iron. "It seems the pervert behaves well when rewards are at stake."
Li Wei felt the old reflex: either flirt or fight. He chose a reply that was not wholly honest but theatrical. "I practice what I preach: discipline mixed with charm."
Lan Yue laughed like a blade being tested. "Charm can be honed. Or it can be an accident. Let's see which you are." Her eyes glinted with challenge. "There's a spar next week. You should enter. Or will your 'discipline' flee when faced with real opponents?"
She left the taunt dangling between them like a gauntlet. The guard who followed her smirked. Others watched with that dangerous, small feral hunger that competitions invited.
He could have refused. He could have bowed and walked away. Instead, he accepted the unspoken challenge with a casual tilt of his head. "I will see you in the ring," he said.
There was a logic to the acceptance: a public display would burn the inner attention into a currency of renown. It might also create enemies. Either was acceptable if he rose. The system registered the choice with a bright throb.
[EVENT LOG]
Upcoming: Sparring Match vs. Lan Yue (Public Display).
BonusObjective: Use Heavenly Groping Hand creatively to subdue without dishonor.
Potential Outcome: Increased renown and Inner Circle notice.
That night, Li Wei trained with renewed purpose. Hua Lin's morning sessions were exacting and precise; Mei Ling's hands were small and efficient; Yun Shuang provided a blunt, physical reality check; and the orb conspired quietly, offering small tips: widen your footwork, lessen your breath at the cusp of a parry, use the Groping Hand as an offbeat disengage.
Before sleep he found Mei Ling waiting by the dormitory's outer eaves, a shawl around her shoulders. She had a quiet bravery now that came from being trusted. She reached for his hand and squeezed it—no performance, no system prompt. Pure warmth.
"Will you be careful?" she asked simply.
He squeezed back, truth and promise stitched under the skin of his smile. "Always," he said. "For you and for everyone who trusts me."
She leaned forward to rest her forehead against his, and the world folded soft. The scene hardened into something private, then softened again: a slow, chaste exchange that edged toward something more intimate and then gently faded as the lanterns blinked their tired eyes. The system recorded the intimacy and gifted him a bloom of Qi—level up in the small kingdom of care.
Tomorrow, the public spar would show whether the envoy's favor would translate into open recognition or public humiliation. Li Wei rolled onto his back and stared at the rafters until sleep took him. Around him, the sect breathed and turned in the darkness—some plotting, some resting, some watching. He slept with one hand on the talisman and one hand folded over a promise that had nothing to do with fame: protect those who trusted him, and if possible, hold their hearts gently.
The Perverted Dao had set the stage. The actors took their places. The next scene would either crown him or carve him down. He grinned in the dark—not for vanity, but for the thrill of a life that finally asked of him more than he'd ever expected to give.
End of chapter 4