The seventh month of house arrest brought a new, highly unexpected problem to the master courtyard.
Popularity.
Ever since Yan Shuo had effortlessly crushed the Heavenly Cloud Sect's crusade by sending his cat out for a walk, the internal politics of the Azure Sword Sect had violently shifted. The elders finally understood the hierarchy of the mountain. The Saintess was the ultimate weapon, yes. But the frail, sickly, fifteen-year-old boy sitting on the jade cushion was the hand that held the leash.
If you wanted to survive, you didn't pray to the Goddess of Slaughter. You bribed her husband.
It started small. A basket of premium spirit-fruits left at the outer barrier. A rare, soothing tea blend dropped off by a trembling disciple.
But cultivators were creatures of extreme ambition, and by the second week of the month, the "get well soon" gifts had escalated into a full-blown tribute system.
Su Mei stood just inside the courtyard doors, sweating profusely.
