Entering the house, Ilya's mind couldn't help but wonder who exactly was this so-called 'young master'?
Ilya's thoughts twisted inwards for a moment, a brief flicker of uncertainty rippling beneath her face.
It was strange really, her informations couldn't keep up with the changes.
And this newfound feeling of uncertainty over her misunderstanding, it was horrifying.
On the outside, though, she forced a faint smile.
Her eyes shifted sideways as she was about to enter the door, flicking toward the guards stationed behind her, just once.
But what she didn't notice, the second she glanced towards them, the puppet turned his head simultaneously, following her movements, eerily synchronised.
The guards, as they were about to read the subtle meanings from Ilya's eyes. They were frozen on the spot, not from Ilya, but from the gaze behind her from their perspective.
The leading elder among the guards, a tall, grizzled man with deep lines etched across his stern face, felt his throat tighten.
Hurriedly dragged his gaze down, and so does the rest.
Discerning this, Ilya felt confused, and she couldn't help but turn her gaze back but saw nothing amiss, as the puppet was still standing there, gesturing with his hand.
However, for the guards, they felt their spines weakened.
That single glance from the puppet earlier still echoed in their minds, like thunder rumbling beneath still waters.
It hadn't just been a look.
There'd been a probing divine sense wrapped in it.
For a moment, it felt like they'd been tiny boats tossed into the center of a violent ocean storm.
No resistance whatsoever, and their complexions turned pale.
"I—uh…" the old man fumbled, words sticking awkwardly in his throat.
He wanted to follow.
To accompany her into the house, if only to make sure she stayed safe.
But remembering the powerful divine mind probing them just now, he flinched visibly, fearful.
No words needed.
"I—I understand. We'll wait outside, my lady," he said quickly, bowing slightly despite his pride.
"Good," Ilya replied coolly, and with that, she stepped into the house.
The puppet didn't say a word.
The door swung shut behind them with smooth finality, as if the house itself had exhaled and sealed its breath.
Then, as the noise muffled away into the air, the guards fell onto their knees, back soaked in sweat, fingers trembling, and some even puked on the spot.
Everything... just from a single glance.
The puppet walked ahead with slow, even steps, hands clasped behind its back like a well-trained steward.
She noticed this, her steps were evenly respectful in the distance between the two.
'A butler? But such strength?'
'What exactly is happening here? Throughout the days I presumed I understood this person, was I wrong all along?'
But currently, the answers remain elusive.
Ilya followed closely behind, her boots tapping softly on the wooden floorboards.
Strange as this whole situation was, she kept her face calm.
Her posture was straight, composed, though not overly humble.
She was a cultivator, after all. Still, this so-called "senior" was in the Perfection Stage of Foundation Building.
A level not to be taken lightly.
Their path curved gently through the house, old marble roads that doesn't seem to be taken care of, presumably just a temporary hideout before leaving?
She doesn't know but guessing was her best attempt of trying to understand.
Ilya glanced around as they moved. The interior… wasn't exactly pristine.
Dust clung to the beams overhead. The floor had been swept, but not polished.
The corners of the corridor held faint cobwebs, remnants of a place lived in but not fussed over.
Not neglected… just unconcerned with appearances.
From that, she concluded that this place wouldn't be inhabited by the so called 'Young Master' for too long.
Perhaps, a temporary place.
And from that, she understood something else. Only a person with special identities or possessing a certain reason would do this nomad way of living.
She didn't comment.
Whatever state the household was in, it wasn't her business.
Eventually, they rounded a corner, and the corridor opened up, spilling into a quiet scene.
The moment she stepped through, her eyes widened slightly, her pupils dilating as they drank in the view.
It was... beautiful.
A large pond stretched across the left side, its surface shimmering faintly with reflections of the late afternoon sky.
Beside it stood a broad, leafy tree with long branches that swayed gently in the breeze.
Beneath its shadow, a man reclined in a wooden chair, completely still, as if the world no longer concerned him.
The air carried a faint floral sweetness.
Around the pond bloomed a scattering of flowers, some she recognized, some she didn't.
The most familiar among them were the fireflies: rare blossoms that flared to life with luminous petals.
During the night, she'd heard, they glowed with hues of deep red and violet, like embers woven from starlight.
She almost forgot herself staring at them.
But the sound of footsteps pulled her back.
As they neared the tree, she caught movement inside the house.
Through the sliding doors left partially open, figures darted in and out.
Ilya's heart skipped.
Her breath caught in her chest.
All of them… Foundation Building experts.
'So many of them?' she thought, mind flashing warnings.
Her nerves coiled like taut strings beneath her skin, but her face didn't show it.
She kept calm, composed, every inch the cultivated young lady she'd been trained to be.
As they approached the shade beneath the tree, she stopped, just outside the reach of its shadow, and respectfully cupped her hands.
"Senior," she whispered under her breath. A bit awkward, a bit unsure, but the title was addressed properly.
But it wasn't her who broke the silence.
The puppet stepped forward, bowed slightly, and spoke with its usual emotionless tone.
"Young Master, I have brought Miss Ilya here, as instructed."
Silence followed.
Not a breath of wind. Not a shift from the man beneath the tree.
The pond's surface rippled gently behind him, stirred by nothing but nature.
The wind gently skimmed by, the short even grasses on the ground swayed gently, carrying the floral scent around here.
The puppet stood there, unmoving after it finished speaking.
Its head bowed low, as though staring into the earth itself, waiting without a twitch.
And Ilya, she was just standing there.
Gave a simple peek to the side, and hurriedly retreated her gaze back.
Confused...
Utterly unsure of what came next.
She didn't speak. Didn't fidget.
But in her mind, confusion swirled like mist on a mountaintop. Her eyes, cautious and quiet, drifted once more toward the figure reclining in the chair.
Could it really be him?
She remembered his appearance, that one time they interacted, such a change of demeanour, or to be exact, this was his true self all along.
A mere puppet master, she'd assumed at the time.
A quiet man, unremarkable, low-level, barely worth a second glance other than his exceptional appearance.
But now?
Now she was no longer sure.
Their position switched, and she was standing there like a little peasant girl before a noble.
Ever since that day when the Senior casually mentioned having a disciple in the city, she'd harbored a quiet suspicion, it had to be Liam.
Coincidences were rare, but not uncommon.
But now, that thought collapsed under the weight of what stood before her eyes.
Her understanding, her entire mental picture of him, needed to be torn apart and rebuilt from the ground up.
She once thought she was skilled at hiding, at reading people from the shadows, but clearly, there was a mountain far larger looming in silence above her.
He wore long white robes threaded with shimmering silver, a faint glint dancing along the fabric whenever the light caught it right.
His hair, pure white and flowing like a serene waterfall, cascaded down his back in soft, gleaming waves.
And his face, damn that face, straddled the fine, dangerous line between a storybook villain and a tragic hero.
Beautiful and cold.
Liam opened his eyes.
And somehow, his gaze landed directly on her, the cat that thought she was well-hidden.
Ilya's heart jumped so violently that her soul nearly escaped from her body.
She yanked her gaze down like a child caught stealing pastries and immediately blushed, the tips of her ears heating with mortification.
But Liam offered no reaction.
None. His expression remained unchanged, unbothered.
Instead, he slowly pushed himself up, movements lazy and unhurried, as if waking from a pleasant nap.
His body leaned just slightly forward, elbows resting loosely on the arms of the chair.
Then he spoke.
A low, monotone voice dropped into the space like a stone in still water. "Ilya."
"Y-yes?" she squeaked out, shoulders jolting as if struck by lightning. "Yes, Senior?"
The words tumbled from her lips, the title scrambled in panic.
Liam tilted his head slightly, a small pause dragging out as he looked at her again.
And in that moment, her panic deepened.
Those ruby red eyes of his, so deep, so cutting, seemed to slice right through her defenses.
Her thoughts scattered.
"I congratulate you for being brave enough to come here," he said, voice cool, neither praising nor condemning.
"A-ah... I..." Her mouth struggled to form words, the composed Ilya unraveling bit by bit. "I was just... curious, Senior. I never imagined Senior held such an... unfathomable identity. I—I swear I won't speak a word of this to anyone!"
"It's fine," Liam replied with a simple wave of his hand. "In fact, I should be thanking you. It seems I won't need to fabricate lies in our future dealings anymore."
"Y-yes! I'm honored to be recognized by Senior's eyes!" Ilya said, nodding repeatedly, her hands clasped tightly before her chest as she gave a proper bow.
Of course, by now, she had fully pieced together the truth.
This man, Liam, the low-key spiritual puppeteer who lived in seclusion, wasn't just some reclusive artisan.
No. Judging from everything she gathered so far.
There was no mistaking it anymore.
He was likely an important person from a terrifying power.
A background strong enough to rival second-rate forces in the entire region, especially with the guards she had seen so far.
She bent lower, a respectful gesture that pulled her slightly forward, and it was then that she noticed Liam's eyes giving her body a calm but deliberate once-over.
Specifically, lingering just a second longer around her chest.
A brief blush rose to her cheeks, the air feeling suddenly strange, but she didn't dare to show any signs of refusal.
But that was it.
Liam showed no further interest, no lascivious smile, no suggestive remarks, no shift in his tone.
Nothing like the entitled, arrogant young masters she'd been trained to deal with in the bigger cities.
His gaze was assessing, not greedy.
She blinked, caught off guard by that alone.
Then, as if done with the interaction, Liam lifted a hand and gave a light wave.
In the next instant, two puppets cloaked in black appeared silently at his side, each wearing expressionless masks, their presence sudden and draw a small flicker of surprise across her face.
Even so, Ilya kept her composure. Her back straightened.