Elder Song's silence was a whetstone, sharpening the tension in the room. Mo Ye's proposal hung between them, a blade he had offered to wield himself. He had not just shifted the vulture's gaze; he had handed it a scalpel and pointed to the heart of its next meal.
"Finesse," Elder Song repeated, the word a dry, considering click of his tongue. His gaze, usually so focused on ledgers and lists, now dissected Mo Ye with a new, clinical interest. "You propose to become my... interrogator. But not of the body. Of the spirit. Of a technique." He steepled his fingers. "You believe you can coax this secret from her where force would fail."
"This one does not deal in beliefs, Elder. Only in observations and probabilities," Mo Ye replied, his voice devoid of the obsequious tone he usually employed. He was no longer a menial disciple in this moment; he was a strategist presenting a plan. "Her will is her greatest strength and her primary vulnerability. It is a fortress that cannot be stormed, but it may be persuaded to open its gates. To do that, she must see me not as a threat, but as an ally. A fellow gardener facing the same... institutional neglect."
A faint, cold smile touched Elder Song's lips. It was the first genuine expression Mo Ye had seen on the man's face, and it was more terrifying than any scowl. "You are suggesting a long-term infiltration. A corruption by degrees. This is a more complex investment than studying a patch of glowing moss. The time frame is uncertain. The return is speculative."
"The moss offers a puzzle. The girl offers a key," Mo Ye countered. "A key to reclaiming lands the Zhao poisoned, to revitalizing spirit herb farms, to wealth that does not rely on the dwindling sect treasury. It is not speculation; it is agricultural alchemy. And I am the only one positioned to acquire the formula."
The appeal to pure, unadulterated greed was a language Elder Song understood perfectly. He saw it now—not just a single plant, but fields of them. Not a minor mystery, but a proprietary technique that could be monopolized.
"Your access to her will be formalized," Song decided, his mind already shifting to logistics. "You will be reassigned. Your primary duty will be the 'restoration and study of non-essential spiritual flora,' with a focus on the greenhouse project. You will report your progress to me weekly. The resources you need—within reason—will be provided." He leaned forward, his eyes hardening. "But understand this, Mo Ye. You are now a designated asset on a specific project. Your value is tied directly to its success. Failure is not an option. The deep mines are a pleasant alternative compared to what happens to assets who waste my time and resources."
The threat was explicit, but to Mo Ye, it was merely the sound of the cage door locking behind him. He had expected nothing less. "Understood, Elder."
The reassignment orders were posted before noon. The news rippled through the stagnant pond of the outer sect. Mo Ye, the quiet gardener of the West Quadrant, was now the official keeper of the "Experimental Flora Revival Project," answering directly to Elder Song's office. It was a promotion, but it carried the stench of a death sentence. Those who worked for Elder Song had a habit of disappearing once their usefulness was expended.
Li Na confronted him in the West Quadrant, her arms crossed, her expression a mask of fury and betrayal. "The Experimental Flora Revival Project?" she hissed, keeping her voice low. "You sold her out. You sold that girl to Song."
"I have ensured her project will receive resources and protection," Mo Ye replied, his tone neutral as he gathered his few tools. "The greenhouse will be repaired properly now. The frost will not claim her orchid."
"At what cost?" Li Na shot back. "You've made her a target! Song doesn't protect things; he owns them! You've put a price on her head, and you're the one holding the bill!"
"He was already looking at her," Mo Ye said, finally meeting her gaze. "I have merely redirected his gaze from destructive curiosity to productive investment. Her chances of survival, and success, are higher now than they were yesterday."
"That's a lie you tell yourself to sleep at night," Li Na spat. "You did this for you. To save your own skin. Don't dress it up as strategy."
She turned and walked away, the line between them now clearly drawn. Mo Ye watched her go. Her anger was a predictable, and therefore manageable, variable. She was right, of course. This was for him. Every action, every alliance, every betrayal was fuel for the single, unwavering purpose that had brought him here.
He moved his meager possessions to a small, solitary shed near the greenhouse—a perk of his new position. From his window, he could see Xiao Qing, who had heard the news and was watching him with a mixture of hope and wariness. He had become her patron, her protector, and her potential executioner, all wrapped in the same unassuming package.
That evening, he approached the greenhouse not as a secret benefactor, but as an official colleague. "Elder Song has taken an interest in your work," he told her, his voice carefully modulated to convey respectful admiration. "He has assigned me to assist you. Your dedication has not gone unnoticed."
Xiao Qing's eyes widened, a flush of pride and relief coloring her cheeks. "Truly? He... he sees the value?"
"He sees potential," Mo Ye corrected gently. "It is up to us to prove its value." He gestured to the orchid. "Your methods are unorthodox. If we can document them, understand them... this could help the entire sect."
He saw the trust begin to bloom in her eyes, fragile and beautiful. He would nurture it. He would water it with encouragement and shield it from doubt. He would become the perfect ally, the steadfast friend.
And all the while, he would be studying her, analyzing every gesture, every technique, every flicker of her spiritual energy. He would learn the secret of her hope not to preserve it, but to dismantle it, to package it for his master, and in doing so, purchase his own freedom from the gilded cage he had just willingly entered. The instrument of extraction was now in place, and its first task was to ensure the subject never felt the cut of the blade.