The silence in the Logistics Hall was absolute, broken only by the faint, frantic ticking of a spirit-calculation abacus in the corner. Elder Song's face cycled through expressions with a speed that betrayed his normally unshakable composure: shock at the brazen threat, fury at the exposure, and finally, a cold, calculating avarice as he processed Mo Ye's final words. "My masters."
The two attendants stood frozen, their hands on the hilts of their spirit-blades, awaiting a command that did not come. They felt it too—the fundamental shift in the room. The unassuming menial disciple was gone, replaced by a presence that felt ancient and dangerous.
"You spin a fanciful tale," Elder Song finally said, his voice a low, controlled rasp. But the fury was banked, smothered by a burgeoning curiosity. "A spy? In my sect? For whom? The Zhao are ashes. The Profound Heaven Sect lacks the subtlety. Who else would waste such resources on a dying backwater like us?"
Mo Ye offered a thin, cold smile that did not reach his eyes. "The world is larger than the three great powers of this region, Elder. And a dying beast often has parasites worth studying before the corpse grows cold." He let the implication hang, that he represented some external, unknown entity that saw the Verdant Sword's collapse as an opportunity. "My report on your... entrepreneurial activities... was due to be delivered soon. My... detention... would necessitate a different kind of report. One detailing your rather forceful reaction to being discovered."
It was a masterstroke. He was not just threatening exposure; he was framing Song's actions as an attack on a foreign agent. He was giving the greedy elder a way to see value in him again, not as a failed gardener, but as a potential conduit to a new, mysterious patron.
Song's eyes narrowed to slits. He slowly sank back into his chair, his mind visibly working, weighing the risks. To kill Mo Ye now was to potentially invite retribution from an unknown quarter. To let him live was to admit a threat into his inner sanctum. But for a man like Song, a threat could be negotiated. A risk could be managed. A potential new market for his ill-gotten gains was a siren's call he could not ignore.
"Leave us," Song commanded the attendants, his voice sharp. They hesitated for a moment, then bowed and retreated, closing the door behind them. The two of them were alone.
"Speak plainly," Song demanded, steepling his fingers. "Who do you serve? What do they want?"
"I serve interests that value efficiency and discretion," Mo Ye replied, weaving his fiction from half-truths and menace. "They observed the Verdant Sword's decline and saw not a tragedy, but a... liquidation event. They are interested in acquiring certain assets. Spiritual techniques. Historical artifacts. Talents." He gestured vaguely, encompassing the room and the sect beyond. "My initial assignment was to assess the sect's remaining value. Your operations presented themselves as the most... vibrant... part of the inventory."
He was flattering Song's ego while reinforcing the threat. He was telling the vulture that he was the prized cut of meat on the carcass.
"And the girl? The orchid?" Song asked, his gaze sharp.
"A secondary target. A potential novelty. My failure to secure her method is irrelevant to my primary mission." He was dismissive, pushing the greenhouse project aside to focus on the larger game. "But my continued freedom is paramount to that mission. My masters do not look kindly on interference with their agents."
The unspoken agreement began to form in the tense air between them. Mo Ye would not expose Song's corruption. In return, Song would not only let him live but would effectively become his protector, ensuring the "agent" could complete his "assessment."
"What assurances do I have?" Song asked, the merchant in him seeking terms.
"You have my continued silence," Mo Ye countered. "And the potential for a profitable relationship with my employers once my assessment is complete. I can ensure your... entrepreneurial spirit... is noted as a positive attribute. They appreciate initiative."
It was a devil's bargain. Song would be sheltering a viper in his bosom, but one that promised a treasure map.
After a long, weighing silence, Elder Song gave a curt nod. "Your reassignment is cancelled. You will retain your current position. Your access to the sect will remain... unfettered. But know this," he leaned forward, his eyes glinting with a hard light. "You are now my asset in a different way. If I sense any duplicity, if this 'master' of yours fails to materialize, your end will be far less pleasant than the mines. I will personally feed you to the core-smelting furnaces."
The threat was real, but it was the threat of a business partner, not a jailer. The power dynamic had been violently upended, and a new, precarious equilibrium had been established.
Mo Ye bowed, the gesture now one of acknowledgment between equals in a dark pact, not of submission. "Understood."
He left the Logistics Hall, the night air feeling different on his skin. He was no longer a ghost hiding in the shadows. He had stepped into the torchlight and revealed himself as a demon, making a pact with the devil himself. The cage was gone. He had traded it for a tightrope stretched over an abyss. He was free to move, but a single misstep would mean a fall into a fire of his own making. The path to the Profound Heaven Sect was still his goal, but now he would have to walk it with a vulture perched on his shoulder, watching his every move, waiting for its share of the spoils.