Under direct orders from his master, Chenwei found himself standing at the entrance to Wen Yuhan's private workshop. The door was slightly ajar, and from within came not the scent of spiritual incense or ancient scrolls, but a sharp, unfamiliar smell of metal oil, hot charcoal, and something faintly acidic. Steeling himself, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The room was a testament to a mind Chenwei could not begin to comprehend. On one wall hung a flawless bagua mirror next to a meticulously rendered charcoal schematic of some complex clockwork mechanism. A neat stack of unused talismans sat beside a disorderly pile of brass gears and cogs. It was a space of jarring contradictions.
Wen Yuhan was hunched over a large workbench, his back to the door. He was not meditating or practicing calligraphy. He was using a set of delicate, strange-looking tools to make minute adjustments to a bizarre artifice of interlocking brass rings and spinning crystal lenses. It clicked and whirred softly with a precise, unsettling rhythm.
Chenwei's gaze drifted, drawn to the other oddities littering the room. A triangular piece of crystal, hanging from a stand, broke a single beam of lantern light into a vibrant, unnatural smear of color on the far wall. In another corner, a device made of polished amber and silk cloth seemed to make the very air around it crackle, causing the hairs on Chenwei's arms to prickle with a wild, undisciplined energy. He looked away, his distaste growing. These were the frivolous, perhaps even heretical, hobbies of a man with too much time and not enough moral clarity.
Then his eyes fell upon a small, intricately crafted cart on another table. It was a marvel of wood and polished metal, with a tiny boiler and wheels no bigger than his thumb. Next to it was a half-finished note bearing the characters, "For Yingjie." A gift for the Fourth Young Master. As he stared, a wisp of steam escaped the cart with a soft hiss.
The gesture was so unexpectedly thoughtful, so… kind, that it created a jarring dissonance in Chenwei's mind. Why? Why would the monster he knew waste his time crafting such a whimsical thing for a child? His mind, searching for an explanation that made sense, dredged up a memory—an old, ugly rumor he had heard after the fall of their sect, a whisper he had dismissed at the time as baseless mudslinging. The rumor was that Wen Yuhan's ambition was so vast, he had even tried to seduce the Sect Master's second wife—Yingjie's mother.
The pieces clicked into place in his head with a sickening finality. This toy… it is not for the son. It is a tribute for the mother. He felt a wave of revulsion. Wen was the Sect Master's personal disciple; the bond was like that of a father and son. Lianyi was his sworn brother. That made the woman, by every code of honor and propriety, Wen's own mother-by-oath.
The sheer, quasi-incestuous filth of the ambition was staggering. To betray the trust of a father and a brother in such a way… Do his perfidious ways have no end?
A new, even more horrifying thought struck him, so vile he felt his stomach turn. The destruction of the sect, the fall of his master, the murder of his martial brothers… all of it. Could it be? Was the downfall of their entire world rooted in something as base and unnatural as this lust?
"I am here as ordered," Chenwei finally said, his voice hard as iron, cutting through the soft clicking of the machine.
Wen didn't look up. "So I see."
"We must begin the investigation," Chenwei pressed, his impatience growing with every second spent in this heretical space. "The first step is clear. We must question the rogue again, more forcefully. He is our only link to the assassin."
"Question him again?" Wen's voice was laced with dry amusement, his attention still fixed on his contraption. "And what do you expect to learn, Junior Brother? The assassin's true name? Her favorite tea? He was a disposable pawn, hired through a dozen cutouts. I already ascertained as much when I spoke with him earlier, while you were with your master."
Chenwei felt a flash of hot anger. Wen had already acted, leaving him a step behind, as always. "Then we must—"
"We will do nothing of the sort," Wen cut him off, finally placing his tool down and looking up. "Any further contact with those two risks our entire public narrative unraveling. A risk I am not willing to take for no discernible gain."
"So the lie is what matters most?" Chenwei demanded, disgusted. "Not the truth?"
"The lie is what protects Lianyi's honor and the sect's stability. The 'truth,' as you call it, would burn both to the ground. So yes, at present, the lie matters more."
"The righteous path is never easy, but the truth will always illuminate it!" Chenwei said, the words feeling righteous and strong on his tongue.
A small, satisfied smirk touched Wen's lips. It was the look of a man who had provoked the exact, predictable response he'd been expecting. He turned back to his machine. "Your idealism is noted."
He made one final adjustment, and the machine whirred softly before falling silent. He seemed to dismiss Chenwei's entire passionate plea as if it were a buzzing fly.
"Brute force is a fool's errand," Wen muttered to himself, though loud enough for Chenwei to hear. "Physical evidence is unreliable. That leaves the metaphysical." He sighed, a theatrical sound of inconvenience. "A visit to Old Man Huang it is, then. At least I know what he likes."
He finally turned his full attention to Chenwei, a mocking glint in his eyes.
"How does that sound for an investigation, Junior Brother? Bargaining is so much cheaper than breaking bones."