This Hedonistic Young Master

Chapter 6: The Art of Nodding and Bowing

Tian Hao was pacing his chambers, still reeling from the strange new reality of his situation, when a servant arrived at the door. With a deep bow, the servant said, "Young Master, Sect Leader Tian Shou has summoned you."

Tian Hao nodded, hiding his apprehension behind a forced mask of calm confidence. His jaw tightened subtly, and he took a deep breath, willing himself to stay composed despite the churn of anxiety beneath the surface. "Can I really keep this up?" he thought, the doubt gnawing at him. "They've known this version of me for so long—how long until they see through this act?" The fear lingered, but he knew he couldn't afford to slip, not in front of these people.

As he followed the servant through the corridors of the compound, his mind raced. Tian Shou—his new body's father—was the Sect Leader, and from what he gathered, a man with significant expectations for his son. Tian Hao recalled a memory of the original Tian Hao standing before his father, the older man's stern gaze burning into him as he lectured about duty and honor. In that moment, his mind flashed back to his own old family—his father, whose rage filled every corner of their small apartment, and his mother, whose eyes always looked away, powerless to intervene.

They entered a grand hall, the air heavy with the faint scent of sandalwood incense. The soft sound of wind chimes echoed gently, adding a serene undertone to the otherwise imposing atmosphere of the hall. The hall was spacious, adorned with elegant tapestries in deep blues and silvers, each depicting grand scenes of sect history and celestial battles. The carved columns were intricate, featuring lotus blossoms and coiling dragons, their details so fine it seemed as though they might spring to life.

At the far end of the room sat Tian Shou, his stern face lined with fatigue. His eyes, sharp and piercing, held an unmistakable weight of authority, but there was also weariness that spoke of countless responsibilities. His posture, upright and unwavering, reminded Tian Hao of an ancient pine tree—weathered by countless storms but still standing tall, unyielding against the winds of time. Despite the visible burden on his shoulders, there was a sense of enduring strength, a determination that had held the sect together for decades.

Beside him stood Elder Hua, her eyes narrowing at Tian Hao's arrival. Elder Hua moved with the precision of a blade, every gesture calculated and deliberate, her posture embodying the unwavering discipline of a martial sect elder. She was a severe-looking woman, with sharp, angular features that seemed to be permanently set in an expression of disapproval. Her eyes were dark and unyielding, a piercing gaze that could strip away any pretense, her long hair tightly pulled back, emphasizing her high cheekbones and thin lips and she wore robes of a deep blue, adorned with intricate silver embroidery. Everything about her—from her rigid posture to the precision of her movements—exuded a strict, no-nonsense authority that demanded respect, seeming to embody the discipline and rigidity that the Skyward Lotus Sect's traditions valued most.

Elder Han, his expression softer, almost encouraging, stood to the side. He had a calm presence, with gentle eyes that contrasted starkly with the stern demeanor of Elder Hua. Standing like a placid lake, his tranquility reflecting an inner strength and wisdom cultivated over years. His face, lined but warm, bore a kind smile that suggested patience and understanding, while his robes were less ornate, featuring muted greens with modest embroidery.

Finally, Liang Chen, Elder Hua's disciple, stood to one side, arms crossed and gaze steady. Liang Chen was known as the star of the sect—a prodigy whose cultivation prowess was unmatched among his peers. He was tall and lean, with sharp features that conveyed a natural authority. His eyes were intense, reflecting a quiet confidence and determination, and his stance exuded the poise of someone used to being in control.

"Tian Hao," Tian Shou began, his voice deep and weary, like the low rumble of thunder in the mountains. "Sit." Tian Hao obeyed, lowering himself to the cushion placed in front of his father.