This Hedonistic Young Master

Chapter 8: The Moonlit Pavilion

Tian Hao semi-swaggered down the narrow, winding streets of the sect's residential district, a newfound spring in his step.

The lingering warmth of Wu Zhong's culinary masterpiece radiated through him, a pleasant hum of cultivating energy mingling with the thrill of his little rebellion. The disapproval of the elders, the whispers of the disciples—they were distant echoes now, drowned out by the rising tide of his own enjoyment.

He was Tian Hao, the young master, and he would indulge as he pleased.

Following Fatty Wu's directions, he navigated the labyrinthine outer sect grounds. He stepped over uneven cobblestones, his movements deliberate as he adjusted to the narrow, winding paths. Paper lanterns, swaying gently in the evening breeze, cast flickering pools of light onto the cobblestone paths.

He soon found himself before a modest, unassuming building tucked away between a bustling tea house and a dimly lit apothecary. The soft glow of paper lanterns hanging from the eaves cast a warm, inviting light onto the narrow street, illuminating a small wooden sign above the entrance: The Moonlit Pavilion (Yuèguāng tíng; 月光亭).

Tian Hao paused at the entrance, taking a deep breath. His hand hovered over the door handle for a moment, hesitating. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching before finally pushing the door open. This was it. His first foray into drinking in public as part of his pleasure-induced cultivation, his chance to test the limits of this bizarre new path.

He adjusted his robes and stepped inside.

The pavilion was small but lively, a single room filled with the warm glow of lanterns and the buzz of conversation. Simple wooden tables and chairs were scattered about, occupied by a mix of sect disciples and visiting merchants, their faces illuminated by the flickering candlelight. The air was thick with the aroma of wine, spiced meats, and the sweet, earthy scent of incense. Laughter and boisterous chatter filled the space, creating a vibrant, welcoming atmosphere.

His entrance didn't go unnoticed.

A hush fell over the nearest tables as heads turned, eyes widening in recognition. Whispers rippled through the room – "Tian Hao," "the young master," "here for another round"—each phrase laced with a mixture of curiosity, amusement, and disdain. He was a spectacle, a source of gossip and ridicule, his reputation preceding him as a fanfare of ill repute. Some smirked, others rolled their eyes, and a few even exchanged knowing glances, their expressions clearly conveying their opinions of the sect leader's wayward son.

Tian Hao, however, straightened his back and lifted his chin, attempting to look unfazed. He met their gazes with what he hoped was a casual smirk, though his eyes flickered nervously for a moment before he settled into the role. He raised a hand to smooth his robe, his fingers fidgeting slightly before finally stilling, projecting an air of careless confidence that bordered on arrogance. "Let them stare," he thought, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. He was here for pleasure, for experience, for cultivation. Their judgment, their whispers – they were but fleeting distractions, insignificant ripples in the grand scheme of his newfound path.

He was Tian Hao, and he would not be deterred — or so he kept telling himself.

Soon after he stepped inside, a wiry man with a nervous smile and an almost comical eagerness hurried towards him, his eyes wide with a mixture of recognition and apprehension. "Young Master Tian Hao!" he exclaimed, his voice a touch too loud, his bow a touch too deep. "Welcome to the Moonlit Pavilion! What an honor to have you grace our humble establishment!"

Tian Hao, slightly taken aback by the eager greeting, offered a dismissive wave of his hand, his fingers hesitating mid-air before completing the motion. "Just bring me your best wine," he said, his voice carrying a forced authority that didn't quite mask the unfamiliar cadence of his new persona.

The staff member, practically vibrating with eagerness, bowed again, his smile widening almost impossibly. "Of course, Young Master! Only the finest for the esteemed Tian Hao! I'll have it brought to you immediately."

He gestured towards a wiry older man behind the counter, his bushy mustache twitching as he caught Tian Hao's eye. The bartender, his expression a mix of weariness and mild disdain, gave a curt nod. He then turned to his task, his movements deliberate and unhurried, seemingly unaffected by the presence of the young master.

Tian Hao surveyed the room, choosing a table near the back, away from the prying eyes and whispered gossip. He lowered himself onto the wooden stool, the rough texture a stark contrast to the silken cushions of his chambers.

The tavern, while lively, held a certain grittiness, a raw energy that resonated with a part of him that still felt alien to this world of silks and privilege. He took a deep breath, the aroma of fermenting wine and roasted meats grounding him, reminding him of the simple pleasures that transcended status and cultivation.

Moments later, the staff member returned, bearing a small, ornately carved wooden tray. Upon it rested a single cup filled with a deep, ruby-red liquid. "Only the finest vintage for Young Master Tian Hao," he announced, his voice still laced with an almost sycophantic eagerness. He placed the tray on the table with a flourish, bowing deeply once more before retreating backwards, his gaze lingering on Tian Hao with an expectant air.

Tian Hao picked up the cup, his fingers tracing the smooth, cool surface of the carved wood. He brought it to his nose, inhaling the rich, complex aroma. Notes of dark berries, aged oak, and a hint of spice filled his senses, a tantalizing prelude to the experience to come. He took a small sip, letting the wine roll over his tongue, savoring the full-bodied flavor.

The warmth spread through his chest, a pleasant heat that mingled with the lingering hum of his cultivating energy, intensifying the subtle flow of power. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the sensation wash over him, a faint smile tugging at his lips. This, he thought, was definitely an improvement on the stale, lukewarm coffee of his previous life.

He opened his eyes, looking around the tavern, the buzz of conversation and laughter no longer feeling intrusive, but rather a vibrant backdrop to his own private indulgence.

He took a deeper sip of the wine, feeling the warmth spread further, the subtle hum of his cultivation growing stronger. This wasn't just pleasure; it was power.

He looked up to find the staff member still hovering nearby, watching him with an almost unnerving intensity. Tian Hao cleared his throat, realizing a single cup wouldn't suffice for either his thirst or his cultivation. He needed more.

"It's passable, bring me a carafe of this," he said, his voice gaining a touch of the casual authority he'd been striving for.

The staff member beamed nervously, his fingers trembling slightly as he fumbled with the tray. Tian Hao arched an eyebrow—was this deference or fear? "Right away, Young Master!" He hurried away, disappearing behind the counter before returning moments later with a delicately crafted glass carafe filled to the brim with the ruby-red wine. He placed it carefully on the table before Tian Hao, bowing deeply. "Please enjoy, Young Master Tian Hao." He lingered for a moment, as if waiting for further instructions, his gaze fixed on Tian Hao with an expectant air.

Tian Hao poured himself a generous portion, feeling the weight of the cup in his hand. He tilted his head back slightly, letting the rich liquid flow over his tongue, the warmth spreading through his chest as he swallowed. The strong flavors danced on his palate, and he closed his eyes briefly, savoring the moment. The wine was strong, it invigorated his senses, and intensified the hum of his cultivating energy. He leaned back against the rough wooden wall, a contented sigh escaping his lips. This was more than just a drink; it was an experience, a step on his path to power, a rebellion against the rigid expectations of the sect. This was his way.

"That will be all for now," he said, dismissing the staff member with a wave of his hand. The man bowed deeply, his smile still plastered on his face, before melting back into the bustling crowd.

Tian Hao was left to his own, the carafe of wine his sole companion in the vibrant chaos of the Moonlit Pavilion. He poured himself another cup, the ruby liquid gleaming in the lantern light, a promise of further indulgence, further cultivation, further exploration of this new, intoxicating path. He raised the cup to his lips, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. Let the elders frown, let the disciples whisper. The young master they expected was gone, now. He would carve his own path—one paved with rebellion, pleasure, and whatever risks he deemed worth the thrill.