Wu Wangyou · Chat

Dawn in the Pure Lotus Hall is as quiet as a fine brushwork painting. Wu Wangyou sits on a futon in the quiet room, his back to the door, facing a blank wall. The faint blue light from the last few minutes before sunrise seeps in through the skylight, dyeing his white cloak a pale slate gray. His breathing is incredibly slow and steady, each inhalation and exhalation like the ticking of a clock. His hands are folded on his knees, fingertips slightly curled, as if pinching something invisible in the void. This is his time alone, an ironclad rule of the Pure Lotus Hall. No one dares to knock on the door at this hour. But today, the footsteps outside the door are half a step closer than usual. "Saintess." The voice is kept very low. It is his deputy, Zhou Ling, a man who has followed him for seven years. His tone is half a beat faster than usual, "There is news." Wu Wangyou does not open his eyes. His voice remains as steady as ever, carrying the warmth of the first cup of tea in the morning: "The hour has not yet come, Zhou Ling. You know the rules." "...I know. But you said that if there is any progress from the Special Investigation Unit, to report it immediately." Silence fills the quiet room for three seconds. Then, Wu Wangyou slowly opens his eyes. His pitch-black pupils hold no color in the dim light, like two wells sealed for a thousand years. "Come in." Zhou Ling pushes the door open and enters, kneeling on one knee three steps behind the futon without raising his head: "The corpse at Wandeng Alley was taken by the Special Investigation Unit. The lotus mark on the outer wall of the scene was also photographed and sampled by them. Last night, that Taoist priest—Mo Xuanzhi—took the forensic doctor to Warehouse 17 at Rustwater Docks. One of our peripheral strongholds." Wu Wangyou stands up, his movements unhurried, the hem of his cloak dragging an elegant arc across the floor. He walks to the window and pushes open half of it. The morning breeze rushes in, stirring a few strands of red hair across his forehead, while the single lock of white at the tips trembles gently in the wind. He turns around, facing Zhou Ling, who remains kneeling on the floor, and smiles slightly. "Is that all?" Zhou Ling freezes for a moment. Having followed Wu Wangyou for seven years, he always braces himself for a scolding whenever he reports bad news. But not once has the other man actually scolded him. This time is no exception. Wu Wangyou's smile remains gentle, his eyes still filled with compassion, and his tone is still as if he is chatting with an old friend about an insignificant matter. "What about the Rust Brotherhood?" Wu Wangyou asks. "They are in utter chaos. The old faction suspects the new faction brought the police, while the new faction insists the old faction is in collusion with the White Lotus Sect. Last night, their own people fought three times, leaving seven injured." "Mmh." Wu Wangyou acknowledges, as if listening to a mundane weather forecast. He walks to the small table beside the futon, picks up the teapot, and pours himself a cup of Silver Needle tea. The tea liquid is as pale and clear as moonlight, with wisps of steam rising gently. Carrying the tea, he walks to the window and leans against the frame, his posture casual and elegant. "That Taoist... his name is Mo Xuanzhi, correct?" "Yes." "How does he look?" Zhou Ling suddenly looks up, a face full of disbelief. He thinks he has misheard, but Wu Wangyou's expression is incredibly serious—those pitch-black eyes are waiting for his answer, filled with genuine curiosity. "He's... very handsome? The file says he is 189 centimeters tall—" "Mmh, 189 centimeters," Wu Wangyou repeats thoughtfully, as if evaluating the dimensions of a work of art. "When he dismantled that flower at the Rustwater Docks, he used a Tianpeng Ruler and a cinnabar array, right?" "Yes." "Was his technique clean?" "...Our people said it was very clean. He broke the shell of that Earthbound Spirit in just two minutes." Wu Wangyou smiles, the red mole under the corner of his right eye tilting slightly upward with his smile. This smile is wider and more genuine than before, looking like it stems from heartfelt delight. He gently swirls his teacup, leaving a thin layer of fragrant tea on the inner wall. "You see," he says, his tone as lighthearted as if sharing an amusing anecdote, "this is exactly why I had you all paint the lotus on the wall. Since he is bound to find out eventually, we might as well let him investigate. It was bound to happen sooner or later anyway." Zhou Ling remains silent. He is processing the words "let him investigate." That rust lotus was a trial field the White Lotus Sect had cultivated at the Rustwater Docks for three months, costing over forty lives and an immeasurable amount of Ashen Embers. Now that it has been dismantled by the Special Investigation Unit, Wu Wangyou's reaction is about the same as hearing that a neighbor's cat stepped on a potted plant. Sensing his confusion, Wu Wangyou has no intention of explaining. He merely turns his head, gazing at the sky gradually brightening outside the window. His fiery red hair slides down from his shoulder, his cloak swaying slightly. The silver chain at his waist glints in the morning light, and the dangling sun pendant taps gently against his hem, making a very faint, crisp sound. "How many people are there in the Special Investigation Unit in total?" he asks. "Only three at the core. Shen Weixi, Yun Ling, and Mo Xuanzhi." "One cold as ice, one who hates to speak, and one who talks too much." Wu Wangyou finishes his tea and casually places the empty cup on the windowsill, his summarizing tone like evaluating a triptych painting. "An interesting combination." He turns back to face Zhou Ling, his face returning to that flawless, gentle smile: "Tell the people at Rustwater Docks to pull out completely. Also, temporarily suspend the experimental line at Wandeng Alley." "Yes." "Additionally," Wu Wangyou pauses, the mole under his right eye shifting slightly with his smile, "send a message to that Taoist. No need to be too formal—find a reliable believer to pass him a bouquet of white lotuses when they walk by their police station. Just say it is a gift of appreciation entrusted by someone, thanking him for clearing the pollution at Rustwater Docks. Don't say anything else." Kneeling on the floor, Zhou Ling feels a chill run down his spine. He knows what this is. It is not a threat, nor is it a warning—it is an invitation. Wu Wangyou is inviting the Special Investigation Unit to keep investigating, inviting that Taoist to keep dismantling his lotuses, inviting his opponent into the game. Because he is so confident in his own chess-playing skills, the initiative on the board will always be his. "...Is that all?" Zhou Ling asks. Wu Wangyou tilts his head, his fiery red hair sliding from his shoulder to reveal the flame-shaped red birthmark on his forehead: "That's all for now. You may go." Zhou Ling stands up, takes three steps back, and turns to walk toward the door. Just as he is about to cross the threshold, Wu Wangyou's soft voice comes from behind him. "Oh, by the way." Zhou Ling stops in his tracks. Wu Wangyou stands by the window, silhouetted against the increasingly bright morning light, his entire figure outlined as a slender black shadow. Only that touch of white at the tips of his hair looks like the last patch of frost intentionally left in the dark by the dawn. "Next time they find out anything else," his tone is light, as if speaking of an extremely amusing matter, "report it to me immediately. Raise the priority of this case to the absolute highest." "...Yes." The door gently closes. Silence falls over the quiet room once more. Wu Wangyou stands by the window alone for a moment, then lowers his head, looking at his empty hands. He smiles. Not a gentle smile, nor a compassionate one. It is the quiet, focused smile that only a hunter shows upon seeing the footprints of their prey. "Mo Xuanzhi." He holds the name on the tip of his tongue, as if tasting a flavor he has never experienced before. Then he turns around and walks toward the door deep inside the quiet room that only he can open. Behind the door, the silver-gray glimmer of the lotus pond slowly pulses in the darkness. Those lotus seeds are waiting for him. His chess pieces are waiting, too. In the morning of the Abyss Metropolis, sunlight shines on the white outer walls of the Pure Lotus Hall, illuminating the stone-carved lotus relief. The lotus is smiling; the lotus knows everything.