The delegation from the Western Ridge Sect arrived just after noon.
Their banners were modest, their escort restrained. No display of strength, no overt challenge—only the careful confidence of men who believed they were walking into a negotiation, not a confrontation.
Seo Yerin observed them from her seat beside Jin Muyu as they were ushered into the inner hall.
Two elders, both past their prime but not diminished by age. Their robes bore the subtle sigils of long-standing authority, woven not for ornament but recognition. A single attendant followed behind them, carrying sealed cases and documents, his eyes alert, his posture precise.
They bowed.
Correctly.
Not deeply.
The message was subtle, but unmistakable.
Jin Muyu smiled, pleased by the attention, and returned the gesture with a casual nod. "Welcome," he said. "I trust the journey was not unpleasant."
"Manageable," the taller elder replied smoothly. "Your hospitality is appreciated."
Seo Yerin inclined her head in acknowledgment but did not speak.
The meeting began as expected.
Tea was poured. Pleasantries exchanged. The conversation circled familiar ground—border security, trade routes, shared concerns about minor sects growing restless in the outer regions. The Western Ridge elders were articulate, measured, their tone courteous without being submissive.
They were not here to provoke.
They were here to test.
When the discussion reached the crucial point—the joint control over the eastern trade passage—the shift was almost imperceptible.
Seo Yerin laid out the sect's position clearly.
Not aggressively.
Not defensively.
Simply as fact.
The taller elder listened, fingers steepled, eyes attentive. When she finished, he exchanged a glance with his counterpart, then smiled faintly.
"That," he said, "is not something we can agree to at this time."
The words were polite.
Final.
Jin Muyu blinked. "Oh. Is that so?"
"Yes," the elder replied. "We believe further consideration is required."
There was no argument.
No raised voices.
No insult offered or taken.
Seo Yerin did not press the matter. She nodded once, accepting the refusal as though it were a reasonable delay rather than a deliberate obstacle.
"Then we will adjourn for today," she said calmly. "You are welcome to remain as our guests."
The Western Ridge elders bowed again, this time a fraction deeper.
"We appreciate your understanding."
The meeting ended.
Unresolved.
*****
The delegation did not leave.
That, in itself, was a statement.
They were confident enough to stay.
*****
That night, Seo Yerin did not return directly to her chambers.
Instead, she went to the inner bathing and massage quarters, a space reserved for women of rank. The chamber was smaller than her residence, designed for quiet rather than comfort—stone floors warmed from beneath, low lanterns set behind screens, the air heavy with steam and herbs.
A familiar servant waited there, head bowed, hands folded neatly at his waist.
She dismissed the attendants herself.
The servant did not move until she inclined her head.
"Prepare the couch," she said.
He did.
She loosened the fastening at her collar and allowed the outer robe to slip from her shoulders. It was not dramatic. The garment was folded and set aside with care, leaving her in a lighter inner layer meant for bathing and treatment.
"Remove it," she said calmly.
He hesitated only long enough to confirm she had spoken to him.
The fabric was untied, lifted away, and placed with the others. She stepped forward and lay face-down upon the heated couch, naked, her posture composed, arms resting loosely at her sides. Warmth seeped into her skin from the stone beneath.
Only then did he begin.
Oil was poured into his palms and warmed before his hands touched her back. The massage started at her shoulders, slow and methodical, pressure applied with precision rather than indulgence. His movements followed the lines of muscle and bone, practiced and professional, easing tension she carried without acknowledging.
The room was quiet except for breath and the soft sound of skin against stone.
Seo Yerin closed her eyes.
The silence stretched, comfortable.
After a while, she spoke.
"The scent tonight is different," she said casually. "Not the usual incense."
"Yes, my lady," the servant replied. "I prepared it myself."
She opened her eyes slightly. "Did you?"
"Yes."
"What kind is it?"
"A calming blend," he said. "Meant to ease the mind. It helps with rest."
She hummed softly, neither approving nor dismissing the answer.
"It lingers," she observed. "More than most."
He hesitated, then continued. "There are many kinds of incense. Some are subtle. Others… less so."
She did not turn.
"Explain," she said.
Encouraged by her interest, he spoke more freely. He described the different blends—those used in meditation halls, those burned during long councils, those favored by entertainers. He spoke of scents that sharpened focus, others that softened the senses.
"And some," he added quietly, "can be dangerous if misused."
Her breath slowed, but her expression remained neutral.
"In what way?"
"They can cause dizziness," he said. "Confusion. Lowered resistance. If prepared improperly—or deliberately—they can make a person vulnerable without realizing it."
She let the words settle.
Did not interrupt.
Did not react.
The servant continued, unaware of the moment he had crossed.
"They are not forbidden," he said. "But they are… regulated. Knowledge of them is usually limited."
After a pause, Seo Yerin asked a single question.
Specific.
Measured.
He hesitated.
Then she turned onto her back and spread her legs wide, exposing herself completely.
The servant accepted. He did not refuse.
His hands slowed, lingering just a fraction longer than before, resting where they should not have. She did not stop him immediately.
Not long after—
Her breath hitched, lips parting as if a sound might escape—but she swallowed it down. When she spoke again, her voice betrayed only the faintest strain.
"That will be all for tonight," she said.
The servant drew his face back from between her thighs.
"Yes, my lady."
He withdrew, leaving behind more than warmth.
*****
Later that night, Seo Yerin stood at her window, watching the lights in the guest quarters where the Western Ridge delegation resided.
They believed themselves in control.
They believed time was on their side.
She allowed herself a single, slow breath.