The second day began without tension.
That, in itself, unsettled the delegation.
The Western Ridge elders arrived at the hall shortly after morning bell, their expressions unchanged from the day before—composed, polite, expectant. Tea was served. Formalities observed. No one mentioned the unresolved matter directly.
Seo Yerin noticed how carefully they watched her now.
Not with suspicion.
With calculation.
Jin Muyu greeted them cheerfully, as though nothing were amiss. "You slept well, I hope," he said. "Our guest quarters are comfortable."
"They are," the taller elder replied. "Your hospitality is generous."
The meeting resumed.
Once again, Seo Yerin laid out the sect's position—measured, reasonable, unchanged. She did not press harder than before. She did not threaten, cajole, or hint at consequence.
When she finished, the elder listened attentively.
And once again, he refused.
"I regret that our answer remains the same," he said calmly. "We cannot accept this condition."
There it was.
No apology.
No explanation.
No concession.
The room did not tense.
Muyu frowned briefly, then shrugged. "If that's how it is."
Seo Yerin inclined her head. "Then we will adjourn."
The meeting ended as quietly as it had begun.
The delegation returned to their quarters.
They remained confident.
They should have noticed the absence of frustration.
*****
That afternoon, Seo Yerin summoned Elder Gwon.
They spoke in private.
No records were kept.
Her instructions were brief, precise, and devoid of explanation. She did not justify them, nor did she soften them with reassurance. Elder Gwon listened without interruption.
At the end, he bowed.
"As you command," he said.
She dismissed him at once.
*****
Night fell gently.
Lanterns were lit along the inner paths, their glow reflecting off stone and lacquered wood. The guest quarters were prepared for comfort—wine warmed, incense set, servants assigned.
When Seo Yerin arrived, she did so without ceremony.
No formal announcement.
No escort.
The Western Ridge elders rose in surprise when she entered their sitting chamber.
"My lady," one of them said. "This is unexpected."
"So is your continued refusal," she replied evenly. "I thought perhaps conversation, without formality, might be more productive."
They exchanged glances.
"Please," the elder said after a moment. "Sit."
She did.
Wine was poured. The discussion resumed—not of trade or routes, but of histories, shared interests, mutual acquaintances. The tone was relaxed, almost companionable.
Almost.
When she returned, gently, to the matter at hand, the answer did not change.
"I admire your persistence," the elder said. "But our position is firm."
Seo Yerin studied him for a moment.
Then she smiled faintly.
"In that case," she said, "perhaps we should move somewhere more… accommodating."
*****
The second chamber had been prepared in advance.
Unlike the formal sitting room, this space was lower, softer—its walls draped in layered silk, lanterns shaded to cast a diffuse, amber glow. An incense burner rested near the center of the room, its lid slightly ajar. From it rose a slow, steady stream of smoke, sweet and unfamiliar, curling lazily through the air.
The scent was not overwhelming.
Not yet.
It lingered just long enough to be noticed.
Seo Yerin watched the guests as they entered. Their steps slowed almost imperceptibly, their shoulders easing as the warmth of the room settled around them.
Wine had already been poured.
Female servants moved with quiet efficiency, offering cups, refilling them before they were fully empty. The atmosphere shifted—not abruptly, but subtly, as formality gave way to comfort.
Conversation loosened.
When Elder Gwon arrived with the three women, the room stilled for a brief moment.
The women stood near the entrance, hands folded, eyes lowered. Their hesitation was visible, but so was their understanding. This was not a request that allowed refusal.
Seo Yerin leaned close to Elder Gwon and whispered something meant only for him.
He nodded once.
And left.
The remaining servants were dismissed shortly after, the doors sliding shut behind them with deliberate finality.
Only then did Seo Yerin speak.
"Serve them," she said.
The women moved forward.
At first, their actions were restrained—pouring wine, offering cups, standing close enough for the warmth of their bodies to be felt. The guests accepted the attention without comment, their focus gradually narrowing, their posture slackening as the incense continued to burn.
Time passed.
The scent thickened.
Seo Yerin observed carefully.
When she approached the women, her movements were unhurried. She adjusted a collar, loosened a fastening, slid fabric from a shoulder. Each motion was deliberate, performed without force, as though the outcome were already agreed upon.
The women resisted briefly—hands lifting, breath catching—but she did not rush them. She did not raise her voice. She simply continued.
Clothes were dropped on the floor, naked bodies revealed.
The guests did not look away.
Hands followed—tentative at first, then more assured. Fingers brushed skin. A laugh, low and unfocused, escaped one of the elders. Wine spilled slightly as a cup was set aside and forgotten.
Seo Yerin stepped back.
She watched only long enough to confirm what she needed to see—attention captured, restraint weakened, the room no longer governed by reason alone.
"You may enjoy yourselves," she said calmly.
She did not wait for acknowledgment.
She turned and left the chamber, the door closing softly behind her while the incense continued to burn within.
*****
By morning, the atmosphere had changed.
When the Western Ridge elders returned to the hall, they were quieter. More subdued. Their courtesy was unchanged—but something in their confidence had thinned.
When Seo Yerin presented the demand again, there was no immediate refusal.
A pause.
A glance exchanged.
"We will agree," the taller elder said finally.
No explanation followed.
The agreement was finalized quickly.
The delegation departed before noon.
*****
That evening, Seo Yerin stood alone in her chambers, the scent of incense still lingering faintly in her memory.
She did not feel triumph.
Only certainty.
Something had been set in motion.
Something that would not be undone.