After being led by Chen Yu to his private room, Mo Zhaoyuan sat silently in his chair.
He remained still for a long time—so long that even Chen Yu, who had accompanied him on countless occasions, found it unusual.
In recent times, Chen Yu had seen many sides of his young master.
But this was the first time he felt that Mo Zhaoyuan had truly stopped to think.
Usually, decisions were made swiftly—
as if the plan had already been completed before the thought had even finished forming.
But this time was different.
Mo Zhaoyuan was silent for far too long.
Chen Yu did not dare disturb him.
After half a stick of incense had burned away, Mo Zhaoyuan finally spoke.
"This situation… is far worse than I expected."
Chen Yu remained silent.
"Who were the elders in that hall?" Mo Zhaoyuan asked.
Chen Yu thought for a moment.
"The First Elder of the Murong Family—Murong Qingshan. He is the type who remains silent and observes."
"Second, the representative from the Jade Prosperity Pavilion, Yao Wenlu."
Mo Zhaoyuan listened attentively.
"And third—Prince Yan Zhenhou. The direct younger brother of Emperor Yan."
"What? How could he become an elder?" Mo Zhaoyuan asked in surprise.
"The clan leader's third wife is a princess of the current emperor, and Elder Zhenhou is her uncle. Their uncle–niece relationship is very close."
Chen Yu paused to take a breath.
"The current emperor eliminated nearly all his brothers when he ascended the throne—except Yan Zhenhou. The main reason was that Elder Zhenhou valued peace and tranquility far more than power. He never participated in the succession struggle when the previous emperor passed away."
"He was also the one who took care of several of Emperor Yan's children while the emperor was consumed by state affairs," Chen Yu explained in a low voice.
Chen Yu continued,
"Fourth, the elder from the Shen Family—the family of Young Master's mother. Shen Ruoxuan. Or rather… Lin Shuyuan's maternal grandfather."
"And lastly, the elder from the Baili Family. Baili Xiao."
"He was the one who explained the poison we mentioned earlier."
Chen Yu finished his explanation.
"Are there any other elders besides them?" Mo Zhaoyuan asked.
"There is one more—Lin Wendao. He is also the former clan head, and the great-grandfather of Lin Cangjian," Chen Yu added.
"I heard that after he stepped down, he never once involved himself in politics. He has always maintained neutrality toward all candidates since his generation."
Chen Yu fell silent again.
The room returned to stillness.
After a brief pause, Mo Zhaoyuan asked,
"How often do you report your missions to the clan head?"
Chen Yu did not answer immediately. He thought carefully.
After considering, he replied firmly,
"Quite often, Young Master."
"Whenever you report, are elders ever present?"
Chen Yu closed his eyes, searching his memory.
"Sometimes, during important missions, there would be elders present alongside the clan head."
"Which mission do you remember clearly—and which elder was there?"
Chen Yu thought again.
"Ah—I remember one. I was ordered by the clan head to eliminate an underground drug trafficking group known as the Syndicate. At that time, Elder Zhenhou was present, listening to my report along with the clan head."
Chen Yu explained, though he himself felt puzzled. At the time, he had sensed nothing suspicious.
Seeing the confusion clearly written on Chen Yu's face, Mo Zhaoyuan smiled.
"Which side does Elder Zhenhou represent?" Mo Zhaoyuan asked.
"He represents Young Master Third," Chen Yu replied, lowering his head slightly.
"Then who do you think is most likely pulling the strings behind the Syndicate, to the point that an elder from Young Master Third's faction personally listened to the report?"
Chen Yu fell into deep thought, reviewing every possible candidate.
After a long moment, his eyes widened.
At last, he understood what had truly been happening.
This was far from simple.
Previously, he had thought the elders' presence during his reports was mere coincidence.
Now, he realized the truth.
Seeing his shocked expression, Mo Zhaoyuan smiled again.
"Has there ever been a time when more than one elder attended your reports?" Mo Zhaoyuan asked.
"Never," Chen Yu answered firmly.
"Then what do you think about the report we gave today?"
Chen Yu's expression froze—
as if a bucket of icy water had been poured over his head.
He finally understood how serious this situation truly was.
Mo Zhaoyuan let out a soft sigh.
He did not want to think too far ahead about events that had yet to occur.
But that did not mean he would fail to prepare.
"Where does Elder Wendao reside?" Mo Zhaoyuan asked.
Chen Yu turned toward the window and slowly raised his hand, pointing into the distance.
"Over there," he said softly. "The Silent Pavilion, atop the eastern mountain."
From beyond the window, the mountain peak stood quietly, shrouded in thin mist.
Not grand. Not ostentatious.
Yet undeniably beautiful.
"Who has been there before?" Mo Zhaoyuan asked.
Chen Yu hesitated before answering.
"Almost all the candidates," he said honestly.
"The First Young Master. The Second Young Master. Even the Third Young Master."
He paused, then added in a lower voice,
"Including Lin Shuyuan."
Mo Zhaoyuan showed no reaction.
Yet in his mind, a conclusion grew increasingly clear.
Elder Wendao may not involve himself in politics—
but every faction still sought his support.
"All rejected?" Mo Zhaoyuan asked.
"Exactly," Chen Yu replied. Having long grown accustomed to his young master's accurate deductions, he was no longer surprised.
Mo Zhaoyuan gazed at the mist-covered mountain for a moment before asking,
"What kind of person is he?"
Chen Yu answered without hesitation, his voice low but firm.
"He values tranquility," he said.
"He enjoys drinking tea, playing Go, and spending time admiring paintings or beautiful scenery."
He paused briefly, choosing his words carefully.
"That is why Elder Wendao chose to live atop the mountain," Chen Yu continued.
"Not to distance himself from the world… but because from there, he can see everything clearly."
A gentle mountain breeze stirred the curtains, carrying cool air into the room.
Mo Zhaoyuan smiled faintly.
An elder who drinks tea, plays Go, and enjoys scenery—
yet such people are often the hardest to read,
and the most dangerous once they choose a side.
Mo Zhaoyuan stood up.
"Have you ever heard of Pure Essence Water, or the pollen of the Corpse Orchid?"
Chen Yu closed his eyes, searching his memory.
Pure Essence Water felt familiar.
He opened his eyes.
"The clan head possesses the Pure Essence Water."
Before Chen Yu could continue, he noticed Mo Zhaoyuan's expression shift.
Though it was only a slight tremor in his gaze, Chen Yu knew well—
Mo Zhaoyuan was exceptionally skilled at controlling his expressions.
Yet this time, he was clearly startled, if only for an instant.
After a brief pause, Chen Yu continued,
"As for the Corpse Orchid pollen, it is stored in the clan's treasury. Shall I retrieve it?"
Within the Northern Sword Clan, the young masters had the right to access resources from the clan treasury.
However, every withdrawal had to be reported in advance.
The gatekeeper would record the requester's identity, the item taken, and its quantity before the treasury released it.
Only after the records were completed would the resources be handed over.
"No need to take the Corpse Orchid pollen from the treasury," Mo Zhaoyuan ordered.
"Buy it from the black market."
He opened a storage box in the room,
took out two taels of gold,
and tossed them toward Chen Yu.
Chen Yu caught the gold easily.
"Is this enough?" Mo Zhaoyuan asked.
"It is," Chen Yu replied, bowing his head before leaving to carry out the task.
Chen Yu understood why his young master preferred spending his own money rather than drawing from the treasury.
After Chen Yu left, Mo Zhaoyuan once again gazed toward the mist-covered mountain.
After a long while, he turned and left his room.
Mo Zhaoyuan stepped out.
The wooden door closed softly behind him, sealing away the world within an instant.
The corridor of the Second Young Master's residence was quiet, broken only by his steady footsteps on the green stone floor.
Servants bowed respectfully as he passed, but Mo Zhaoyuan did not slow his pace.
Once he passed through the inner gate, mountain winds greeted him.
A stone path stretched ahead, winding along the slope. In the distance, the Silent Pavilion remained hidden within thin mist, as if deliberately waiting for those truly determined to reach it.
Before long, the flat path ended.
Stone steps rose before him.
The mountain staircase climbed steeply, layer upon layer, fading into the mist.
From below, it was impossible to see where it ended—as though it had no end at all.
Thin moss clung to the sides, a sign of age and of how few truly climbed to the summit.
Mo Zhaoyuan paused briefly.
He took a breath, then ascended without hesitation.
Step by step, he climbed.
The mist thickened. The air grew colder.
The sounds of the world gradually faded, replaced by near-absolute silence.
Even birdsong was absent.
After an unknown length of time, the staircase ended at a small platform.
There stood a simple residence.
Not a palace, not a grand hall—
just an old wooden building with curved eaves, surrounded by pine trees and natural stone.
A wooden plaque hung at the entrance, bearing two simple yet powerful characters.
Silent Pavilion.
A guard stood at the entrance.
His posture was straight, his gray robe plain and without any clan insignia.
His face was ordinary, but his eyes were calm and sharp—like someone long accustomed to all kinds of visitors.
"Halt," he said curtly.
Mo Zhaoyuan stopped and cupped his hands politely.
"I am Lin Shuyuan of the Northern Sword Clan. I wish to meet Elder Wendao."
The guard studied him for several seconds, as if weighing something.
Then he nodded slightly.
"Ah, Fourth Young Master Lin Shuyuan. Forgive me for not recognizing you earlier. Please wait."
He turned and knocked on the wooden door in a specific rhythm.
Soon, the door opened slightly.
A young girl appeared.
She was about sixteen or seventeen years old.
Her face was clean and gentle, her eyes clear, showing slight surprise upon seeing the guest.
Her hair was simply braided, her clothes plain, without excessive ornament—
clearly not a palace servant, but someone who had grown far from worldly bustle.
"Fourth… Young Master?" she asked softly.
The guard nodded. "Indeed. Young Master Lin Shuyuan."
The girl turned toward Mo Zhaoyuan and smiled faintly.
"Please, follow me."
She opened the door wider and walked ahead.
Mo Zhaoyuan followed.
Inside, the atmosphere grew even calmer.
A stone path led deeper into the small compound.
Bamboo and carefully tended plants lined both sides—not excessive, but perfectly balanced.
They walked with the girl leading the way.
"Forgive my poor memory," Mo Zhaoyuan asked gently, "may I know your name?"
She glanced back as she walked.
"My name is Yin'er," she replied.
Yin'er puffed her cheeks slightly.
"Young Master Shuyuan must have forgotten me."
"My apologies," Mo Zhaoyuan said with an awkward smile.
"Usually, very few guests come all the way up here," Yin'er said casually as they walked.
"Indeed," Mo Zhaoyuan replied politely.
"The scenery atop the mountain is beautiful, but perhaps people are unwilling to climb so many steps."
"We've arrived," Yin'er said.
Mo Zhaoyuan nodded lightly.
"Thank you for guiding me."
Yin'er smiled, clearly pleased by his courteous tone.
Soon, they reached an open wooden gazebo.
It faced distant mountains.
Mist flowed slowly between the peaks like a tranquil sea of clouds.
At the center of the gazebo stood a stone table, upon which lay a Go board.
An elderly man sat there alone.
His hair was completely white, neatly arranged.
His eyebrows and long beard were equally white, flowing and well-kept.
His robe was simple but clean.
Age spots marked his face, yet his expression was calm—almost emotionless, as though the outside world no longer had a place in his thoughts.
Before him, the Go board was nearly full.
Yet he continued to play… alone.
Elder Wendao lifted a black stone, studied the board for a moment, then placed it firmly.
Only then did he speak, without turning.
"Yin'er, you may leave."
"Y-yes, Elder," Yin'er replied quickly, bowing to Mo Zhaoyuan before departing lightly.
The gazebo fell silent once more.
Mo Zhaoyuan stepped forward two paces and stopped, maintaining respectful distance.
"Elder Wendao," he said calmly.
"Junior Lin Shuyuan pays his respects."
Elder Wendao finally raised his gaze.
A pair of aged yet clear eyes looked at Mo Zhaoyuan—
the eyes of someone who had seen far too much, and was therefore difficult to shake.
Mo Zhaoyuan did not meet his gaze.
From the beginning, his eyes had remained fixed on the Go board.
There is a well-known saying:
'The Go board is a reflection of the self.
From the way one places their stones,
you can see their true character.'
Upon the Go board before them, Elder Wendao's character was laid bare—without the need for a single word.
His formation was compact and oppressive. Black stones dominated nearly every corner of the board. There were no hesitant moves, no stones placed for beauty alone.
Every position was calculated.
Every sacrifice had been decided long before the stone ever touched the board.
Many stones were left to die.
Not because of mistakes—
but because, from the very beginning, they had been destined for sacrifice.
He did not try to save everything.
He did not care if small territories collapsed, as long as the center of control remained firmly in his grasp. To him, victory was not about preserving every part, but about mastering the endgame.
And yet, therein lay the strangeness.
The board was filled with dominance, filled with control…
but it was also silent.
There were no shapes that protected one another with warmth.
No group of stones truly "lived together."
As though Elder Wendao had long grown accustomed to playing alone—
and in doing so, had accepted that victory was always paid for
by leaving something behind.
The board won.
But the player… looked lonely.
"Sit," he said curtly, gesturing toward the white stones at the side of the Go board.
Mo Zhaoyuan sat down slowly.
Between them lay the Go board, mist-covered mountains in the distance, and a silence far heavier than words.
"May we play while we talk?" Mo Zhaoyuan asked politely.
"Of course," Elder Wendao replied briefly.
Elder Wendao swept all the stones from the board until it was spotless, ready for a new game.
The Go elder picked up a black stone and placed it on the board.
Seeing the game begin, Mo Zhaoyuan started the conversation.
"Elder, why do you only play Go by yourself? Isn't that merely isolating yourself further?"
As he placed another black stone on the board, Elder Wendao replied,
"The longer you live, the more people you lose beside you."
When it was his turn to place a stone, Mo Zhaoyuan asked again,
"Why do you refuse to involve yourself in politics, Elder?"
Elder Wendao, who had been about to place another stone, paused.
He stroked his long beard before finally answering,
"The longer you live, the wiser you become. When the time comes, you will feel the emptiness of this world. I have seen clan leaders from many different generations—yet in the end, all of them were replaced by time."
"The strong are eventually replaced by the stronger, and the clever by the cleverer. I have grown weary of politics, knowing that in the end, they too will be replaced by time,"
Elder Wendao continued, placing the stone he had hesitated to set down.
"You are mistaken, Elder."
When his turn came, Mo Zhaoyuan unexpectedly refuted Elder Wendao's argument.
Elder Wendao was startled. He looked at Mo Zhaoyuan in disbelief.
Normally, those who came to see him sought political support.
They flattered him and tried to please him.
But Mo Zhaoyuan's behavior truly surprised him.
For instead of growing angry, Elder Wendao chose to ask,
"Where is my mistake?"
Mo Zhaoyuan's right hand, holding a stone, froze in midair.
He let out a slow breath before asking,
"Elder, what is the reason a human being lives?"
Elder Wendao fell silent.
Though the question was simple, its answer ran deep.
After a long pause, he finally replied,
"Ambition?"
Mo Zhaoyuan shook his head.
"Ambition can turn a slave into an emperor,
but ambition can also turn an emperor into a slave."
"Then what is the true answer?" Elder Wendao asked.
"Hope and purpose," Mo Zhaoyuan answered simply.
Elder Wendao narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced.
Seeing this, Mo Zhaoyuan continued,
"Elder, you were once a clan leader, weren't you?"
"I was," Elder Wendao replied, placing another stone on the board.
"What was your reason for wanting to become clan leader back then?" Mo Zhaoyuan asked when it was his turn.
"I had ambition—great ambition. I wanted the Northern Sword Clan to grow far beyond what it was. I wanted it to become not only the greatest clan in the central lands, but the ruler of the entire Northern Continent. In the end, I failed."
Sadness appeared on Elder Wendao's face.
"Did you encounter hardship? And how did you overcome it while pursuing your goal?"
"I pressed forward. I never once looked back. I kept moving without stopping. Even when hardship struck me, my ambition was far greater than my suffering. I constantly reminded myself of the ambition I wished to achieve, and so I overcame every difficulty and challenge in my life. I did all of that relying solely on my great ambition," Elder Wendao answered firmly.
Looking at the resolute Elder Wendao, Mo Zhaoyuan smiled warmly.
"Elder, that was not because of ambition, but because of hope and purpose. At its core, what allowed you to endure was not ambition, but hope and purpose."
Elder Wendao narrowed his eyes once more.
Mo Zhaoyuan continued,
"Because your great goal endured, and because you hoped it would succeed, you gained the strength to keep moving forward. Your purpose—to have the clan dominate the continent—and your hope that it could be achieved—that is what allowed you to persevere. But now, you have lost both."
Mo Zhaoyuan let out a short sigh.
"You have not lost your ambition. You have lost your hope and your purpose. If your reason for living were truly ambition, you would still be involved in politics even after stepping down as clan leader. After all, your ultimate goal was for the clan to rule the Northern Continent—regardless of who accomplished it."
Elder Wendao's eyes widened. He opened his mouth to refute the words, but ultimately closed it again.
"Look at yourself now. You are still alive. You should still be pursuing that ambition, since the clan still exists and the final goal has not yet been achieved. Yet you have given up—not because you lost ambition, but because you lost hope and purpose."
Elder Wendao fell silent. His expression softened, as though he had accepted the truth.
Mo Zhaoyuan continued,
"You grew tired of watching the clan's situation change again and again—from one leader to the next, endlessly repeating. In the end, you lost hope in the clan and in your final goal."
Mo Zhaoyuan finally fell silent. He had finished explaining.
"You are right," Elder Wendao said quietly.
"Humans do not live for ambition, but for hope and purpose. When one loses both, their life ends—even if they are still breathing."
Regret shone in Elder Wendao's eyes, for it had taken him this long to understand such a simple truth.