The air crackled with ill-concealed resentment. Before the newly appointed chore master could so much as utter a greeting, a voice, thick with false outrage, cut through the simmering tension. “Pay him no heed, Brother Wang! Zhao Xiaoer’s tongue is steeped in venom. He cursed you most vilely before your arrival, more savagely than any of us!”

Zhao Xiaoer’s face darkened, a flush creeping up his neck. “Zhao Xiaosan, you viper! I am your kin! You fester with betrayal. Wait until nightfall, brother – you shall feel the sting of my righteous anger!”

“Justice demands sacrifice, brother,” Xiaosan simpered, his eyes darting to Wang Lin. “Good Brother Wang, be merciful, grant me a lighter task.”

Another voice piped up, oily and ingratiating. “Elder Brother Wang, dismiss their petty squabbles. They weave tales as easily as breath. I swear, never a harsh word against you has escaped my lips!”

A softer, more honeyed tone followed. A registered disciple, fair of face, fluttered her eyelashes. “Good Brother Wang, alas, I am plagued by ill health since childhood. Burdensome tasks are beyond my strength. Might I… perhaps… tend to your weary shoulders and back each evening? Would that please you?”

Female disciples were a rare bloom in the rough patch of Hengyue Sect’s registered ranks, comprising less than a tenth of their number. The trials of endurance favored the strength of men. Thus, these few women were treated as stars in the night sky, some even earning the fleeting favor of inner disciples with their budding talents.

Now, another, emboldened by the first, cast a languid gaze upon Wang Lin. “Elder Brother, the former chore master, Liu, favored me above all others. I attended him nightly. I could gather my sisters – registered disciples all – to offer you our services this very evening, should you desire it?”

A cacophony of voices rose, each vying to prove their fealty, their lips sealed against any whisper of ill will. Wang Lin endured the din for as long as he could, his patience fraying with each sycophantic plea. Finally, he roared, “Silence! A pox on this caterwauling!”

He stabbed a finger at a trembling figure. “You! Carry water – twenty vats each day! Should you find the task…unsuitable, seek redress with the elder!”

The wretch sputtered, his face contorted in a mixture of fear and resentment. Seeing the storm brewing in Wang Lin’s eyes, he forced a ghastly smile and nodded furiously.

“And you,” Wang Lin snarled at another, “You shall launder garments, five hundred *jin* of them each day. Mark my words, seek solace from the elder if you find it lacking!” The assigned one swayed, his face paling to the color of ash. He mumbled, “Five hundred *jin*… that is the raiment of the entire sect…”

“Clean the outhouses,” Wang Lin declared, “Each and every one! Should a single fly darken their threshold, *you* shall dwell within! Dare to complain, seek audience with the elder!”

“You! Go forth and gather herbs – five hundred *jin* daily. Should you attempt to deceive me with weeds and chaff, I shall shatter your legs and cast you from the sect! Remember well – the elder awaits your grievances!” The unfortunate soul thus burdened collapsed in a heap, his eyes rolling back in his head.

A wave of pity rippled through the gathered disciples. Five hundred *jin* of herbs? The mountains surrounding Hengyue Sect likely did not yield so much!

Wang Lin continued, driven by the memory of past slights. He systematically assigned the most onerous tasks he could devise. The sheer volume of labor was designed to overwhelm, forcing complaints that would inevitably reach the elders. Perhaps then, the absurdity of his position would be made clear, and he, Wang Lin, would be freed from this purgatory of meaningless chores.

Finally, he turned to a fresh face. “You are blessed. Your task is simple. You shall be my ledger, recording each gift offered to me, the giver, the date, and the worth. You shall deliver this accounting to me monthly. Should even a single trinket find its way into your pocket, you shall be banished!”

The man fell to his knees, showering Wang Lin with thanks and vows of unblemished honesty.

The other disciples were aghast. The previous chore master had been discreet in his extortion. Wang Lin, it seemed, was demanding a bribe outright.

Hesitantly, a registered disciple stepped forward, offering three shimmering spirit talismans. “Good Brother Wang,” he stammered, “Accept this humble offering.”

Wang Lin sniffed, pocketing the talismans without a word. “What task was assigned to you?”

“Carrying water, twenty vats each day!” the man blurted, his eyes wide with apprehension.

“Henceforth, you shall carry but five,” Wang Lin declared.

Overwhelmed with relief, the man heaped praise upon Wang Lin.

Emboldened by this success, others surged forward, eager to offer their own tokens of esteem. But Wang Lin raised a hand, silencing the throng. “Hold! All gifts and requests shall be delivered in writing, stating the tasks assigned and the desired leniency. These petitions shall be submitted to my designated scribe every ten days.”

Without another glance, he turned and strode into his room, slamming the door behind him.

The yard emptied, filled with sighs and suppressed curses. No one dared voice their true feelings. Shoulders slumped, they dispersed like shadows at dawn.

Once the last disciple had departed, Wang Lin emerged, meticulously searching the outer reaches of the chore quarters. He finally discovered a neglected storeroom hidden behind a weathered door.

The space was small, but discreet. After clearing a space, locking the door, and taking a deep breath, Wang Lin sat cross-legged and delved into the dream.

The sun and moon danced in the sky, blurring the passage of time. Two months had slipped by since Wang Lin’s appointment. He had wasted the first few days devising cruel tasks for the registered disciples, but now devoted himself entirely to cultivation, ignoring the constant disruptions. He endured their complaints, listening with feigned indifference. And when his patience wore thin, a few well-timed grunts would elicit a flurry of spirit talismans.

But despite his efforts, Wang Lin grew increasingly frustrated. His practice was constantly interrupted by the registered disciples. He could not fathom the motives of the masters and elders. Had they not witnessed his blatant corruption? His flagrant abuse of power? Surely, someone would intervene.

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