Lin Mu sat beneath a plum tree, watching the petals fall as the spring breeze rustled the branches. Meng Bai was nearby, practicing a quiet breathing technique.
"I still can't believe the Mui Clan folded so fast," Meng Bai muttered. "I thought they'd at least try to resist."
"They're not fools," Monk Hushu who was meditating nearby said. "They saw the wrath of Dharma and realized their foundation was weaker than they believed."
Meng Bai stood beside them with the spear in hand, his expression a bit complex.
"Four emissaries arrived this morning from noble houses," he said. "Two seeking alliances, one bringing tribute, and one begging forgiveness for a past slight the monks don't even remember."
Lin Mu raised a brow. "And the temple?"
"The elders haven't decided how to respond yet. But they all look at you differently now."
Lin Mu sighed. "I didn't want this attention."
"You didn't ask for it," Monk Hushu agreed. "But power answers not to desire. It answers to fate."
