A week passed. For the other servants of the Silver Cloud Manor, the routine continued unchanged, a monotonous tide of grueling work governed by the sun and the bells. In their small corner of the universe, however, a seismic shift had occurred. The Outer Courtyard C-7, once a dreaded task that required the effort of two men for most of the day, was now the domain of a single scrawny teenager who finished the job before mid-morning.
Every day, Kenji repeated his strange ritual. First, the silent observation. Then, the efficient dance with his broom. The result was always the same: a spotless cleaning. Lao Wang, his supervisor, had stopped looking surprised. Now, he simply watched him from a distance with an expression of deep, sullen confusion, like a butcher trying to understand how a chicken could lay golden eggs. He no longer threatened him. He would just nod with a grunt and assign him his next task.
Kenji's status among the other servants had evolved. The initial mockery had transformed into a quiet wariness. The burly man, Xiong, no longer bothered him; instead, he avoided him, unable to process how someone so weak could be so strangely competent. Kenji had become "the weirdo," an entity they didn't understand and, therefore, preferred to leave alone.
This social invisibility was exactly the environment Kenji needed. It allowed him to execute the second phase of his infiltration plan: business intelligence. His free time, his hours in the kitchen peeling mountains of vegetables, or his trips through the manor on errands, became his real workday. He listened. He observed. He analyzed. In his mind, the chaotic swarm of people in the Silver Cloud Clan began to arrange itself into a clear and sharp organization chart.
The lowest level: unskilled laborers, like me. We are the operations and logistics department. Above us are the low-level supervisors like Lao Wang, the plant managers. And above them all, the director of domestic operations, Matriarch Feng. She runs the entire non-cultivation infrastructure. She's efficient, but her vision is limited to her own department.
His first observations focused on the uniforms. The Disciples, the true "skilled personnel" of the clan, were differentiated by the color of the trim on their robes.
"Be careful with that tray," an elderly cook hissed at him once as she handed him an order for one of the training pavilions. "It's for the Jade Ring Disciples. If it gets cold, they'll use you for a training dummy."
Interesting. A visible tier structure. The most numerous wear white with blue trim: the "junior associates." Then there are the Jade Ring members, with green trim. They are fewer, but they move with more authority: "senior associates." And finally, I've seen a handful with silver trim. They always walk alone, and everyone else gets out of their way. The "vice presidents" or "division heads." The promotion system seems clear, probably based on the strength of their "cultivation."
Next on his mental map were the Elders, the "board of directors." He didn't see them often, but when they appeared, the atmosphere of the entire manor changed. One day, while carrying a sack of rice, he had to hastily step aside as three elderly men, with long white beards and deceptively simple robes, advanced down the hallway. Matriarch Feng, coming from the opposite direction, bowed so deeply that her head almost touched her knees. The elders passed without a glance, their presence filling the space with an invisible pressure.
The board of directors. They don't get involved in daily operations, but their authority is absolute. Matriarch Feng, a proud woman, bows to them without hesitation. Their power is the foundation upon which the entire organization rests. They are the majority shareholders.
The "Chief Executive Officer," the Sect Master, was an almost mythical figure. The servants spoke of him in fearful and reverent whispers. A master cultivator of unfathomable power, a hero of past battles. But the stories always ended on a melancholy note.
"He hasn't been the same since the Mistress passed away," he heard a gardener say. "He spends most of his time in seclusion, in the pavilion on the highest peak. He lets the Elders and his sons handle everything."
The CEO. A powerful but currently inactive leader, disconnected from daily management due to a personal crisis. This creates a power vacuum at the top, one that is likely being exploited by the board (the Elders) and the senior executives.
And those "senior executives," the heirs, were impossible to ignore. Kenji had seen them on several occasions. They were the Sect Master's sons, three young men of undeniable talent and monumental arrogance. They strutted around the manor as if it were their personal playground. The eldest, Zian, a young man with a sharp face and cold eyes, was the worst. One day in the courtyard, Kenji witnessed Zian humiliate a blue-trimmed disciple for a trivial flaw in his greeting.
"Are you a Silver Cloud disciple or a peasant learning to bow?" Zian's voice was like a whip. "Do it again! And this time, show the respect you owe your superior!"
The young disciple trembled, repeating the bow over and over until Zian grew bored and walked away.
The designated successors. The crown princes. Their power is derived from lineage, not necessarily managerial merit. Their leadership style is based on fear and intimidation, an inefficient tactic that breeds resentment and undermines morale. They are volatile assets, a risk to the long-term stability of the organization.
Kenji had mapped out the skeleton of the organization: the labor base, middle management, senior management, the board of directors, and the heirs to the throne. It seemed like a complete map. But then, he began to notice discrepancies. Little whispers, snippets of conversation that didn't fit into his org chart.
It was in the kitchen that he heard the first mention. One of the younger maids, a girl named Mei, sighed as she prepared a tray of food. It was a smaller tray, with more delicate dishes than the hearty feasts prepared for the brothers.
"Poor Miss Xiao Yue," she said quietly to a friend. "She'll be dining alone in her courtyard again."
Kenji, who was scrubbing a gigantic pot in a corner, processed the name. Xiao Yue? Not a name I've heard before. A "Miss." Female. And she eats alone. Doesn't fit the family dynamic of the arrogant brothers.
Days later, while helping a gardener transport fertilizer, the old man paused near an isolated and quiet courtyard at the back of the manor. He cut a perfect white camellia and discreetly left it on the low wall.
"The young miss likes white flowers," the gardener muttered, more to himself than to Kenji. "It's the least I can do. No one else seems to remember her."
Kenji's curiosity, which was really his instinct for identifying inefficiencies and hidden opportunities, was piqued. This was an anomaly. And anomalies in a system often concealed weaknesses or untapped potential.
He began to focus his attention, filtering the noise of servant gossip for any mention of this mysterious "Xiao Yue." Finally, his patience paid off. One afternoon, two of the manor's oldest personal maids, women who had served the late wife of the Sect Master, were speaking in low voices while folding silk sheets. Kenji was nearby, silently sweeping the hallway, having become an invisible piece of furniture.
"It's a real shame," one said. "The Sect Master only has eyes for his sons and the glorious future they will bring to the clan. He barely visits his own daughter."
"And the girl has a gift," the other replied, her voice filled with sadness. "I remember what the late Mistress said. She said that Xiao Yue's spiritual roots were like a pure spring, perhaps even deeper than Young Master Zian's. But a spring needs a channel, and no one bothers to dig one for her."
"She's so quiet, the poor thing. Always alone, reading or just looking at the trees. But don't be fooled, that girl sees everything. She has her mother's eyes. She watches and watches. I wonder what she's thinking behind that silence."
Kenji paused his sweeping for an instant. The information flooded his mind, fitting into place to form a clear and fascinating picture.
A hidden asset. Xiao Yue. Daughter of the CEO, but ignored due to an organizational culture focused on male heirs. Top-tier fundamental attributes ("pure spiritual roots"), but with low current performance due to a total lack of investment in her development—no mentors, no resources, no guidance. She is a diamond in the rough, a high-potential division completely neglected by the parent company. Her desire for recognition, her loneliness... these are vulnerabilities, yes, but they are also a gateway. A leverage point.
His mental org chart was redrawn. Zian and the other brothers were a closed market. Untouchable. Arrogant. Influencing them from his current position was impossible. It would be like a janitor trying to get a meeting with a multinational's vice president to propose a new business strategy.
But the daughter... the daughter was different.
She is an undervalued startup within a large corporation. Overlooked. Eager for an "angel investor" who sees her potential. Someone to offer her a plan, guidance, a strategy for growth. I can be that investor. Her success will become my success. Her rise will give me access to the highest levels of this organization.
He stopped sweeping. His task for the day was done, but his real work had just begun. He had found his project. His "Project Odyssey" in this new world. It wasn't sweeping courtyards. It was the optimization and development of Xiao Yue.
She would be his champion. His key investment. His path to power. Now, he just had to figure out how to schedule the first meeting.