Chapter 42 Tang Hui Learns the Sect Has Already Decided Things for Her

Tang Hui stared at the scroll cases like they personally offended her ancestors.

The unfamiliar inner sect disciple remained standing politely near the pavilion entrance, entirely unaware he had just destabilized her spiritual peace.

Around the room, every disciple had gone silent.

Even Old Chen stopped pretending to organize artifacts outside.

Traitors sensing entertainment.

Tang Hui pointed carefully toward the scrolls.

“…Those documents are incorrect.”

The disciple blinked once.

“They were issued directly through administrative review.”

“Then the administration is incorrect.”

A dangerous statement inside a cultivation sect.

Several disciples looked impressed.

The messenger disciple hesitated awkwardly before opening the top scroll case anyway.

“I was instructed to deliver them personally,” he explained cautiously. “The elders already approved preliminary recognition last night after the Moonheart evaluations.”

Tang Hui felt her soul attempting to leave her body peacefully.

Last night?

These people moved faster than demonic invasions.

Luo Ming leaned against the nearby pillar with immediate interest.

“Impressive,” he commented. “You became an official sect structure while sleeping.”

“I reject this spiritually,” Tang Hui replied flatly.

“No longer possible apparently.”

Cruel man.

The messenger carefully unrolled several formal documents across the consultation table while everyone nearby leaned closer shamelessly.

Tang Hui immediately noticed horrifying phrases:

* Community Mediation Pavilion
* Emotional Guidance Services
* Interpersonal Conflict Consultation
* Approved Outer Sect Social Institution

Tang Hui physically closed her eyes.

“This sounds like I accidentally founded a religion.”

Lin Qingyue nearly choked on tea.

The messenger looked increasingly uncertain.

“…Senior Sister Tang?”

Tang Hui reopened her eyes slowly.

“Yes.”

“The elders considered your influence beneficial for sect harmony.”

That sentence somehow worsened everything.

Around the pavilion, disciples had started looking openly excited now.

“Does this mean the pavilion becomes permanent?”

“Will consultation hours expand?”

“Can we request dedicated gathering rooms?”

Tang Hui pointed accusingly toward the crowd.

“You people adapted to this idea far too quickly.”

One disciple answered honestly.

“This pavilion already feels permanent.”

The words landed unexpectedly softly.

Tang Hui paused.

Because again—

that uncomfortable truth surfaced beneath all her dramatic resistance.

The pavilion did feel permanent now.

The lanterns.
The crowded tables.
The familiar voices drifting through open windows daily.
The way people entered without hesitation.

At some point, this place stopped feeling temporary to everyone except her.

Ah.

Dangerous emotional realization again.

Tang Hui immediately distracted herself by grabbing the documents dramatically.

“Fine,” she declared. “If the sect insists on assigning terrifying official responsibilities to me, then I’m reading every clause personally.”

Reasonable survival response.

The messenger visibly relaxed after hearing that.

“Of course. The administrative hall also included structural support proposals.”

Tang Hui looked suspicious immediately.

“What kind of support?”

“…Renovation funding.”

Silence.

Complete devastating silence.

Every disciple inside the pavilion slowly turned toward her.

Tang Hui froze.

Because—

unfortunately—

money remained her greatest weakness spiritually.

The messenger continued cautiously.

“The current pavilion structure exceeds safe occupancy limits.”

Old Chen nodded immediately from outside.

“He’s right. This place looks one emotional confession away from collapse.”

Betrayal.

Gu Beichen, meanwhile, glanced calmly toward the support beams overhead.

“…Several sections do require reinforcement.”

DOUBLE betrayal.

Tang Hui stared upward at the familiar wooden ceiling.

To be fair—

the building truly was struggling lately.

Too many disciples visited daily now. Consultation records overflowed every shelf. Even the courtyard remained crowded most afternoons.

The pavilion expanded naturally around her without permission.

Like roots growing quietly beneath stone.

Tang Hui suddenly felt strangely conflicted.

Because months ago she dreamed about stability desperately.

Now stability arrived—

and somehow terrified her anyway.

Before she could spiral deeper into self-analysis, Qin Yue stepped closer to examine the documents herself.

Her gaze moved carefully across the approval seals before she spoke.

“The elders rarely formalize outer sect institutions this quickly.”

Tang Hui immediately became suspicious again.

“That does not comfort me.”

“It means they trust your influence.”

Dangerous sentence.

Tang Hui folded the documents slowly.

“Influence sounds exhausting.”

Luo Ming laughed softly nearby.

“You say that while running the most socially important location in the outer sect.”

“That was never intentional.”

“Still happened.”

Unfortunately true.

The pavilion resumed partial activity afterward, though everyone remained distracted by the official recognition announcement.

Disciples whispered excitedly near the consultation tables while several immediately started discussing renovation possibilities.

One suggested expanded tea areas.

Another proposed dedicated privacy formations for emotional consultations.

Tang Hui listened in growing horror.

“These people are designing my future without permission,” she muttered.

Lin Qingyue smiled gently while organizing records beside her.

“You sound less upset than before.”

Tang Hui opened her mouth automatically—

then paused.

Because annoyingly enough, Lin Qingyue was right.

The fear remained.

But beneath it—

there was something else too.

Relief.

Subtle relief.

Because if the pavilion became official…

then maybe Tang Hui herself finally belonged here officially too.

Not as the untalented outer disciple barely surviving sect life.

But as Tang Hui.

Someone useful.

Someone people genuinely valued.

The realization sat quietly inside her chest while afternoon sunlight drifted warmly through the pavilion windows.

Before she could examine the feeling too carefully, Gu Beichen approached the consultation desk carrying one of the approval documents.

Tang Hui immediately became wary.

“…Why do you look thoughtful?”

“The renovation plans are reasonable.”

“That sentence contains threat energy.”

Gu Beichen ignored this calmly.

“The western wall should expand first. Consultation capacity already exceeds the current structure.”

Tang Hui stared at him blankly.

“…You analyzed building logistics.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“You’ll need the space.”

The answer arrived so naturally that Tang Hui momentarily forgot how to respond.

Because he said you’ll need the space.

Not:
the pavilion,
the business,
the structure.

You.

As though her remaining here long-term already felt obvious to him.

Ah.

Terrible.

Tang Hui looked away immediately before her own thoughts became socially dangerous again.

Nearby, Luo Ming observed the interaction with increasingly visible amusement.

Qin Yue noticed too.

And unfortunately—

Tang Hui noticed Qin Yue noticing.

Professional instincts remained undefeatable.

The afternoon gradually softened into evening as disciples filtered through the pavilion in steady waves. Some sought consultations. Others simply lingered comfortably around the tea tables discussing sect gossip and cultivation disasters.

At one point Tang Hui realized something deeply alarming:

people laughed here more than anywhere else in the outer sect.

Not cruelly.

Not competitively.

Just… comfortably.

The pavilion had somehow become a place where disciples relaxed enough to behave like ordinary young people instead of constantly pressured cultivators.

The realization warmed something unexpectedly quiet inside her.

Then immediately terrified her again.

Because caring deeply about something also meant risking losing it eventually.

And Tang Hui still remembered too clearly what it felt like spending years unnoticed.

Before the evening closed completely, the messenger disciple finally prepared to leave.

At the doorway, however, he paused awkwardly.

“Oh. One more thing.”

Tang Hui instantly distrusted that sentence.

“The elders requested an official pavilion name for the registration records.”

The room went silent again.

Several disciples looked toward Tang Hui expectantly.

Tang Hui blinked slowly.

“…It already has a name.”

The messenger hesitated.

“Senior Sister… the current sign says ‘MYSTICAL MATCHMAKING’ in crooked red paint.”

A pause.

“…Yes?”

“The elders suggested perhaps choosing something slightly more dignified.”

The pavilion exploded into laughter so violently that even Qin Yue looked briefly amused.

Tang Hui sat frozen behind the consultation desk while Old Chen physically leaned against the doorway for support.

Meanwhile Gu Beichen glanced calmly toward the original crooked sign hanging above the entrance.

Then, after several thoughtful seconds, he said:

“I like the current one.”

Silence immediately returned.

Tang Hui stared at him.

Because somehow—

despite everything—

that answer affected her far more than it should have.