Reincarnated as a Scholar: But I only write Erotica-Chapter 5: Master?

Lin Mao's eyes darted from one pavilion to the next, his mind struggling to take in the beauty of his surroundings.

Robed figures moved gracefully around him, their expressions calm and composed. Some walked in silence, their presence exuding an air of wisdom, while others conversed in hushed tones.

Men and women of varying ages—moved with an elegance that felt unnatural but at the same time, calming and purposeful.

Meanwhile, the man in white kept walking forward without pause.

Lin Mao rushed to keep up all while glancing at other figures in awe.

"Hey, are these people... cultivators?" he blurted out, barely able to contain his excitement. "Like, are they actual immortals? Do they fly around on swords? Do they shoot lightning from their fingertips?"

The man in white remained silent, his gaze fixed ahead, but Lin Mao didn't miss the slight twitch at the corner of his lips—was that a smirk?

"Come on, man, just give me a hint! Do I get superpowers or not?" Lin Mao pressed on.

Still, no response.

They continued moving through the vast courtyard, and with every step, Lin Mao's heart pounded with anticipation. This wasn't just some dream—this was real.

And for the first time in his life, he wondered:

Was this the start of the adventure he had always dreamed of?

As they reached the grand doors of the towering pavilion, the man in white finally came to a stop. Turning to face Lin Mao, his previously unreadable expression, hardened further.

"Lin Mao," he said. "What happened to you? Why are you acting like this? Has the defeat gone to your head??"

Lin Mao tilted his head in confusion. "Defeat?" he repeated. "What are you talking about?"

The man's sharp gaze narrowed as he studied Lin Mao more closely.

"Don't play games with me. Did something happen to you?" he asked with a hint of concern filling his voice.

Lin Mao opened his mouth, then hesitated. He searched his brain, trying to find anything but there was nothing—not even fragments of memory.

With a sigh, he rubbed the back of his head and gave an awkward chuckle. "Yeah... I think I hit my head pretty hard. I can't seem to remember anything."

The man's gaze didn't waver. "Lost your memories?"

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There was a long pause before he scoffed. "How convenient."

Lin Mao raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, trust me, I'm just as lost as you are. If I had any idea what was going on, I wouldn't be standing here like a confused puppy."

The man in white exhaled, clearly unconvinced. But instead of pressing further, he turned away and pushed open the massive pavilion doors.

"Come with me. The Master will decide what to do with you—whether your memory loss is real... or just another one of your excuses."

The doors creaked open, revealing a vast interior that seemed to stretch endlessly into the distance.

"Master?" Lin Mao muttered as he stepped inside. "Great. More questions and no answers." But the moment his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting; his eyes immediately widened in surprise.

The pavilion's interior was exactly like the grand halls from the historical Chinese dramas that he had binge-watched back on Earth. Everything was crafted from polished wood, giving off a simple yet peaceful atmosphere. Intricate carvings of dragons and phoenixes adorned the walls and pillars.

An odd sense of calm washed over Lin Mao as they began ascending the wooden stairs. They climbed one floor, then another, and another.

By the fourth floor, Lin Mao's breathing was heavy, and his legs were nearly about to give up. He finally fell onto the stairs, gasping for air.

"Oi... where the hell are we going?" he groaned, dragging himself up the steps. "Are we climbing to heaven? Who designed this place?"

The man ahead of him remained unbothered, moving with the same grace as before. He stopped briefly and looked back.

"A scholar with no patience, is like a life with no ambition—completely useless."

Lin Mao rolled his eyes, still struggling to catch his breath. "Yeah, yeah, keep your philosophical bullshit to yourself, Confucius Jr. Some of us weren't built for a fucking marathon."

The man sighed. "If you cannot even endure this small effort, how do you expect to face the Master? Or regain what you have lost?"

Something about those words struck a chord in Lin Mao's mind.

"Regain what I have lost..." he murmured. "You're not just talking about my memories, are you?"

The man offered a faint smile. "That's for the Master to decide." And with that, he turned and continued climbing.

Lin Mao gritted his teeth, mumbling curses as he forced himself back onto his feet.

"Great. More riddles and less oxygen. This place better have a good canteen at the top."

The agonizing climb lasted until the seventh floor, where they finally stopped.

Lin Mao immediately collapsed onto his hands and knees, panting like a dog. "I'm dying. I'm actually dying."

The man beside him remained composed, not even a bead of sweat on his face. He took a step forward and gestured for Lin Mao to follow as they hey moved through the hallways.

They stopped before a sliding door, its paper-thin surface adorned with golden patterns of flowing clouds.

The man bowed his head slightly. "Master, Lin Mao has arrived."

A long silence followed.

Then, a deep, commanding voice rumbled from within.

"Enter."