# CHAPTER 2: THE COST OF CORRECTION
The Hidden Leaf Sect did not look like a school of martial arts. It looked like a high-budget screen saver that was starting to overheat.
As Su Lan was escorted through the winding mountain paths by Elder Kan—who was currently reciting 'Welcome Dialogue #4' with a rhythmic, unblinking precision—she noticed the first major red flag. The cherry blossoms weren't falling; they were spawning. A petal would appear out of thin air exactly six feet above the ground, drift down in a pre-set zig-zag, and then vanish into the stone path with a faint, digital hiss.
"Is the scenery always this... repetitive?" Su Lan asked, testing the limits of the Elder's AI.
Elder Kan didn't turn around. His gait was perfectly consistent, his heels clicking against the limestone with metronomic regularity. "The beauty of our Sect is eternal, Junior Sister. The blossoms represent the purity of our Dao. To see them is to see the heart of the Heavens."
"Right. Purity. Or a lazy texture loop," Su Lan muttered.
She pulled up her interface. Her vision blurred for a second as a translucent window flickered into existence over the Elder's head.
[ASSET: ELDER KAN]
[ROLE: PLOT-VEHICLE / EXPOSITION BOT]
[CURRENT SCRIPT: THE GRAND TOUR (PART 1)]
[NARRATIVE VALUE: NEGLIGIBLE]
Beside his head, a small red button hovered: **[EDIT]**.
Su Lan reached out, her finger trembling. If she could just change one word of his dialogue—maybe make him admit the tea in this place was terrible—she might feel like she had some control over this neon-lit purgatory. She tapped the button.
[ERROR: INSUFFICIENT INK.]
[CURRENT BALANCE: -1 DROP (IN DEBT).]
[NOTE: INK DROPS ARE EARNED THROUGH 'NARRATIVE IMPACT' AND 'CLICHÉ DESTRUCTION'.]
"So I'm a content moderator with no permissions," Su Lan sighed, her emerald sleeves fluttering in a wind that only seemed to blow when she looked depressed. "Typical. Give me the responsibility of saving the world but don't give me the budget for a single comma."
They reached the Main Courtyard, an expansive plaza of white jade that reflected the sun with eye-straining intensity. This was where the "Selection" was meant to take place. Standing in neat, symmetrical rows were fifty disciples. They were all wearing the same white robes. They all had the same "determined but humble" expression.
In fact, as Su Lan got closer, she realized with a jolt of horror that they all had the exact same face.
[SYSTEM ALERT: ASSET DUPLICATION DETECTED. NARRATIVE INTEGRITY: 85%.]
[CAUSE: BUDGET CONSTRAINTS IN CHAPTERS 1-10.]
Su Lan felt a wave of nausea. This wasn't a world; it was a factory. These boys weren't people; they were 'Disciple_Model_01' copied and pasted to fill the frame because the Author was too tired to describe fifty different teenagers.
"Elder Kan," Su Lan said, her voice tight. "Why do all the disciples look like octuplets?"
The Elder finally stopped. He turned, his face flickering for a microsecond—a jagged line of static crossing his eyes—before smoothing back into a plastic smile. "They are unified in their purpose, Junior Sister. The Dao seeks harmony, not deviation. To look upon one is to look upon all."
"That's not harmony, Elder. That's a memory leak. You're literally running out of unique faces."
She walked past the rows of identical boys, searching for any sign of a "Plot Hole"—anything real that wasn't a copy of a copy.
She found it in the far corner of the courtyard, standing under the shadow of a leaning pillar.
Sa-Su-Ke was there. He was no longer wet, but he looked even more "broken" than before. He was the only one whose robes were slightly torn at the hem, the only one whose hair wasn't perfectly rendered in a 360-degree loop. He was staring at the rows of identical disciples with an expression of profound, soul-deep disgust.
When Su Lan approached, he didn't give the 'Cool Rival' smirk. He didn't recite a line about his revenge. He looked at her, his dark eyes narrowing with a look of recognition that was far too sharp for a background character.
"You," he whispered. "The woman from the gate. The one who... stopped the sky."
"Senior Brother," Su Lan replied, her heart skipping a beat. "I see you've managed to find a spot without any weather anomalies."
Sa-Su-Ke stepped closer, dropping his voice so the Elder—who was currently staring into space in 'Idle Mode'—couldn't hear. "Something is wrong, Su Lan. Look at them. Look at their eyes. They aren't blinking in sync. They aren't blinking at all. And the one in the third row... he has been holding his breath for five minutes."
Su Lan froze. She looked back at the rows of disciples. He was right. Fifty pairs of eyes were staring at the horizon, frozen, waiting for the "Selection" event to trigger their next movement. They were puppets waiting for the puppeteer to remember they existed.
"You noticed," Su Lan whispered, her voice barely audible.
"How could I not?" Sa-Su-Ke's hand went to the hilt of his sword, his knuckles white. "This isn't a Sect. It's a tomb of dolls. And I think you're the only one who knows why the air feels like glass."
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: NARRATIVE IMPACT DETECTED! CHARACTER 'SA-SU-KE' HAS GAINED +5% AWARENESS.]
[EARNED: +15 INK DROPS.]
[NEW BALANCE: 14 DROPS.]
Su Lan felt the Red Pen in her pocket warm up, vibrating against her thigh. She had her first real drops. She had her first ally. And she had just realized that the "Ice Prince" wasn't just a love interest she had to manage—he was the first person in this world who was starting to see the brushstrokes on the canvas.
"Stay close to me, Wet Cat," Su Lan said, her violet-tinged eyes scanning the courtyard. "The Selection is about to start, and I have a feeling the script is going to try and force you into a fight you didn't ask for."
Sa-Su-Ke nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "I don't care about the fight. I want to know who is pulling the strings."
[CRINGE LEVEL: 15%. STAKES: RISING.]