Shifting from foot to foot impatiently, Arthur let his gaze bounce from individual to individual. Not long afterwards, Boss Choi had made his way in, glaring at Arthur. Now that he was forced to wait, along with many others already crowding the registration hall, he realised that Boss Choi was significantly shorter than he had appeared. Presence of body had made him seem taller, but standing next to the others here, Arthur pegged him as no more than five four at most.
“Small man attitude. Shit,” Arthur said to himself under his breath.
Further musings were interrupted, as the man he had bribed to take his place came up to Arthur. Unlike Boss Choi, he was on the larger side, over six feet tall and built like a gym bro. Broad chest, muscular shoulders, and even an enlarged neck. So much so that Arthur almost asked if he was on steroids.
“Ei, you. What’s that?” He gestured at Arthur’s branded hand.
“None of your business,” Arthur said.
“Ohhh. Something important, huh? Something dangerous? Get you in trouble?” the man said.
“Maybe.”
Turning his head slowly and obviously, his gaze trekked towards Boss Choi who was glaring at Arthur. Then, the gym bro turned his gaze back to Arthur. “Maybe. Hah.”
“So what?” Arthur said, lifting his chin. “I’m safe here.” A nod to the guard who was standing by silently, watching over the proceedings.
“Here. But not outside, right?” For a second, the other man hesitated before he thrust his hand out. “My friends call me Yao Jing.”
“Arthur.” Shaking Yao Jing’s hand, he let it go once he could, casting a glance for the attendant. Nothing yet. “I didn’t think we were friends.”
“Well, my new boss also can call me that,” Yao Jing said, crossing his arms and subtly flexing his muscles.
“Boss?” Snapping his head around, attention fully focused, Arthur stared at the man. “What?”
“I smell opportunity. Real good one.” Yao Jing tapped his nose. “So I want to get in, early.”
“And what, exactly, do I need you for?” Arthur said.
“I think it’s obvious.”
Arthur eyed the muscular man. “Fine. You can be in. Though this might become a whole . . . thing.”
“Okay, got it.” Yao Jing looked at Boss Choi, his lips curling up in a sneer. “They don’t scare me. Not one bit.”
“Problem is, it’s not just one person, you know?”
“If you mean the tong—” Yao Jing started, only to find that Arthur had spun around, his eyes entirely focused on Attendant Lai, who had stepped in with another man, the most beautiful individual he had ever seen, his skin tan and dark, his nose perfectly proportioned.
“Cultivator Chua. I was wondering when you would arrive. Some almost thought you had been lost to us already,” the man said, taking a position behind the counter beside Lai.
“Not lost, not at all. Just got here,” Arthur bowed. “And you are?”
“Cultivator Ibrahim. I’m the head attendant on this floor.”
“Arthur Chua. A pleasure to meet you,” Arthur said.
“Is it, really?” Ibrahim laughed. Arthur shivered, for there was something dangerous in that laugh. “An interesting weapon that you carry there, by your side.” A head lowered, indicating the kris Arthur kept.
“I . . . just something I picked up,” Arthur said, glancing over to where Boss Choi still stood.
Ibrahim’s eyes flicked over to where the short man stood, a smile dancing on his lips. “Well, if you find that it is something you might want to put down . . . I am a collector of sorts.”
“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind,” Arthur said, shifting uneasily. Small talk was all well and good and important, but he could not help but remember the threat that Boss Choi had leveled. Even if the man was here, rather than outside torturing his friends, Arthur could not help but hope to get this done quick.
After all, he had the entire thing hovering over his head for weeks now. With the final finishing line in sight, he wanted—no, he needed it—finished.
Ibrahim gave a small, disquieting smile at seeing Arthur’s impatience. Holding out his hand, he spoke. “Now, the clan seal?”
Low gasps from those around, even Yao Jing’s eyes widening ever further. Arthur ignored it all, only noting that Boss Choi had tried to move closer and been blocked by Yao Jing.
Arthur focused on raising his branded hand, offering the seal to the head attendant. The moment Ibrahim gripped his arm, though, the seal began to glow and warm, heating up until it hurt. He hissed as the pain increased with each second before the clan seal burst into life, a projection of the seal rotating in the air itself.
Arthur blinked. The details of the seal—unnamed, unregistered—were revealed to everyone. Ibrahim stared at the information before he snorted. Further energy was pushed into his hand and Arthur hissed, and a new prompt appeared in his head.
“Name your clan,” Ibrahim said.
“I . . .” Arthur hesitated. “Is the rest of the information going to show? When I make my choices?”
“Of course not. But the registration of a clan, that is public. That will change the Tower,” Ibrahim said. “That is what we will do publicly, for the world will know. Every clan might change the Tower and see our dreams come true.”
“Dreams?” Arthur said.
“Your clan. Name it.”
Arthur paused, options whirling through his mind. It was not the first time he had considered what he would name his clan. The obvious was to name it the Thorned Lotuses, to give back to them that had given him so much. Yet, that brought with it a whole series of concerns about branding.
How many, knowing what the Lotuses were right now, would still join them? How many enemies would they gain, just by naming themselves after that organisation?
Better to begin anew.
He’d played with other ideas, common childish naming conventions. Tigers and dragons, lions and cranes, storks, pigs, sharks, and salmon. Animals of all kinds, combined with other variations of precious metals or colours or fortuitous numbers. The Red Eights. The Black Tortoises. Jade Dragons.
All too much for someone like him. And maybe he could have switched to a different language, but he was still most comfortable in English and . . .
“Your clan name, Cultivator.”
A pulse of energy, pain tearing at his spinning thoughts. He heard a noise, Boss Choi shouting at him, even as the guard moved to kick him out for being disruptive.
But a name, perhaps a silly one, but all too true to who he was, clarified in his mind.
He spoke, and the words appeared as a notification in the air by his projected seal.
“The Benevolent Durians.”