The dockside air was thick with salt and oil, a permanent haze of seagull cries and machinery groans that masked more secrets than any city ledger could account for. Shanghai's docks were the beating heart of the city's underworld: legitimate trade by daylight, and invisible rivers of contraband by night.
Warehouse 47 stood a little apart, leaning into the shadows of stacked containers. Its corrugated metal walls carried rust scars, but behind the facade, it was a fortress of secrecy. Jin Shuyin's crew had long since mastered the art of camouflage—not just for goods, but for themselves.
The hovertrucks carrying Scarletwing's first shipments rolled in under dim halogen lamps. Their armored hum seemed oddly out of place among the groaning cranes and the chatter of dock workers. The Scarletwing veterans disembarked first, forming a defensive perimeter around the vehicles.
Jin Shuyin lifted her chin, her eyes sweeping over the arrivals with a hawk's sharpness. "Unload quickly. My crew will do the rest. The longer these crates sit in the open, the more chances someone will get curious."
She gestured, and her people moved.
The first thing Lan Yuheng noticed was that they weren't ordinary dockhands.
There was Gao Ren, a barrel-chested man with a sailor's tattoos snaking up his arms, muscles rippling beneath a grease-stained shirt. He carried a crate like it weighed nothing, shouting orders in a booming voice that kept everyone moving. He was the muscle, clearly, but his bark kept tempo like a foreman's drum.
Beside him was Shen Luli, lean and sharp-eyed, her hair chopped unevenly as if she'd cut it herself with a knife. She was already pulling out datapads and scanning each shipment, her fingers dancing across screens faster than most military officers Lan Yuheng had seen. She wasn't just scanning—she was rewriting manifests on the fly, slipping Scarletwing's crates into existing cargo lists as if they had always been there.
Two more workers, twins named Min and Han, operated forklifts with uncanny synchronization, sliding pallets into position between legitimate shipments of textiles and electronics. Their movements were so fluid that unless someone already knew which crates were contraband, they would blend seamlessly into the warehouse's clutter.
And then there was Old Huo, the quiet one. A thin, wiry man with gray streaks in his hair and a cigarette forever burning at his lips. He didn't lift or type—he watched. His eyes tracked every angle of the docks, every passerby, every shadow. He was the lookout, and Lan Yuheng sensed instantly that his instincts were honed from decades of smuggling.
"Good crew," Zhuang Niao murmured under his breath, arms folded.
"They don't just work the docks," Jin Shuyin said, overhearing. "They are the docks. With them, your crates won't just vanish—they'll dissolve into the bloodstream of the city."
The process unfolded like a choreographed dance.
First, Shen Luli intercepted the couriers' datapads. With a few swift inputs, she reassigned the shipments under fake client names: "Changzhou Steel Imports," "Qinghua Agricultural Cooperative," "Sunrise Medical." All existed on paper, all registered, all shells controlled by Jin Shuyin's network.
"On record," she explained, "these crates belong to half a dozen boring companies moving boring cargo. No one questions boring."
Meanwhile, Gao Ren cracked open a few of the Scarletwing crates—not enough to expose their full contents, just enough to repackage. He pulled alloy blocks out of one crate and distributed them among shipments of scrap metal. Energy cores were layered beneath coils of copper wire. Bio-synthetic compounds were carefully repacked into legitimate White Lotus medical containers.
"Rule one," Gao Ren said with a grin, sweat glistening on his forehead, "never ship contraband as contraband. You hide it inside something people expect to see."
The twins Min and Han then maneuvered the forklifts, stacking the disguised crates into container units already marked for overseas shipping. With careful placement, Scarletwing's resources were sandwiched between layers of legitimate cargo. If customs opened a container, all they'd find at first glance were textiles, spare machine parts, or cheap medical kits.
Old Huo puffed smoke and muttered, "And if they dig deeper, well… let's just say the inspector suddenly finds an envelope with his name on it."
Lan Yuheng watched closely as Jin Shuyin herself moved among her people, speaking in a calm, precise voice.
"We'll move your shipments through three layers of fronts," she explained. "First, the cargo is logged under dummy import companies I control. Second, they're routed through civilian dock sectors—not military ones. Too much paperwork there. Third, each batch is subdivided, so no single trail leads back to Scarletwing. If someone comes asking questions, they'll find a trail that ends with some clueless warehouse clerk who doesn't even know his inventory is fake."
Zhuang Niao frowned. "And the Federation? Surely they'll tighten checks eventually."
Shuyin smirked. "That's where Shen Luli's magic comes in. By the time inspectors get around to your crates, the logs will already show they've been delivered, signed, and cleared three weeks ago. Try chasing ghosts."
Hai Ying's jaw tightened. He clearly disliked relying on civilians for such critical logistics, but even he couldn't deny the efficiency.
Bai Ying spoke up, her voice steady. "How much do you take?"
"Twenty percent of each shipment's value," Shuyin answered without hesitation. "Standard rate for risk this high."
"That's steep," Zhuang Niao said.
"It's survival," Shuyin corrected. "Do you want your guild fed, armed, and invisible? Or do you want your crates seized by the Federation and your name burned into the city's blacklist before you even begin?"
Lan Yuheng intervened, his tone calm but decisive. "Twenty percent is acceptable. Scarletwing doesn't haggle with the hands that carry its lifeline."
Shuyin gave him a small approving nod. "Then you'll live longer than most."
Halfway through the operation, a low rumble echoed across the docks. Federation patrol trucks, their insignias faint under the lamplight, rolled slowly past Warehouse 47.
Scarletwing's veterans stiffened, hands hovering near weapons. Xing's ears pricked, a low growl in his throat.
But Jin Shuyin lifted a hand, silently signaling calm. Old Huo flicked his cigarette into the shadows and muttered, "Watch this."
The Federation trucks slowed. Two officers climbed out, scanning the perimeter lazily. One of them called out, "What's going on here? Late-night unloading?"
Gao Ren lumbered forward, wiping sweat from his brow. "Yeah, shipment backlog. Crimson Tide Recycling's steel. You want to check the manifest?"
Shen Luli was already there, datapad in hand, smiling politely. "All logged and cleared two hours ago, sir. Routine paperwork. Want a copy?"
The officer skimmed the glowing screen, grunted, then waved a dismissive hand. "No need. Just don't block the main lane."
The patrol rolled on.
Scarletwing veterans exhaled in relief.
"Camouflage isn't just crates," Shuyin said softly. "It's faces, voices, paperwork, timing. That's what keeps ghosts breathing."
By the time dawn's first light crept across the horizon, the last of the shipments had disappeared into the dock's labyrinth. What had arrived as obvious, military-grade resources had now dissolved into the daily hum of Shanghai's trade flows.
Lan Yuheng stood with Shuyin at the edge of Warehouse 47, watching as her crew dispersed back into their disguises as ordinary dockhands.
"You've seen the process," she said. "From here on, every shipment you order goes through this chain. As far as the Federation is concerned, Scarletwing doesn't exist. Only crates of wheat, steel, and pills."
"And if a rival guild tries to sniff around?" Bai Ying asked.
Shuyin's smile was razor-thin. "Then they'll find themselves buying fake manifests, chasing decoy shipments, and bleeding credits into dead ends. If they still persist, Gao Ren and the twins have a more… direct way of discouraging attention."
At that, Gao Ren flexed his tattooed arms with a grin.
Hai Ying crossed his arms. "Efficient. Ruthless. You've done this before."
"More times than I can count," Shuyin said. She turned back to Lan Yuheng. "Scarletwing's lifeline is safe—for now. But remember this: camouflage buys time, not eternity. Use that time well."
Lan Yuheng nodded. "We will."
Before leaving, Shuyin handed over a secure datapad to Lan Yuheng. "This is your ledger. Every crate, every reroute, every credit cleaned through our fronts. Only three people know the encryption—me, Shen Luli, and now you. Guard it like it's your guild's heart."
Lan Yuheng accepted it, his fingers brushing over the cold surface. "Thank you."
Shuyin shrugged. "Don't thank me. Just pay me. And live long enough for our partnership to mean something."
As the Scarletwing convoy rolled back out of the docks, their first shipment successfully hidden, a silent truth settled over them:
Scarletwing wasn't just a dream anymore. It was a name with a supply chain, with allies, with blood running through its veins.
And now, for the first time, it had roots deep in Shanghai's shadows.
Back aboard the armored trucks, Zhuang Niao leaned close to Lan Yuheng. "You trust her?"
Lan Yuheng looked out at the rising sun reflecting on the water. "No. But I trust her methods. And right now, that's enough."
Bai Ying sat quietly, her mind already calculating rations, deployments, and how to stretch resources for their struggling families. Hai Ying stared out the window, jaw tight, as if preparing for the inevitable
And Xing, stretched across the seat, yawned wide and wagged his tail—as if even he knew that Scarletwing had just taken its first real breath.
The city of Shanghai didn't know it yet. But deep in its docks, hidden behind camouflage and ghosts, a guild was rising.
Scarletwing had been born.