Two months passed like a soft breeze through the valley, carrying with it the scent of ripened fruit and the quiet hum of prosperity.
The once modest partnership between Wen and Li Rong had become something the entire county whispered about — the Wen Trading House, an enterprise that seemed to bloom overnight like spring plum blossoms after the frost.
Each dawn began the same way: sunlight spilling over the tiled roofs, the rhythmic thud of barrels being rolled into carts, and the chatter of merchants already bargaining before breakfast. Yet beneath the hum of industry, there was harmony — a kind of rhythm born not from ambition alone but from purpose.
Li Rong stood on the raised veranda of the manor, a scroll in one hand, a half-finished cup of tea in the other. From where he stood, he could see the inner courtyard alive with movement.
Wagons creaked under the weight of neatly stacked jars — their ceramic bottles catching the morning light like small, polished gems. The fragrance of fruit wine mixed with crushed herbs and simmered sugar filled the air, drifting in warm curls through the open windows.
Apprentices and servants moved about in well-practiced coordination:
one group sealing jars with wax, another labeling each in Li Rong's elegant handwriting — Rong's Blend.
He smiled faintly. The name had started as a joke, something Ji'an had scrawled on a shipment list one tired night.
But now… it had become their signature.
From humble fruit and herbs, they had built an empire.
---
The courtyard gate creaked, and Wen appeared, dressed simply but with the kind of presence that commanded attention without effort. A few strands of his dark hair had slipped loose, brushing against his cheek as he handed instructions to a foreman.
Li Rong watched him quietly, his chest tightening with an emotion he didn't want to name. Wen moved with a deliberate calm — precise, efficient — yet there was warmth behind every order, a quiet respect for those under his care. He didn't rule through fear, but through steadiness.
When Wen caught him staring, his mouth quirked into that faint, teasing smile.
"You're going to burn a hole through me if you keep staring like that," he said, crossing the courtyard to join him.
Li Rong looked away quickly, pretending to focus on his scroll. "I was just… observing your management style."
"Observing," Wen repeated, amused. "You've been doing that a lot lately."
"I learn quickly," Li Rong said, trying to sound composed.
"Hmm." Wen leaned close enough that Li Rong could feel the warmth of his breath. "Or perhaps you've just learned how to get away with watching me work."
Li Rong's heart skipped. "You— you flatter yourself."
The chuckle that followed was soft but full of mischief.
Moments like this — fleeting, almost domestic — had become the quiet backbone of their days. Amid the noise of trade, between letters and contracts, they had built something wordless and steady, though neither dared name it outright.
---
Later that morning, Ji'an burst into the room carrying a stack of freshly sealed parchments, his grin as irreverent as ever. His robe was half-tucked, his hair slightly disheveled — the picture of chaotic genius.
"Good morning, you lovebirds," he announced cheerfully, tossing the scrolls onto the table. "Hope you're ready to triple our profit or lose everything by sunset. Either way, it'll be entertaining."
Wen sighed. "You're early."
Ji'an flopped into a chair. "And you're predictable. I swear, every time I walk in, you two are either whispering or pretending you're not."
"Ji'an," Wen warned.
"Yes, yes, serious business." Ji'an waved him off. "I've brought updates. Our shipments from Nanzhou arrived safely. Also, two new merchant families want to distribute Rong's Blend. One of them even offered a share of their spice trade in exchange."
Li Rong blinked. "That fast?"
"You'd be surprised what a few jars of jam can do to bored noblewomen." Ji'an smirked. "Apparently, the plum preserve you designed goes perfectly with imported tea. You're practically famous."
Li Rong felt his cheeks warm. "I… wasn't trying to be."
"Intentions don't matter. Profit does," Ji'an said, stretching his legs. "And Wen—your warehouse soldiers have been moving goods more efficiently than half the guild. I'm starting to think we might actually survive this chaos."
Wen didn't reply, but the faint upturn of his lips said enough.
He glanced at Li Rong, and in that look was quiet pride.
---
At noon, the three shared a rare break — seated beneath a wooden awning, a simple lunch of steamed buns, pickled vegetables, and rice wine laid between them.
The sunlight caught on Wen's cup as he poured for the others, the pale amber liquid swirling with the scent of fermented fruit.
Li Rong took a cautious sip. The wine was light, faintly sweet, the kind that warmed the throat without burning. "Still too plain," he murmured.
Wen raised an eyebrow. "Plain?"
Li Rong's mind began to whirl. "What if we used wild berries? Or mountain pears from the northern slopes? If we ferment them longer, perhaps mix in honey or herbs—ginseng, maybe. And the residue from jam production could be reused to make a thicker syrup."
Ji'an groaned. "Here we go again. He's inventing more work."
But Wen smiled, resting his chin on his hand. "Go on."
Li Rong's eyes lit with excitement. "Medicinal wine for soldiers—helps recovery and strength. Fruit wine for the common folk—affordable, flavorful. Jams for the nobles—luxury goods that keep for months. And all from the same harvest batch."
He paused, realizing both men were staring.
"What?" he asked defensively.
Ji'an leaned back, shaking his head. "Only you could turn breakfast into an economic revolution."
Wen chuckled softly. "He's right, though. You see opportunities where others see waste."
Li Rong looked away, embarrassed but pleased. "It's just logic."
"Logic," Wen echoed, his gaze warm. "Or genius."
---
The afternoon was spent buried in work.
Couriers came and went, clerks carried ledgers between buildings, and the rhythmic pounding of fruit in wooden vats echoed across the compound.
From his window, Li Rong watched the workers rinse jars in clean water, hang cloths to dry, and move crates labeled in Wen's precise handwriting. It was like watching an army — not of soldiers, but of purpose.
As the sun dipped lower, a soft golden haze blanketed the courtyard.
Wen stood with Ji'an near the gate, examining a rolled map.
The horses beside them stamped impatiently, their breath misting in the cooling air.
Li Rong walked over, wiping his hands on a cloth. "You're both going?"
Wen nodded. "Only for two days. The deputy general insists on meeting in person to finalize troop movements and funding. We'll be back before the week ends."
"Two days can feel long," Li Rong said, trying to sound casual.
Ji'an grinned. "You'll miss us."
"I'll miss the peace," Li Rong replied dryly.
Wen mounted his horse, glancing down at him. "The account ledgers are yours to manage. And make sure the new barrels are inspected before sealing. Ji'an, stop laughing."
Ji'an smirked but saluted lazily. "Yes, General Wen."
Wen's attention returned to Li Rong, his expression softening. "Stay safe, Li Rong."
"And you."
The sound of hooves echoed across the cobbled courtyard, fading slowly into the hum of the day. When they disappeared beyond the gates, Li Rong stood there for a long while, the breeze tugging at his sleeves. A quiet ache settled in his chest.
The manor felt bigger without Wen's calm presence. The halls echoed slightly more. The evenings were quieter. But work kept him busy, and Li Rong welcomed the distraction.
---
By late afternoon, he attended a meeting with local merchants—representatives from the herbal guild, a wine trader from Nanzhou, and a few curious newcomers. They sat around the long table in the guest hall, sipping tea as contracts were discussed.
"The demand for your blend has increased," said Master Zhao, stroking his beard. "But to keep up, you'll need more jars and better transport. I have men who can handle both."
Li Rong nodded thoughtfully. "Fair, but I want fair trade, not dependency. You get your share, I keep control of production. Agreed?"
The old merchant chuckled. "You've learned the art of business quickly, young master."
Ji'an's words echoed faintly in his head: You'll end up running the whole province.
He smiled, polite but guarded. "Experience is the best teacher."
By the time the meeting ended, the sun had dipped low. The horizon burned orange and red, shadows stretching long across the courtyard. Li Rong lingered a moment, watching the laborers unload baskets of summer fruit—plums, pears, and wild cherries—each destined for transformation.
He imagined the new batch of wine, the soft bubbling of fermentation jars, the scent of honey in the air. Small, simple joys.
But beneath that calm surface, something faintly restless stirred in his chest—an unease he couldn't quite name.
It's probably just because he's not here, he told himself, turning toward the inn to spend the night.
Yet as he walked through the alleyway that evening, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone—or something—was watching him.
The usual laughter from the teahouse was gone.
The fortune-teller's stall, always open at dusk, stood shuttered. Even the night dogs were silent.
A strange heaviness pressed on his senses.
When he reached the inn, the lanterns inside flickered weakly, their glow swallowed by shadow. The attendant boy at the counter greeted him with an anxious nod, his voice a little too forced.
"Welcome back, Master Li."
Li Rong's brow furrowed. "Where's Old Shen?"
"The innkeeper went to the warehouse, sir. He said he'll return soon."
Something in the boy's tone made Li Rong hesitate, but he brushed it off. "Very well. Send up a pot of hot water."
"Yes, sir."
He climbed the stairs, the wooden boards creaking faintly under his boots. As he reached the corridor, he paused again—he could swear he heard a faint scrape, as if a door closed somewhere just out of sight.
He looked down the hallway. Empty.
When he entered his chamber, he locked the door as always, though tonight, he double-checked the latch.
---
The moon had risen high when it began.
Li Rong stirred in his sleep. The air felt… wrong. Thicker. His breathing came shallow. He turned, blinking groggily. A faint hiss reached his ears—soft at first, then persistent.
His eyes flew open.
Smoke. Pale and sweet-smelling, seeping in from beneath the door.
Not fire.
Drugged.
Li Rong shot up, coughing. His instincts from a past life roared awake. He grabbed the nearby jug of water and soaked his sleeve, pressing it to his mouth as he stumbled toward the window.
But before he reached it, a shape moved within the smoke—a tall silhouette cloaked in black, face hidden, steps silent as shadow.
Li Rong tried to fight, but his vision wavered. His body betrayed him, muscles heavy, breath sluggish.
The stranger caught him easily, one arm wrapping around his chest, a cold hand pressing something against his neck.
A low voice whispered near his ear—smooth, calm, utterly chilling.
"Sleep well, young master. You've made quite the fortune. A shame to lose it so soon."
His vision blurred. The world tilted. The last thing he saw was the reflection of the moon against the jade bottle on his desk, its light warping as everything fell into darkness.
---
When dawn broke, the innkeeper came with the morning tea. He knocked once. Twice. No answer.
When he finally pushed the door open, a gust of cold air greeted him.
The bed was empty.
The window stood wide open, curtains fluttering like pale ghosts.
And on the table, beside a spilled ink pot, lay a folded parchment sealed in wax the color of dried blood.
The innkeeper's hands trembled as he broke the seal. The note inside was short, written in a sharp, unfamiliar hand:
" If you want him safe, bring what we need.
You know what it is."
....