"Twenty million."
The number hung in the dusty, sandalwood-scented air. It was an impossible, absurd figure.
Old Man Feng, who had just been saved from a perceived execution, felt his blood run cold again, but for a different reason.
"Young... Young Master," he stammered, his voice breaking.
"Twenty... twenty million? In a bank transfer? I... I am an old man.
My shop is small. A-a sum like that... it's not possible! Not... not all at once. It would... it would bring the Bureau, the banks, everyone down on my head! I would be ruined, Young Master! I would be investigated!"
He was telling the truth. Lin Hao could hear it.
The man's terror was no longer of Lin Hao, but of the system.
The 'mortal' system of banks and federal oversight. It was the one system that, for now, was still more powerful than a Level 2 Adept.
"I cannot conjure twenty million from the air!" Old Man Feng pleaded, his eyes wide with genuine, logistical panic.
"My network... they are rich, yes, but they are hidden. They move in shadows.
They don't make such... loud transactions! It's not traceable!"
Lin Hao considered this.
He was a planner.
He had solved his supernatural problem; now he was back to a practical, mortal one.
He needed the money, but he needed it clean. And he needed it now.
He had no desire to be linked to a massive, flagged transfer that would bring the new "Bureau of Supernatural Affairs" to his dorm room.
He had overshot.
"Ten million," Old Man Feng said, his voice desperate, seeing a flicker of consideration in Lin Hao's eyes.
"I can do ten million! I can... I can move it through three different antique import-export accounts. It... It will look like a legitimate purchase of a... a Qing dynasty imperial relic.
It will be clean! I can have it in your account in thirty minutes, Young Master! Ten million!"
Lin Hao could feel the man's heart. Thump-thump-thump. It was steady. It was a lie. He could do more.
He was haggling again, the Old Fox resurfacing, but this time, he was haggling from a position of pure, groveling terror.
Lin Hao held up two fingers. "Twenty."
"Fifteen!" Old Man Feng shrieked, as if the word had been torn from his throat. "Fif..."
He stopped, breathing hard, his face pale.
"Fifteen million," he repeated, his voice dropping to a low, pained whisper.
"That is... that is everything. That is the absolute limit. It will drain every shell account I have. It will... it will take me years to recover.
But... but I can make it look clean. I can do it. Fifteen million. Please, Young Master. That is my final, final offer."
Lin Hao could hear the man's heart.
THUMP... THUMP... THUMP... It was slow, agonizing, but steady.
This was the truth. This was the real number.
The absolute bottom of the barrel.
Lin Hao gave a single, curt nod. "Fifteen."
A wave of profound, shuddering relief washed over Old Man Feng. He almost collapsed.
"Yes! Yes! Thank you, Young Master! Thank you for your mercy!"
He scrambled behind his counter, his hands shaking so violently he could barely type. He pulled out a thick, old-fashioned, off-grid 'burner' laptop, the kind only criminals and spies used. He powered it on.
"An... an account number, Young Master," he said, not looking up from the screen.
Lin Hao had prepared for this.
On the walk over, he had used a series of anonymous public Wi-Fi hotspots and a temporary email to create a new, sterile, online-only bank account under a false name, linked to nothing but a throwaway number. I
t was the kind of account that would be frozen and deleted within 48 hours, but by then, the money would be long gone.
He recited the 16-digit number.
Old Man Feng's fingers flew across the keyboard. He was in his element now, the digital shadows.
Lin Hao watched as the old man's face, illuminated by the laptop's glow, became a mask of intense concentration.
He navigated through at least five different screens, what looked like international art brokerage sites, a rug emporium, and a rare coin exchange.
He was doing exactly what he promised, breaking the sum into smaller, "cleaner" pieces, moving it through his web of shell accounts.
The shop was silent for ten minutes, the only sound the frantic click-clack of the keys.
Lin Hao just stood there. Patient. Motionless.
Finally, Old Man Feng hit the 'Enter' key with a final, forceful thwack.
He let out a long, ragged breath and wiped his brow with a gray, grimy sleeve.
"It... it is done, Young Master. The transfer... it is complete. It may take... a minute... to... to show..."
BZZT.
The vibration of the phone in Lin Hao's pocket was so loud in the silence, Old Man Feng flinched.
Lin Hao pulled out his cracked phone.
A new, simple text alert had appeared on his lock screen. It was from the anonymous bank.
[ALERT: A wire transfer of $15,000,000.00 has been received.]
Fifteen... million... dollars.
Lin Hao stared at the number.
$15,000,000.
It was just pixels on a broken screen, but it was the heaviest thing he had ever seen.
In that instant, the 'old' Lin Hao, the one from just 48 hours ago, was well and truly, finally, dead.
The crushing weight of his student loans, that $450 payment that had felt like a mountain... it was a grain of sand. It was gone.
His parents' mortgage. He knew the number by heart.
It was a looming, multi-decade burden they carried with a quiet, tired dignity.
He could pay it off. Not tomorrow. Tonight.
He could buy them a house.
He could buy them ten houses. He could buy them a restaurant. He could give them a life where they never had to work another day.
All his old problems. All his old fears. The rejection letters, the failed exams, the stress that had been grinding him down into dust...
Solved.
Erased.
Wiped from existence in an instant, all in exchange for a piece of cheap steel he had spent 10 points on.
The relief was staggering. It was a physical thing, a crushing weight lifting off his shoulders, a weight he hadn't even realized he was still carrying.
He had to physically stop his new [Level 4: Bone Forged] knees from buckling.
He was free.
He took a deep, shuddering breath of the dusty, sandalwood air.
He looked at Old Man Feng, who was watching him with a mixture of terror and... was that envy?
"A... a word of advice, Young Master," Old Man Feng said, his voice now just a tired, old man's whisper.
He was wiping his brow with his sleeve, his face slick with sweat. The deal was done. He was no longer a target, just a broker.
"Please," he said, "a word from an old, blind fool."
Lin Hao nodded, pocketing his phone.
"Treasures like this," Feng said, his eyes darting to the blade, which now sat in a small, wooden box he'd provided.
"The 'Awakening' is new. This... this is the first one I have seen. But it will not be the last."
He leaned in, his voice dropping. "Treasures like this... they don't just attract men like me. Greedy old merchants."
He paused, his eyes dark. "They attract wolves. The real ones. The ones who were hidden in the mountains, who were already powerful.
The ones who are now tasting real power for the first time.
They will smell this. They will hunt for it. And they will kill for it."
Lin Hao picked up the small, wooden box containing the knife he was now supposed to deliver to Feng's network.
He would do that, drop it in an anonymous locker, but first, he had to leave.
"Thank you for the advice," Lin Hao said. He turned to leave, his business concluded.
"Be safe, Young Master," the old man called after him, his voice already sounding distant.
Lin Hao pushed open the shop door, the ancient bell jingling its farewell.
He stepped out into the dark, silent street. The moon was high. The air was cold and fresh, thick with Reiki.
He took one step.
Two steps.
And then... he stopped.
A cold, prickling sensation, like a thousand icy needles, ran up the back of his neck.
It wasn't a sound. It wasn't a sight.
It was his new [Level 5: Blood Vitality] senses. They were screaming.
He wasn't alone on the dark street.
He was being watched.
He was being tailed.