The silence in the small shop felt heavier and colder than the rainstorm that had first brought Ye Feng to this place.
The oil lamp on the counter flickered, its light dancing over the three leather pouches lying between them. Thirty silver pieces. Enough to save this shop. Enough to answer all their problems.
But Lin Qing didn't see it that way.
She stared at Ye Feng. She no longer saw the clumsy menial worker who broke bowls. She didn't see the innocent 'Wolf-Slayer'. She saw the blue cotton robe, filthy with the dust of the arena. She saw the dark reddish-black stain—oh gods—dried on his sleeve. And she smelled the faint odor coming from him; the smell of sweat that wasn't from work, the smell of cheap ale, and the sharp, metallic tang... of blood.
"Ye Feng..." she said again, her voice now trembling with horror, not relief. She took a step back, her hand unconsciously gripping the herb-grinding pestle lying on the table. "Where... where did you get that money?"
Ye Feng, the Emperor, stood in the doorway, baffled by this reaction. He had completed his mission. He had identified the problem (a deficit of 30 silver). He had found a resource (the arena). He had conquered the obstacle (The Mad Bull). He had acquired the resource. Mission complete.
He didn't understand why the reception was terror, instead of... at the very least, acknowledgment.
"I got it," he said in his usual flat tone. "Like I said I would."
"How?!" Lin Qing pressed, her eyes fixed on the bloodstain on his sleeve. "Did you... did you rob someone? Did you... kill someone...?"
Her breath hitched on the last word. The thought was so monstrous. That this young man she had fed gruel to was a highwayman... or worse.
Ye Feng finally understood her focus. He looked down at his sleeve. "Oh. This isn't my blood."
The explanation, meant to be reassuring, only made Lin Qing turn paler.
"Ye Feng!" her voice shrieked. "You broke the rules! I told you not to fight! You promised!"
"I didn't fight," Ye Feng said. "I got paid to be hit."
Lin Qing gaped. "What?"
"There's a place behind the tavern," Ye Feng explained with brutal, simple, imperial logic. "They call it an arena. A big man named 'The Mad Bull' was there. They offered ten silver pieces to anyone who could survive one minute against him."
Lin Qing covered her mouth with her hand. She knew of that place. Everyone in the city knew of "Bos Tie's Pit." The place where desperate dockhands and gamblers broke each other's bones for a few copper coins. The place people entered... and often didn't leave whole.
"You... you went to the Pit?" she whispered. "Ye Feng, no one just 'survives' in there. That place... it's hell."
"It wasn't difficult," Ye Feng said. "The man was slow. He cheated, he threw sand. So I touched him."
"Touched him?"
"I tapped him," Ye Feng said. "He fainted."
Lin Qing stared at him, trying to process the image. The Mad Bull, a giant of a man who was rumored to have once killed a horse with a single punch, fainting... from being tapped by her clumsy menial worker?
A lie. It had to be a lie. But... the money was real. The bloodstain was real.
"And this money?" she asked, pointing to the three pouches.
"They gave me ten silver," Ye Feng said. "Then a man in the shadows—they called him Bos Tie—gave me twenty more."
Bos Tie.
If Young Master Zhao's name made Lin Qing anxious, Bos Tie's name made her numb with fear. Young Master Zhao was an arrogant bully. Bos Tie was... a viper. He controlled all the organized crime in this city. Gambling. Smuggling. Extortion. If you owed him, he didn't evict you. He took your limbs.
And Ye Feng, in one afternoon, had attracted the attention of the two most dangerous men in Spring Cloud City.
"No," Lin Qing whispered, shaking her head. "No... no..."
She walked to the counter, but she didn't touch the money. She pushed at the pouches with the tip of her pestle, as if they were a rotting rat carcass.
"Take this money," she said, her voice cold and sharp. Ye Feng frowned. "It's for you. For the rent." "I don't want this money!" Lin Qing shouted, her voice finally breaking. "I don't want blood money! I don't want Bos Tie's money! Do you realize what you've done, you fool?!"
Ye Feng fell silent. Fool. That word again.
"You think this solves the problem?" Lin Qing continued, frustrated tears now welling in her eyes. "You just traded Young Master Zhao's problem for Bos Tie's! Zhao wants to take this shop. Bos Tie... he'll take us! He didn't give you twenty silver because he was kind! That was an advance! He owns you now, Ye Feng! He'll make you fight again, and again, until you're killed. And when they're done with you, they'll come here!"
Ye Feng had never seen her like this. He, who was accustomed to the strategy of interstellar wars, had just been served a brutal lesson in mortal underworld politics.
He had failed. Severely. He thought he had won a battle, but he had just started a war Lin Qing could not win.
"Take the money," Lin Qing said once more, her voice calm again, but colder than winter ice. "And go."
The words hung in the air.
Ye Feng looked at Lin Qing. He, the Immortal Emperor, had just been... banished. Again. But this time, it wasn't by a restaurant waiter he didn't know. It was by the girl who had given him gruel.
"I..." he began. "Go!" Lin Qing pointed to the door. "I would rather lose this shop to Young Master Zhao than keep it with your filthy money! I don't want to see you again. You bring trouble. Go!"
Ye Feng looked at the three pouches of silver. He looked at Lin Qing, who was now trembling—with either rage or fear.
He didn't take the money. He just turned, stepped out of the warm lamplight, and walked back to his dark storage room.
CLICK.
Lin Qing didn't follow him. Instead, Ye Feng heard the sound of footsteps running up the stairs. He heard the sound of her door slamming. And then, the most piercing sound of all.
The sound of a heavy, wooden bar being dropped into place. She... had locked herself in. Away from him.
Ye Feng sat alone on the tea sacks in the total darkness. The storage room, which had felt like a quiet sanctuary, now felt like a prison cell.
He had failed. He, Ye Feng, Ruler of the Seven Realms, had failed at the simplest of mortal tasks.
He had broken all three of Lin Qing's rules. He had destroyed property (probably The Mad Bull's ribs). He had fought. He had returned after dark.
He processed the situation with the cold logic of a strategist. Objective: Save the shop. Method: Acquire 30 silver. Method Result: Success. Subject Reaction (Lin Qing): Fear, anger, rejection. Conclusion: Method was wrong.
Mortal logic was truly baffling. Lin Qing was faced with two choices: certain financial ruin (Young Master Zhao) or a high-risk solution (Bos Tie's money). She chose certain ruin. It was illogical.
But... as he sat there, in the silence enforced by the barred door upstairs, he began to understand.
He could smell the money even from here. The three pouches lay on the counter, radiating a disgusting aroma. It wasn't just metal. It was the smell of the Gold-Toothed Bookie's greed. The smell of the gamblers' desperation. The smell of The Mad Bull's cold sweat.
It was... dirty money.
He compared it to the ten copper coins Lin Qing had given him that morning. Those coins, still in his pocket, smelled... like flour from her apron, like herbal ginger, and like the warmth of her hand.
He finally understood. For Lin Qing, it wasn't about what was achieved. It was about how it was achieved. She didn't want to be saved if it meant dragging hell to her doorstep.
Ye Feng exhaled. The breath stirred the dust on the storeroom floor.
He had acted like an emperor. He saw a problem, he took the solution by force. He didn't care about the collateral damage.
But Lin Qing was not a general he could sacrifice. She was not a realm he could conquer.
She... was different.
Ye Feng rose. He padded silently out of the storeroom. The shop was dark, save for the moonlight illuminating the three silver pouches on the counter.
He picked them up. Heavy. Thirty silver pieces. He walked to the backyard. He went to the massive woodpile he had chopped. He dug a hole beneath the lowest stack of wood, in the damp earth. He placed the three pouches of silver into the hole.
Then he buried them.
He buried the thirty silver pieces. He would not use them. It was the wrong money. It was his acknowledgment of failure. He would get the money... the right way. Lin Qing's way.
But how?
He returned to the storeroom and sat, closing his eyes. He would not sleep. He would... think.
The next morning was the worst.
Ye Feng sensed Lin Qing coming down the stairs before dawn. He heard the wooden bar being lifted, hesitantly.
He stepped out of the storeroom just as Lin Qing unbolted the front door.
The morning air was cold and sharp, but not as cold as the atmosphere between them.
"Good morning," Ye Feng said. Lin Qing flinched. She hadn't expected him to still be there. She thought he would have left in the night. She looked at Ye Feng. Then she glanced at the counter. The three silver pouches... were gone.
Lin Qing's face hardened. So, he had taken his money and left. She felt... hollow. Disappointed. But perhaps it was for the best.
Then she saw Ye Feng pick up the axe from the backyard. He wasn't leaving. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice sharp.
"The firewood is running low," Ye Feng said, gesturing to a pile that still had enough for two days. (To Ye Feng, who had chopped for three weeks prior, the daily pile looked 'low').
"I'm not... I can't pay you," Lin Qing said stiffly. "I told you to go."
"You aren't paying me," Ye Feng said. "I owe you. For the gruel. And the bowl." He walked to the chopping stump and began to split wood. THWACK! The clean, powerful sound of the axe splitting wood shattered the morning silence.
Lin Qing stared at him. The man... had stayed. And his money was gone. What had he done with it? Thrown it away? Hidden it? She didn't know which was worse.
She snorted, turned, and went inside. She wouldn't thank him. She wouldn't speak to him. She would ignore him. If he wanted to work for free, that was his problem.
The day passed in agonizing silence. Normally, Lin Qing would be nagging. "Ye Feng, the water's not hot enough!" "Ye Feng, you're sweeping the dust the wrong way!" "Ye Feng, don't just stand there, help me pound this root!"
Today... nothing. Lin Qing pounded her own roots, her knuckles white on the pestle. She served her customers with a stiff smile. She counted her coppers with angry, jerky movements.
Ye Feng, meanwhile, worked. He chopped wood until the pile reached the eaves. He cleaned the backyard until not a single leaf was out of place. He even got on the roof and fixed a loose tile. He did all the hard labor, unasked.
Every time he entered the shop for water, Lin Qing would physically turn her back to him, pretending to be busy with the herb drawers. The silence was more painful than any scolding. It was a cold, total rejection.
Ye Feng was cleaning the neighbor's chicken coop (the chickens were now terrified of him and laying three times as fast) when he heard it.
The sound of arrogant carriage wheels. His heart sank. Young Master Zhao.
But this time, the atmosphere was different. No shouting. No bodyguards pushing people. A more luxurious, official carriage stopped in front of the shop. Young Master Zhao stepped out. He wasn't wearing his flashy green silk. He was wearing an elegant, dark blue scholar's robe. He looked... calm.
And he was not alone. Behind him were two men. Not thugs. They were bailiffs from the city magistrate's office, carrying official scrolls.
Lin Qing, who was serving Grandma Li, froze.
"Qing'er," Young Master Zhao said, his voice as smooth as poisoned silk. He even bowed slightly. "Good afternoon. Lovely weather."
"What do you want, Zhao?" Lin Qing said, her voice trembling.
"Just stopping by to deliver some good news," Zhao smiled. He motioned to one of the bailiffs.
The bailiff stepped forward and unrolled a parchment scroll. He cleared his throat. "By order of the Magistrate of Spring Cloud City, and on behalf of the rightful landowner, Lord Zhao Senior," the bailiff read in a monotone voice, "It is hereby announced that the lease contract for this street block, including property number twenty-six 'Qing's Tea & Medicine Shop', has been terminated."
Lin Qing's eyes widened. "Terminated?! You can't! My lease is good for another six months!"
"Ah, but there appears to be a clause for 'civic improvement'," Zhao said smoothly. "My father, in his generosity, has agreed to fund the 'Merchant District Rejuvenation' project. This entire dilapidated block is to be torn down... to build a new, beautiful casino and tea pavilion."
He smiled at Grandma Li. "You'll love it, Grandma. Much cleaner."
Ye Feng had returned from the backyard. He stood in the storage room doorway, observing. This was no longer a thug's threat. This was the law.
"You... you can't do this," Lin Qing whispered.
"Oh, but we can," Zhao said. The bailiff thrust a second scroll into Lin Qing's hand. "This is your official notice of eviction," the bailiff said. "You have... seven days... to vacate the premises. All property must be removed by sunset on the seventh day. After which, the demolition team will begin."
Seven days.
The problem was no longer Thirty Silver Pieces. Thirty Silver Pieces... was meaningless now. Even if she had three hundred silver, it wouldn't matter. They weren't raising the rent. They were seizing the land.
Young Master Zhao looked at the deathly pale Lin Qing. "Of course," he said softly, "I could speak to Father. There might be one... way... for your little shop to be 'spared'. If you're willing to be more... flexible... about my previous proposal."
He was offering her the way out. Marry him.
Lin Qing's terrified eyes now flashed with rage. She grabbed the parchment scroll and crumpled it in her fist. "Get out," she hissed. "Qing'er..." "I SAID GET OUT!" she screamed, throwing a cup of cold herbal tea at Zhao's expensive silk robes.
Young Master Zhao staggered back, shocked. His fake smile vanished, replaced by a cold, hateful expression. "You've made a grave mistake, you stupid girl," he said. He then saw Ye Feng, standing silently as a shadow in the doorway. "Oh," Zhao sneered. "Your watchdog is still here? You'll need a new place to chop wood, my friend. Perhaps at the bottom of the river?" He laughed. "Seven days, Qing'er. The clock is ticking."
He turned, brushed off his robes, and climbed back into his carriage. The bailiffs bowed, and they left.
Grandma Li, who had seen it all, just shook her head and left the shop without a word.
The shop was silent again.
Lin Qing stood in the middle of her room. She stared at the crumpled scroll in her hand. She had tried so hard. She had worked from dawn till dusk. She had endured Young Master Zhao's insults. She had rejected Ye Feng's dirty money. She had done everything... the right way.
And she had still lost.
She had fought thugs. She had fought financial extortion. But she couldn't fight... the law.
Her legs gave out. She sank to the floor, leaning against her herb counter. The ledger she had guarded so carefully slid off the table and crashed to the floor, scattering thin receipts. For the first time, Ye Feng saw Lin Qing truly broken. She buried her head in her knees... and began to sob. Quiet, hopeless, defeated sobs.
Ye Feng stood in the doorway, watching her. He observed the scroll on the floor. "Official Notice of Eviction." "Magistrate." "Law."
He felt something he hadn't felt in a very long time. Something even stronger than his boredom. It was anger.
Not the hot rage of a mortal. It was the cold, absolute anger of an emperor. A cosmic fury. These mortal ants... they dared. They dared to use their pathetic little rules to destroy the one and only place in seven realms that had given him warmth.
He walked slowly across the room. The floorboards creaked under his shoes. Lin Qing looked up, her eyes red and puffy. "Go away... just leave me alone, Ye Feng..."
Ye Feng crouched in front of her. He did not know words of comfort. He did not know how to pat a back. It was not his world.
He simply picked up the crumpled scroll. He read it. "Zhao... Magistrate..."
"We can't do anything," Lin Qing whispered. "It's legal. It's stamped. We can't fight the magistrate."
Ye Feng crushed the parchment in his hand, turning it into a dense paper ball. "I will... get rid of them," Ye Feng said. His voice was flat. So flat it was terrifying.
"You can't!" Lin Qing sobbed. "You'll... what? Punch Young Master Zhao? Punch the magistrate? You'll be hanged before sunset! You can't fight the law!"
"The law...?" Ye Feng almost snorted. He was the law in seven realms. The law is made by the strong to control the weak. And in this city, the Zhao Family was the strong.
He stood up. He looked at the desperate Lin Qing.
He had failed the first way (power, the arena). He had failed the second way (hard labor, ignoring the problem). Now... now he would have to try the third way.
"You are right," he said. Lin Qing looked up, shocked. "I cannot punch them," he continued, his immortal brain working at light speed. "I cannot frighten them. That is your logic. Mortal logic." He looked at Lin Qing. "Last night, you said I didn't understand 'profit and loss'. You were right."
He knelt on one knee before her, amidst the spilled receipts. It was the posture of a knight, not an emperor.
"I will defeat them," he said. "But I will not use my power. I will use... their logic." He pointed to the fallen ledger. "Teach me," he said. Lin Qing stared at him, confused. "Teach you what? How to cry?" "Teach me... 'money'," Ye Feng said. "Teach me how 'business' works in this city. Teach me everything you know about the Zhao Family. Where do they keep their money? Who are their enemies? Who is this magistrate? How does their 'law' work?"
Lin Qing looked into his eyes. The 'Wolf-Slaying Gaze' was gone. The 'clumsy menial worker' expression was gone. What looked back at her was something new. Something cold, terrifyingly intelligent, and utterly focused. It was the eyes of a grand strategist who had just seen the game board clearly for the first time.
"What... what are you planning?" Lin Qing whispered. "To fight the Zhao Family... with a ledger?"
"I will annihilate them," Ye Feng repeated, still in that horrifyingly flat tone. "I will take everything they own. I will make Young Master Zhao kneel in front of this shop and beg you to let him stay."
It was the most insane declaration Lin Qing had ever heard. But... looking into his eyes... for the first time... she believed him.
"You will help me?" Ye Feng asked.
Lin Qing wiped her tears with her dirty sleeve. The crushing despair faded, replaced by a dangerous spark of fire. She was a girl who had fought alone her entire life. And now, she had... an ally. A very strange, terrifying, but powerful ally.
She nodded. Slowly. "Alright," she said, her voice hoarse. "Alright, Ye Feng. I will teach you... how to fight them."
She picked up the fallen ledger. "First lesson. The Zhao Family isn't just rich. They're... in debt. Massive debt to a shipping syndicate in the capital."
Ye Feng smiled. His first smile of the day. It was not a warm smile. It was the smile of an emperor who had just found the crack in his enemy's armor.
A new war had begun.