The silence in the shop that morning felt heavy and fragile. This was the first morning of their seven-day countdown.
Lin Qing woke before dawn, her eyes puffy and red. Her sleep had been restless, filled with nightmares of demolition teams and Young Master Zhao's arrogant laugh. For a split second, she wished everything that had happened yesterday—the eviction notice, her breakdown, and the insane alliance with her menial worker—had just been a dream.
She came down from her room, preparing to face her quiet, doomed shop.
She stopped on the last step.
Ye Feng was not in the storage room. He was already in the main hall. He didn't sleep; Lin Qing was aware of that. He stood perfectly still in front of the counter, staring at the crumpled parchment scroll—the eviction notice—that they had left on the table.
He didn't look angry. He didn't look scared. He just... observed it, as if it were a curious, alien artifact. Next to it, the accounting ledger lay open.
"He's read all of it," Lin Qing whispered to herself, feeling a small chill. She imagined Ye Feng, in the dead of night, absorbing every number, every loss, every single copper coin she had painstakingly recorded for years.
"Morning," Ye Feng said, without turning.
"Morning," Lin Qing replied, her voice hoarse. She tied her apron. The motion felt normal, a ritual in the middle of chaos. "I'll light the stove for gruel."
"There's no time for gruel," Ye Feng said.
Lin Qing paused. "What?"
Ye Feng finally turned. His dark eyes were clear and focused. There was no trace of the 'clumsy menial worker' confusion left in them. "We have seven days to buy this block. Or rather," he pointed to the ledger, "six days to create a product, launch it, and earn enough money to destroy the Zhao Family."
Lin Qing swallowed. Hearing it spoken so flatly in the morning light made it sound even crazier.
"Alright," she said, steeling herself. "Your... 'Morning Dew Ointment'. I don't even know where to start. That recipe you drew..." She pointed to the scrap of order paper with its drawings of a Silver Moon Flower, a Morning Mist Leaf, and a honeycomb. "It's nonsense."
"It's simple alchemy," Ye Feng corrected. "Let's begin. Where are your mortar and pestle?"
Half an hour later, the main counter of the shop had been transformed into a makeshift alchemical laboratory.
"Alright, Master Alchemist," Lin Qing said, her tone sarcastic as she placed the herb jars on the table. "First ingredient. Silver Moon Flower." She pulled out a bag of dried, bluish flowers. "The best quality in Spring Cloud City. I picked them myself on the northern slopes."
Ye Feng picked up a pinch, brought it to his nose. He frowned, an almost imperceptible expression of disgust.
"What?" Lin Qing snapped, offended.
"This is... pathetic," Ye Feng said honestly.
"Pathetic?!"
"Its mortal qi is almost non-existent. You picked this at high noon? Foolish. This flower absorbs the essence of the moon. It should be picked three hours before dawn, when the dew is still on its petals. And you dried it in the sun? You've killed 90% of its potency. You are, essentially, selling... a pretty flower corpse."
Lin Qing gaped. Her entire life, she had been taught by her grandmother that drying in the sun was the best way.
"And this," Ye Feng continued, picking up a Morning Mist Leaf, "you're right. It's a mild poison. That's the point. Poison, in the correct dosage, triggers 'life'. It awakens the blood. But you're storing it next to the ginseng root? Are you trying to make your customers sick?"
Lin Qing's face flushed with shame and anger. "Listen, Mr. 'I-Know-Everything', this is how I've always done it! And no one has died!"
"And that is why you are nearly bankrupt," Ye Feng replied flatly. "You sell weak herbs to weak, sick people and hope they get better. From now on, we will sell potency."
Without another word, he took over.
His demeanor changed completely. This was no longer Ye Feng the clumsy menial worker, tripping over his own feet. This was not Ye Feng the cold fighter from the arena.
This was something else.
His movements became precise, economical, and impossibly fast. He was an artist, a master at his craft.
"Mortar," he commanded. Lin Qing gave it to him. "Silver Moon Flower. Three ounces." He put them in. "Now, we need fire." "The stove isn't..." "No. A small fire. Here." Ye Feng pointed to a small copper bowl Lin Qing used for burning incense. "Light a charcoal."
Lin Qing lit the small charcoal. "Too hot," Ye Feng said. "Blow on it." "What?" "Blow. Keep it at an ember, don't let it flame." Lin Qing, feeling foolish, began to blow gently on the charcoal.
Ye Feng picked up the pestle. "Watch." He didn't pound. He began to grind. His movements were hypnotic. Three full, slow, clockwise circles. One fast, counter-clockwise circle. Three slow, one fast. Again and again.
"What are you doing?" Lin Qing whispered, still blowing on the ember. "Waking the essence," Ye Feng murmured. "You can't destroy it. You must... coax it."
After five minutes, the dried flowers had been reduced to an impossibly fine, shimmering blue powder. And the scent... Lin Qing gasped. She had worked with Silver Moon Flowers her entire life. They smelled like dust and faint mint. This powder... smelled like a full moon night, like ozone before a storm, like pure ice. It was intoxicating.
"Now," Ye Feng said, "Honey." Lin Qing handed him her best bottle of honey. Ye Feng simply dipped one finger in, pulled it out, and let one single drop fall into the blue powder. Tssss... The powder hissed softly and changed color, from pale blue to a deep, lavender-purple.
"Ye Feng..." Lin Qing whispered. "Are... are you... a sorcerer?"
Ye Feng paused. He realized he had shown too much. He'd gotten carried away. He quickly reverted to his menial worker mode. "Ah... no," he said awkwardly. "My wrist... it's just very strong. From... chopping wood. Yes. The wood-chopping."
Lin Qing stared at him. She knew it was a lie. But she didn't care. She was staring at the magical purple powder in the bowl.
"Now," Ye Feng said, taking a tiny pinch of the Morning Mist Leaf. "Just... this much." He took a fingernail-sized clipping. He crushed it with his thumb, and in a motion too fast to see, flicked it into the purple powder. "The ointment base," Ye Feng said. "I have lard," Lin Qing said, still stunned. "Too heavy. It will clog the pores," Ye Feng said. "We need something lighter. Beeswax?" "Yes! I have it!"
They melted the beeswax and a little almond oil. Ye Feng carefully scraped the purple powder into the warm oil. He stirred it (again, with that strange three-one rhythm) until the mixture cooled.
What was left in the bowl was the most beautiful ointment Lin Qing had ever seen. It wasn't a dull, waxy white. It was a pale, pearlescent color, with a faint lavender shimmer. And it smelled... like heaven.
"It's done," Ye Feng said. "Morning Dew Ointment."
Lin Qing touched it with one finger. The texture was like silk. "It's... it's incredible, Ye Feng. But... how do we know it works? What if it's just expensive perfume?"
"We need a test subject," Ye Feng said. "You?" Lin Qing asked. "My skin is immortal. It will have no effect," Ye Feng said, without thinking. "...What?" "I mean," Ye Feng quickly corrected, "My skin... is thick. Like pig hide. It won't show a difference." "Then... me?" Lin Qing hesitated. "No," Ye Feng said, too quickly. "Your skin is... sensitive."
Lin Qing felt a blush creep up her neck at the word. She cleared her throat, feeling awkward. "Fine. So, we have a magical ointment that none of us dares to try."
"We need someone we can afford to lose if they turn purple," Ye Feng muttered. He looked at Lin Qing. "Someone... chatty."
As if summoned by fate, the bell above the shop door chimed. TINKLE! "LIN QING! ARE YOU IN THERE?! I HEARD THE MOST DREADFUL NEWS!"
Grandma Li bustled in, ignoring the 'Closed' sign on the door. She was waving a stalk of celery. "I heard that scoundrel Zhao gave you an eviction notice! It's a scandal! The whole city is talking about it! And at this hour! Does he have no decency? And what smells so wonderful in here? Are you cooking a new kind of gruel?"
Lin Qing and Ye Feng looked at each other. This was it.
An hour later, Grandma Li was sitting on a stool, sipping a free (bribe) cup of ginger tea. "So... you want me to try your 'new concoction'?" Grandma Li said suspiciously, her eyes narrowed. "This isn't to silence me, is it? I'm a key witness to the Zhao family's crimes!"
"Of course not, Grandma Li," Lin Qing said, turning on her best salesperson charm. "Think of it as... a gift. For being such a loyal customer." She looked at Ye Feng. "Ye Feng, explain."
Ye Feng, who was standing awkwardly holding a cleaning rag, looked at Grandma Li. He decided on the mortal version of the truth. "You look old," Ye Feng stated flatly.
Lin Qing squeezed her eyes shut, nearly fainting. We're dead.
Grandma Li was deeply offended. "WHAT DID YOU SAY, YOU YOUNG WHIPPERSNAPPER?! I may be old, but I am..." "Your face shows fatigue," Ye Feng continued, ignoring her outrage. "The wrinkles by your eyes... they are not wisdom. They are skin dehydration and sun damage. The spots on your hands... they are liver qi stagnation."
Grandma Li fell silent. No one had ever spoken to her like that. Not with insult, but with... clinical diagnosis.
"This ointment," Ye Feng said, holding up the small pot of pearlescent cream, "will fix that."
"Hmph!" Grandma Li snorted. "Big words. Prove it. But not on my face. I'm not dying for your little experiment. Try it on my hand."
She slapped her wrinkled, spotted left hand down on the counter. "Go on, Mr. Quack."
With a trembling hand, Lin Qing scooped up a pearl-sized amount of the ointment. She gently rubbed it onto the back of Grandma Li's hand, from the knuckles to the wrist. "Alright," Lin Qing said. "Now we... wait." "Wait for how long?" "Ye Feng?" "Fifteen minutes," Ye Feng said. "The time it takes for one mortal blood-circulation cycle."
The longest fifteen minutes of Lin Qing's life began. To pass the time, Grandma Li started her rant again. "So, seven days, eh? What will you do, child? Fight? You must report this to the Magistrate!" "The Magistrate is on their side," Lin Qing said bitterly. "Then you must..."
"It's time," Ye Feng cut in.
Lin Qing's breath hitched. Grandma Li snorted. "Alright, alright. Where's the miracle?" Lin Qing took a clean cotton cloth, dampened it with warm water, and gently wiped the excess ointment from Grandma Li's hand.
Everyone fell silent. It wasn't a dramatic miracle. There was no flash of light. No smoke. It was... far more shocking.
The skin on the back of Grandma Li's left hand was... different. The countless, fine, paper-like wrinkles had... plumped. The dark, liver spots had faded, as if seen through a thick fog. The skin was no longer dull and dry. It was... glowing. Soft. Supple. It was no longer the hand of a woman in her late sixties. It was the hand of a woman in her forties.
Grandma Li raised her hand to the window, turning it in the morning light. Her eyes widened. She placed her left (new) hand next to her right (old) hand. The difference was so stark it was comical. One hand belonged to a field worker. The other belonged to a noblewoman.
"By... by the Emperor's Jade Stallions..." Grandma Li whispered, her voice shaking. She touched her new skin with her old hand. "It's... it's magic."
She looked at Ye Feng. Then at Lin Qing. Her chatty expression was gone, replaced by the intensity of a gambler who had just seen a winning card. "How much?" she said, her voice serious.
Lin Qing, still in shock, stammered. "Oh... uh... it's free, Grandma. It's a..."
"One silver piece," Ye Feng cut in, his voice loud and clear.
Lin Qing nearly choked on her own spit. "ONE... SILVER?!"
One silver piece. One hundred copper coins. That was the price of one hundred bowls of gruel. It was a week's rent for the shop! It was robbery!
Grandma Li stared hard at Ye Feng. Ye Feng stared back, unblinking. The silence was tense. Suddenly, Grandma Li laughed. A deep, full-throated laugh. She reached into a pouch deep inside her sleeve. She pulled out a small bag. With a decisive thud, she placed one shiny silver coin on the counter. "One silver for this tiny pot?" Grandma Li said. "That's a bargain."
She leaned forward, her eyes glittering slyly. "I'll take... five pots."
She slammed four more silver coins down on the counter, one by one. CLACK. CLACK. CLACK. CLACK. Five silver pieces. On the counter. For an ointment they had made thirty minutes ago.
"And," Grandma Li added, grinning, "you'd better make more. I'm on my way to Madam Wei's monthly tea gathering." She paused for dramatic effect. "As you know... she's Magistrate Wei's wife."
Grandma Li snatched the first little pot, tucked it into her sleeve as if it were a gold bar, and bustled out the door, her 'new' hand held high. Lin Qing and Ye Feng were left alone in the shop, staring at the five glittering silver coins on the counter between them. They had just earned, in a single morning, what Lin Qing usually earned in an entire month.
Lin Qing looked at Ye Feng, her breath caught in her throat. Ye Feng simply picked up the mortar and pestle. "We need more Silver Moon Flowers," he said. "A lot more."