The street in front of "Qing's Tea & Medicine Shop" had never been this chaotic.
This quiet, simple street, usually traversed only by herb carts and the occasional coughing customer, was now utterly gridlocked. Seven, no, eight luxury carriages—adorned with silk, carved with family crests, and pulled by expensive, impatient horses—were parked haphazardly. Their drivers were shouting at each other, fighting for space.
And between the carriages, in front of the shop's door which still bore the simple 'CLOSED' sign, a crowd had formed.
It was the most unusual crowd: the wealthiest and most powerful noblewomen of Spring Cloud City.
Lin Qing froze at the end of the street, the basket full of Silver Moon Flowers in her hand suddenly feeling as heavy as a mountain. She had faced thugs. She had faced an eviction notice. But this... this was a different kind of terror. This was a mob of desperate, rich women.
"Miss Lin! There she is! The herb girl!" shouted an attendant, pointing at them.
In an instant, the entire crowd turned. And they moved.
"Miss Lin! Miss Lin!" Madam Wei, the Magistrate's wife, was first. She didn't walk. She rushed forward, her jade hairpin nearly falling. She grabbed Lin Qing's climbing-stained sleeve.
"Open the door!" she said, her usually calm voice now strained and desperate. "Grandma Li... she said you have the 'Morning Dew Ointment'? Is it true? Look at this!" She pointed to the fine lines at the corner of her eyes. "I will pay two silver for one pot!"
"Move aside, Wei!" Madam Zhao, mother of Young Master Zhao, pushed her roughly. Her face was flushed with jealousy and anger. She hated being here. She hated begging this girl her son was trying to evict. But her pride... had been thoroughly defeated by the horror of seeing Grandma Li's hand.
"I will pay three silver!" Madam Zhao shrieked. "Miss Lin, whatever the price! Just give it to me!"
"I'll pay five silver for two pots!" cried Madam Liu, the wife of the rival medicine shop owner. She had to know the secret.
"Four silver for me!" "I was here first! My carriage arrived first!"
Lin Qing was completely, utterly flabbergasted. She was being pushed, pulled, and shouted at by a dozen women who were wearing the value of her entire shop in jewelry. They were waving pouches of silver in her face. She was suffocating on their expensive perfumes mixed with their panicked sweat.
She couldn't move. She couldn't think. This... this was chaos.
And then, a calm, flat voice cut through the cacophony.
"Back. Away."
It wasn't a shout. It was a command. Ye Feng stepped forward, placing himself casually between Lin Qing and the mob of noblewomen. He was still in his simple blue cotton robe, now slightly stained with mud from the climb. He still looked like a menial worker.
But the way he stood, the absolute calm in his eyes as he faced their hysteria... it made them stop.
He, the Immortal Emperor, had faced rampaging demon armies. He had calmed angry cosmic dragons. A crowd of anxious mortal women? This wasn't even a distraction.
"Miss Lin," Ye Feng said, his voice quiet, just loud enough to be heard, "is tired. She has just returned from picking the ingredients." He turned his head to Lin Qing, who was still hiding behind him. "Open the door."
Lin Qing, using Ye Feng as a shield, scrambled to the door, her hands shaking so violently she could barely get the key into the padlock.
The noblewomen started to press forward again. "Hurry up!" "We don't have all day!"
"This ingredient," Ye Feng spoke again, his tone chilling, "is extremely rare. It is made by hand. If you push Miss Lin and make her drop this basket..." He let the threat hang in the air. "Then there will be no ointment for anyone."
That threat worked better than a dozen city guards could have. The entire mob of noblewomen froze. They took a collective step back, protecting Lin Qing and her precious basket of flowers as if she were the emperor's infant child.
CLICK. The padlock sprang open. Lin Qing scrambled inside, into the safe darkness of her shop. Ye Feng followed.
"Wait! We're coming in!" shrieked Madam Wei, trying to push her way in.
Ye Feng turned in the doorway. He held the door with one hand. "You will come in," he said. "One by one. But first... there are rules."
Rules. A menial worker was setting rules for the magistrate's wife. "What rules?!" Madam Zhao demanded.
"Rule number one," Ye Feng said. "The price is non-negotiable. This is not an auction. The price... is two silver pieces per small pot."
Lin Qing, who had just placed the basket on the counter, nearly choked on her own spit. TWO SILVER?! He... he had just doubled the already-insane price! Ye Feng was mad!
"Two silver!" Madam Liu gasped. "That's robbery!" "Grandma Li only paid one!" another protested.
"Grandma Li was the first customer," Ye Feng said flatly. "She received the beta-tester discount. The price is now two silver. Take it or leave it."
A tense silence. Two silver. That was a servant's entire monthly wage. "I'll take it!" Madam Wei said, without hesitation. Her status as the number one lady in the city was on the line. She would not be outbid by Madam Zhao. "I'll take it too!" Madam Zhao said, grinding her teeth. "Me too!" cried the others.
"Rule number two," Ye Feng continued, his calm eyes scanning the hungry crowd. "Stock is extremely limited. Therefore... one pot per person."
A new wave of hysteria erupted. "ONLY ONE?!" "That's unfair!" "I need one for my face, one for my hands, one for..."
"One pot per person," Ye Feng repeated, his voice hardening. "So that everyone gets a chance. If anyone disagrees, you are free to leave now."
No one left. It was brilliant marketing, born from absolute imperial logic: Scarcity creates Demand. He wasn't selling an ointment. He was selling the privilege of acquiring it.
"Good," Ye Feng said. "Come in. Sit down. And wait." He opened the door. "Do not push."
Like a group of scolded schoolchildren, the wealthiest women in Spring Cloud City filed in one by one, awkwardly jockeying for a spot on one of the three simple, wooden tables. They sat, their expensive silks brushing against the rough-hewn benches. They looked completely out of place.
They sat. They stared. They waited.
Lin Qing, standing behind her counter, felt like she was in a surreal dream. The Magistrate's wife, the Zhao family's matriarch... all sitting in her shop... waiting for her command.
She looked at Ye Feng in a panic. "Ye Feng," she whispered, "what do we do now? We... we have no stock! We only have flowers!"
Ye Feng dumped the glowing basket of Silver Moon Flowers onto the work counter. Their heavenly scent immediately filled the room, calming the noblewomen's nerves. "Then," Ye Feng said quietly, "we make it for them."
He turned to Lin Qing. "Light the stove. Get the beeswax. And the jars. All the small jars you have."
Lin Qing, her adrenaline surging, moved. She was no longer panicked. She had a mission. She lit the fire. She pulled out dozens of small ceramic jars she normally used for headache powders. She pulled out a large block of pure beeswax and her bottle of almond oil.
And then, the show began.
In front of the mesmerized eyes of the noblewomen, Ye Feng began to work. He no longer looked like a menial worker. He was a master. He took the heavy stone mortar. He didn't pound. He began to grind.
Three full, clockwise circles, slow and powerful. One fast, counter-clockwise circle, locking in the essence.
His movements were hypnotic. He was unhurried, despite a dozen of the city's richest clients staring at him. He was lost in the process. The heavenly scent—a mix of ice, mint, and moonlight—began to fill the shop. It was an aroma far more potent than the raw flowers they had picked.
Lin Qing, who had been the 'Boss', was now, without realizing it, the 'Alchemist's Assistant'. She watched Ye Feng with rapt concentration, anticipating.
"Honey," Ye Feng murmured. Lin Qing was ready with the bottle. A single drop fell. The blue powder hissed and turned a glowing, deep lavender. The noblewomen gasped in unison.
"Beeswax. Melted." Lin Qing melted it over the small flame. Ye Feng scraped the purple powder into the warm oil. He stirred. Three slow circles, one fast.
In ten minutes, under the covetous gaze of the crowd, the first batch of "Morning Dew Ointment" was complete. Fifteen small, shimmering pots of pale, pearlescent cream.
Ye Feng stepped back. He nodded at Lin Qing. "Take their money."
Lin Qing took a deep breath. She stepped up to the counter. She was no longer the scared herb girl. She was the proprietor of the most exclusive business in town.
"Madam Wei," she said, her voice clear and steady. Madam Wei rushed forward, her money pouch already in hand. She placed two silver coins on the table. Lin Qing handed her one small pot. Madam Wei clutched it as if it were her own heart, and hurried out of the shop without another word.
"Madam Liu." Madam Liu came forward. Two silver coins. One pot. She gave Ye Feng a sharp, calculating look before she left.
One by one, they came forward. "Two silver." Clink. One pot. "Two silver." Clink. One pot.
Finally, it was Madam Zhao's turn. She was the last one. She walked to the counter with arrogant steps, as if she were walking to a gallows. There was one pot left.
She looked at Lin Qing with pure hatred. This was the ultimate humiliation. Not only did she have to pay an exorbitant price for this low-born girl's product, she had to do it in front of all her rivals.
Lin Qing, for the first time, felt a surge of power. She was not afraid of this woman. "Two silver pieces, Madam Zhao," Lin Qing said, her voice cold.
Madam Zhao said nothing. She took her money pouch and violently slammed two silver coins onto the counter. The sound echoed in the quiet shop.
She snatched the pot of ointment. "This changes nothing," she hissed, just loud enough for Lin Qing and Ye Feng to hear. "You may have a new, pretty toy. But my husband and my son own the law. In six days," she smiled, a vicious, ugly expression, "this shop and all your little ointments will be rubble."
Lin Qing stared back, unflinching. "Six days is a long time, Madam Zhao. You should use that ointment while you still can."
Madam Zhao gasped, shocked at the audacity, her face turning purple. Without another word, she spun around and stormed out of the shop.
The door closed.
Silence.
The street outside slowly quieted as the carriages departed. Inside the shop, there was only Lin Qing and Ye Feng. The room smelled like heaven.
And on the counter... lay a pile of silver coins. A pile larger than Lin Qing had ever seen in her entire life.
Her hands were shaking as she began to count. "Two... four... six... eight..." She counted thirteen piles. Thirteen noblewomen. "Twenty-six..." she whispered.
She looked at Ye Feng. "Ye Feng... this... this is twenty-six silver pieces."
She added the five from Grandma Li. "Thirty-one silver pieces," she said, her voice breaking. "In one day. We... we did it. We have the money! We can pay Zhao! We can..."
"No," Ye Feng said.
Lin Qing froze. "No? What do you mean, no?"
Ye Feng walked over to the wall where he had hung the crumpled parchment last night. The parchment listing the Zhao Family's weaknesses. "We are not paying Zhao," Ye Feng said. "Paying him rent just keeps us his slave. You'll give him this money, and next month he'll raise it again." He pointed to the pile of silver on the table. "This isn't rent money. This is a 'War Fund'."
He looked at Lin Qing, his eyes cold and strategic. "Day one is over. We have secured our capital. And we have kicked the hornets' nest."
He gestured to the door where Madam Zhao had just left. "She's going to report to her son. They will know we have money. They will come again, and this time, they won't be bringing legal notices."
Lin Qing felt a chill run down her spine. He was right. They had just painted a massive target on their door.
"Tomorrow," Ye Feng said. "Day Two of seven." He picked up the ledger and a brush. "We begin the real war."
Just as the sun was setting, as Lin Qing was about to lock the door, a knock came. KNOCK... KNOCK... KNOCK... It wasn't a woman's panicked knock. It was slow, heavy, and measured. Lin Qing froze. Ye Feng motioned for her to be quiet. A low voice came from behind the door. "I don't have an appointment. But my Master... Bos Tie... heard you were selling miracles in a jar."