To Lin Qing, the dawn had never felt so threatening.
Usually, dawn was the start of a comforting routine. The sound of water boiling on the stove, the sharp scent of ginger, the familiar creak of the floorboards. It was her life.
This morning, the dawn—a pale, grey light filtering through the shop's windows—felt cold and alien.
She hadn't slept. Not for a second.
She had spent the entire night sitting on the stool behind her counter, wrapped in a thin blanket. She hadn't dared to go up to her room. She hadn't dared to leave the money alone.
Her small, wooden cash drawer, which usually held only a few copper coins and perhaps one or two silver pieces, could not be closed. The pile of silver coins from the noblewomen was overflowing, and sitting on top, like arrogant little kings, were the boat-shaped sycee ingots from Bos Tie.
Sixty-one silver pieces.
An absurd amount of money. Enough to have bought this entire street block a year ago, before the Zhao Family started playing dirty.
It was no longer money. It was a burden. It was a target. It was an anchor pulling them down to the bottom of the sea, where sharks like Zhao and Bos Tie swam.
Lin Qing put her head down on the table. She was tired. So, so tired. She had fought alone for so long. Yesterday, for a brief moment, the small victory with Grandma Li had felt like hope. But Bos Tie's arrival had shattered all of that.
"You have to hide it."
Lin Qing jolted awake, her heart pounding. Ye Feng was standing on the other side of the counter. He hadn't emerged from the storage room; he was just... there, standing as still as a shadow. When had he come in? Had he slept at all?
"Hide it," Lin Qing repeated, her voice hoarse from exhaustion. "Yes. Of course. We have to... we have to break open a floorboard. Under the storeroom. We'll bury..."
"No," Ye Feng said.
Lin Qing looked at him, frustrated. "No? Ye Feng, if Young Master Zhao sends thugs—not the slippery-soap kind, but real thugs—and they find this... we're finished! They'll take everything! They'll kill us!"
"Buried money," Ye Feng stated flatly, "is as useless as a rock. It is dead capital." He walked to the counter, sweeping the pile of silver with his hand, gathering it into one large, glittering mound in the dim morning light. "Money is a weapon. A weapon must be used. And we must use it... today."
Lin Qing stared at him. Her fear slowly gave way to a sharp focus. He was right. Sitting on this pile of money just made them a fatter target.
"Alright," she said, standing. She walked to the stove and lit the fire. Not for gruel. For tea. Strong ginger tea. She needed something to clear her head. "You're right. Day Two. We have six days left."
She brought two steaming cups to the table. She pushed one toward Ye Feng (who accepted it, though he didn't need it) and held her own cup with both hands, letting the warmth seep into her frozen fingers.
"What's the plan, General?" she asked, her sarcastic tone returning, but this time there was a sliver of genuine respect beneath it. "We have sixty-one silver pieces. What do we do?"
Ye Feng didn't drink. He stared at the steam rising from the cup. "We have three problems," he said, his calm voice filling the shop. "Production. Logistics. And Security. All three must be solved today."
"Production," Ye Feng began. "Yesterday we made... what? Seventeen pots?" "Fifteen," Lin Qing corrected. "And it nearly killed me." "Not enough," Ye Feng said. "Madam Wei, Madam Zhao, and the other women... they are time bombs. They will use the ointment this morning. They will see the results. This afternoon, they will be back. And they will not come alone. They will bring friends. Cousins. Enemies they want to show off to."
Ye Feng looked at Lin Qing. "We can't make fifteen pots. We need to make... five hundred."
Lin Qing sprayed her tea. "FIVE HUNDRED?!" She coughed, pounding her chest. "Ye Feng, have you lost your mind?! Five hundred pots?! That's... that's impossible!"
"Why?" "Why?!" Lin Qing counted on her fingers. "One: Ingredients! I picked the Northern Slope clean of Silver Moon Flowers! There are no more! Two: Jars! I used every single ointment jar I owned! I have nothing left! Three: Labor! There are only two of us! It would take us a month to make five hundred pots!"
"Good," Ye Feng said. "You've identified the bottlenecks." Bottlenecks? Lin Qing wanted to throw her cup at him.
"Let's solve them one by one," Ye Feng said. "One: Ingredients. The flowers we picked yesterday were low-quality. Common Silver Moon Flowers." "They were the only ones!" "No," Ye Feng said. "There are better. Far better. Golden Moon Flowers." "I've never heard of them." "Of course not. They grow where mortals dare not go. The Mist Peak, in the heart of the mountains. Guarded by..." Ye Feng paused. He almost said, 'a Guardian Mist Spirit'. "...guarded by a lethal, poisonous fog. One breath and your lungs will freeze."
Lin Qing blanched. "Then... that's even more impossible." "For now," Ye Feng agreed. "So, we forget the Golden Flowers. We will stick with the common ones." "But they're gone!" "Your Northern Slope is gone," Ye Feng said. "But what about Liu's Medicine Shop? Your rival? You said they sell the same things as you, but cheaper." "Yes... they buy from other herb-gatherers. They might have a stockpile..." "Then we buy their stockpile." "They won't sell to me, Ye Feng! I'm their rival!" "They will," Ye Feng said. "But not to you."
"Two: Jars," Ye Feng continued, moving to the next problem. "We need five hundred small ceramic jars." "Master Wang the potter on East Street only makes twenty a month! No one has five hundred jars!" "Liu's Shop does," Ye Feng said again. Lin Qing began to see the pattern. "Other apothecaries do," Ye Feng added. "General stores do. We will not place an order. We will... buy them out." "Buy them out?" "We will buy every empty ointment jar, small oil flask, and suitable ceramic container in all of Spring Cloud City. Today. We will create an artificial scarcity. It cripples our competitors and gives us our infrastructure."
Lin Qing stared at him, slightly horrified. "That's... evil." "It's efficient," Ye Feng countered.
"Three: Labor," Ye Feng said. "You're right. The two of us can't. We need... a 'secret factory'." "A factory?!" "A warehouse," Ye Feng said. "In a safe location. Away from Young Master Zhao's eyes. Near the docks, perhaps, where there is a lot of activity. We can rent an empty warehouse for a month." "And who... who will work in this 'factory'? We can't let anyone know the recipe!"
Ye Feng looked at Lin Qing. "You said you inherited this shop from your grandmother. Your grandmother... was she a good person?" The question startled Lin Qing. "She... she was the best woman I ever knew. She raised me. She... she took care of everyone. She often gave medicine away for free to people who couldn't pay." "And where are those people now?" Lin Qing thought. "Many of them... are still around. Mrs. Chen, whose husband had a lung sickness... Old Man Wu, whose leg she saved from amputation..." "They owe you," Ye Feng stated. "Or they owe your grandmother's memory. They are the ones who won't betray you for a few silver coins. We will hire them. The widows. The elderly who are still strong. They will not steal. They will... protect the recipe."
Lin Qing looked at Ye Feng in a completely new light. This man... he didn't just see numbers. He saw people. He saw debts of gratitude. He saw loyalty.
"That... that might actually work," Lin Qing whispered, a plan beginning to form in her mind.
"Good," Ye Feng said. "That's Production and Logistics. Now... Security." The mood in the shop grew heavy again. "Zhao will send thugs," Ye Feng said. "Not the 'slippery soap' kind. He will send real thugs to destroy this place. And Bos Tie... he's watching us. He won't protect us for free." "So what do we do? Hire the city guard?" "The city guard works for the Magistrate. The Magistrate works for Zhao. That's suicide." "Then who?"
Ye Feng looked Lin Qing dead in the eye. "We hire... 'The Mad Bull'."
Lin Qing dropped her teacup. CRASH! The ceramic shattered on the floor, hot ginger tea splashing everywhere. "WHAT?!" she shrieked, ignoring the shards at her feet. "The man... the man you tapped?! The man from the arena?! Ye Feng, he will kill you on sight! He'll crush your head!"
"No," Ye Feng said calmly. "He won't." "How do you know?!" "Because in this world, there are two universal languages," Ye Feng said. "The first is 'money'. The second is 'power'. Yesterday, I spoke to him in the language of 'power'. Today, I will speak to him in the language of 'money'."
Ye Feng stood up. "He's the strongest fighter in the city. But Bos Tie treats him like a dog. Pays him pennies to get broken in the pit. He must hate Bos Tie." "He will respect my power. But he will be loyal to my silver." "We're not hiring him to fight," Ye Feng continued. "We're hiring him just to sit. Sit in front of this shop door. Young Master Zhao may be corrupt, but he's not stupid. He won't send his common thugs to fight The Mad Bull. That would be open war."
Lin Qing was trembling. This plan... was insane. It was dangerous. And yet... it made a terrible, brilliant kind of sense.
"This... this is too much," Lin Qing whispered, overwhelmed. "Too fast. I'm just an herb-seller, Ye Feng. Not... not a war general! I don't even know where to start!"
"We start by dividing the tasks," Ye Feng said. He walked to the counter and took the pile of silver. He divided it into several small piles with the precision of an apothecary.
"Sixty-one silver," he said. "Twenty silver." He pushed the pile to Lin Qing. "This is for you. For the raw materials and the jars. You know the market. Buy everything you can. Don't haggle. Pay full price. Speed is more important than savings." "Ten silver." He pushed another pile. "For the warehouse lease at the docks. Rent it for three months. Pay upfront. And for the first wages for your new workers." "Another ten silver." A third pile. "This... is for 'information'." "Information?" "The street urchins," Ye Feng said. "They are invisible. They hear everything. Send them out. One copper coin for every small piece of gossip on Zhao's movements. One silver coin for big information. They will be our eyes and ears."
Lin Qing stared at the piles of silver. Forty silver pieces. A small fortune.
"That leaves twenty-one silver," Lin Qing said. "Ten silver," Ye Feng said, taking one pouch for himself, "is The Mad Bull's first month's salary." He left eleven silver. "This is our emergency fund."
He looked at Lin Qing. "Can you do this?" Lin Qing looked at the silver in front of her. She looked at the broken teacup on the floor. She looked at the eviction notice hanging on the wall. Six days left. She took a deep breath. "I can buy the materials. I can rent the warehouse. I can... I can talk to Mrs. Chen and Old Man Wu."
"Good," said Ye Feng. "But... Ye Feng..." she looked at him, fear returning to her eyes. "You... you're going back to 'The Pit'? Alone?" "That place can't hurt me," he said. "But Bos Tie..." "Bos Tie will be watching," Ye Feng said. "He'll want to know what his new 'racehorse' is doing. He won't stop me from recruiting his old 'dog'. He'll probably find it... amusing."
Ye Feng walked to the door. He paused, the pouch with ten silver pieces feeling heavy at his belt. "Lin Qing." She turned. "Don't break any more cups," he said. "We need to save."
And with that, he stepped out into the busy morning of Spring Cloud City, leaving Lin Qing standing alone in her shop, which had now become a war room.
Day Two had begun.