The silence in the shop felt like the calm before the storm. Sixty-one silver pieces—an absurd, impossible sum of wealth, earned in a single day—lay on the counter, divided into the designated piles.
Lin Qing stared at the pile of silver that was her responsibility: forty pieces. Forty silver pieces. Enough to buy a new house. Enough to live comfortably for five years.
And Ye Feng had asked her to spend it all. In one day.
"Alright," Lin Qing said, her voice trembling slightly. She tied the money into several different cloth pouches and hid them in the inner layers of her clothing. She could feel the cold, heavy weight of the metal against her skin.
Ye Feng picked up his own pouch. Ten silver pieces. The Mad Bull's "salary."
They stood at the open door. The morning light of the second of their seven days spilled onto the floor.
"Lin Qing," Ye Feng said, his tone flat, but his eyes were sharp. "Speed is more important than savings. Do not haggle unless they withhold. Buy. Acquire. Secure."
"I know," she said, gripping the handle of her shopping basket tightly. "And you... Ye Feng..." She wanted to say, 'Don't die.' She wanted to say, 'Be careful, Bos Tie is watching you.' She wanted to say, 'What if The Mad Bull kills you on sight?'
But she only said, "Don't break anything."
Ye Feng nodded. "I'll be back before nightfall. With our doorman."
They parted ways.
Lin Qing turned left, toward East Street, the commercial heart of the city. Ye Feng turned right, toward the filthy dock district, where the shadows ruled.
East Street was bustling. Vegetable sellers were shouting. Cart wheels were squeaking. Lin Qing hugged herself, feeling every glance like a threat. She felt like she was carrying a lit flare in a gunpowder warehouse. Forty silver pieces.
She walked past the silk shops and tea pavilions. She wasn't headed there. She was headed for the quieter back streets, where the artisans worked.
She stopped in front of a small, dusty shop with a wooden sign: "Wang's Pottery." Master Wang was a grumpy old man who made bowls, vases, and—most importantly—small ceramic jars for ointments and medicines.
Lin Qing entered. The smell of wet clay and firing glaze filled the air. Master Wang was at his potter's wheel, not looking up. "What?" he grunted. "Want to order a bowl? Come back in two months."
Lin Qing took a deep breath, steadying her nerves. She mimicked Ye Feng's calmness. "Good morning, Master Wang. I don't want to order."
"Then what? Wasting my time."
"I want to buy," Lin Qing said. "All of your small ointment jars. The finished ones. Your current stock."
Master Wang finally stopped his wheel. He looked up at Lin Qing with a dismissive sneer. "Buy my stock? Little girl, do you know how many are on the back shelf? There's... maybe fifty, sixty jars. That's..."
CLINK.
Lin Qing placed one silver piece on Master Wang's dusty work table.
The old artisan's eyes locked onto the glittering coin. His sneer faded. "That's... that's a lot of jars, Miss Lin."
"I know," Lin Qing said. "I also want to buy your entire production for the next month. I'll pay upfront."
CLINK. CLINK. She placed two more silver coins next to the first. Three silver. Upfront. For tiny jars. It was a ridiculous sum.
Master Wang swallowed. "Miss Lin... did you... did you rob someone?"
"I'm expanding," Lin Qing said coldly, using Ye Feng's words. "This is my offer. Three silver for the sixty jars now, and everything you can make in the next thirty days. Do we have a deal?"
Master Wang looked at the three silver coins. He could buy that new glaze from the capital. He could fix his kiln. "Deal!" he said quickly, sweeping the coins into his apron. "Of course, Miss Lin! Have them delivered to the shop?"
"No," Lin Qing said. "Deliver them to Warehouse Number Seven at the docks. Under the name 'Qing Group'." She didn't know where the name came from, but it sounded... powerful.
She left Master Wang still gaping. Part one, done. She felt a strange surge of adrenaline. This... this felt good.
She didn't stop. For the next three hours, Lin Qing swept East Street clean. She went to two other general stores. She bought every small glass jar, every tiny carved wooden box, every container that could possibly hold ointment.
"I'll take all of them." CLINK. "Wrap them up." CLINK. "Deliver to Warehouse Seven." CLINK.
By noon, Lin Qing had spent five silver pieces and had secured nearly three hundred containers. And more importantly, she had created the 'artificial scarcity' Ye Feng wanted. If anyone tried to copy their ointment, they'd have nowhere to put it.
Now, for the hardest part. The part she dreaded. She turned and walked toward Liu's Medicine Shop.
While Lin Qing was playing business-war, Ye Feng was walking into hell.
The dock district by day was no better than by night. The streets were mud, smelling of rotten fish and cheap alcohol. "The Pit" itself was just a dilapidated wooden door in a back alley.
It was too early for fights. The place should have been empty. Two sleepy-looking guards loitered by the door.
"Closed," one of them grunted, not even looking at Ye Feng. "Come back tonight, kid."
"I'm here to see The Mad Bull," Ye Feng said.
The guard looked up, his red-rimmed eyes narrowing. He recognized Ye Feng. His sneer turned into a nervous expression. "The Bull... he... he's not taking visitors." "I'm not a visitor," Ye Feng said. "I'm his new employer." He tossed a single copper coin at the guard. "Where is he?"
The guard looked at the copper, then at Ye Feng's cold eyes. He shivered. "He's... he's in the 'cage'. Downstairs. But, kid... I wouldn't..."
Ye Feng had already pushed past him, shoving the door open and stepping into the darkness that smelled of stale beer and sawdust.
The arena floor was quiet. There was just the sound of a drunk snoring in the corner. Ye Feng ignored him. He saw a set of stone stairs leading down. To the "cage," where the fighters lived.
He descended. The air grew cold and damp.
The room below was dim, lit only by a few torches. It was a large cell filled with piles of filthy straw. In one corner, a giant of a man, his back to the door, was taking out his rage.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
The Mad Bull—Xiong—was punching a side of beef that hung from the ceiling. Each blow made the carcass swing wildly. He was roaring like a caged animal.
Ye Feng could feel the waves of anger, frustration, and... a strange fear... radiating from the man.
"Xiong," Ye Feng said quietly.
The punching stopped. The beef carcass swung slowly, revealing the giant man. Xiong turned. His face was swollen on one side (probably from another fight). His eyes were bloodshot. When he saw Ye Feng, his entire body tensed.
He didn't shout. He didn't attack. He took a step back, his breath hitching. His eyes were locked on Ye Feng, wide with a mixture of pure terror and hatred.
"You..." he hissed, his voice a low growl. "Demon boy." He remembered. He remembered the 'tap'. He remembered the feeling of his soul being nearly pulled from his body. It wasn't a fight. It was black magic.
Xiong grabbed a large meat cleaver from a nearby table. He raised it with a trembling hand. "Go! Get out of here!" he shouted. "I want no business with you! I... I'll tell Bos Tie..."
"I'm not here to fight," Ye Feng said, standing perfectly still, utterly unintimidated by the seven-foot-tall man holding a cleaver. "Liar!" Xiong yelled. "You're here to laugh! To kill me!" "I've come to pay you."
That sentence stopped Xiong. His cleaver lowered slightly. "...What?"
"Bos Tie," Ye Feng said, walking slowly into the center of the room, "How much does he pay you for a fight?" Xiong eyed him suspiciously. "None of your business." "Five coppers?" Ye Feng guessed. "Ten coppers? Maybe one silver if you put on a good show?" Xiong's eye twitched. The guess was accurate.
"He treats you like a dog," Ye Feng stated flatly. "Does he make you rich? Or does he just throw you scraps while he bets thousands of silver on your blood?"
The words hit Xiong harder than any punch. Because they were true. Xiong lived in this underground cell while Bos Tie slept on silk.
"Shut your mouth!" Xiong growled, but his conviction was wavering.
"I'm offering you a job," Ye Feng said. "I have a job!" "You have a cage," Ye Feng corrected. "I'm offering you... a real job. A real salary."
Ye Feng reached into his pouch. He didn't toss a coin. He pulled out the entire, heavy leather bag. He threw it on the stone floor between them.
THUD!
The bag split open, spilling ten glittering silver coins onto the filthy stone. Xiong's eyes nearly popped out of his head.
Ten silver. That... that was more than he made in three months of fighting to the death. It was a fortune.
"Ten silver," Ye Feng said. "That's your salary. For one month." Xiong stared at the pile of silver, then at Ye Feng. He couldn't process it. "A salary... for what?" his slow brain tried to work. "Killing who? You want me to kill Bos Tie?"
"A much harder job," Ye Feng said. Xiong tensed. "You don't have to fight," Ye Feng continued. "You just have to... sit."
Xiong was completely baffled now. "...Sit?"
"Sit in front of a small herb shop on Rose Street," Ye Feng said. "From dawn until dusk. You are the doorman. You sit on a stool. You drink tea. You eat steamed buns. If anyone comes to make trouble... you stand up. You cross your arms. You stare at them. That's it."
Xiong looked at Ye Feng, then at the silver. This was a joke. It had to be a trap. "Just... sit? Like... like a guard dog?" "Not a guard dog," Ye Feng said. "An honored guard. A protector. Ten silver a month. Paid in advance."
Xiong stared at the silver. He could buy... he could move out of this cell. He could eat meat every day. But... "Bos Tie... he'll kill me. I'm his property."
"You're no one's property," Ye Feng said. "And Bos Tie... he won't stop you."
"Oh, won't he?" A raspy, smiling voice came from the stairs.
Xiong went deathly pale. "M-Master Tiger..." Smiling Tiger stood there, in the shadows, clapping slowly. He had been listening to the whole thing.
"How touching," Smiling Tiger said, walking down the steps. "A magnificent job offer. Ten silver. To sit. Master Xiong, you've truly moved up in the world." Xiong was trembling, the cleaver falling to the floor.
"Master Ye Feng," Smiling Tiger said, ignoring Xiong. "You move fast. Recruiting employees so early in the morning. My master... is very amused." "He works for me now," Ye Feng stated. "Does he?" Smiling Tiger smiled. "Did you ask his Master? Xiong is our best fighter. He makes Bos Tie a lot of money." "He makes me money now," Ye Feng said.
Smiling Tiger stared at Ye Feng. A battle of wills was taking place in the damp cellar. Smiling Tiger was calculating. Bos Tie had invested in Ye Feng. Ye Feng was the new "asset" that produced miracles. If Ye Feng wanted a new toy (Xiong)... maybe it was worth it.
"My Bos Tie," Smiling Tiger said slowly, "is a man who believes in the free market. He told me last night, 'A good racehorse gets to pick its own jockey'." He looked at Xiong, who was still trembling. "It seems... Master Ye Feng is a very wealthy jockey."
He smiled at Ye Feng. "My master... authorizes this transaction. He wants to see what happens. He loves a good show." He turned to Xiong. "Go on, Bull. You have a new employer. Don't disappoint him."
Xiong was stunned. Authorized? Just like that? He looked at Smiling Tiger, then at Ye Feng, then at the pile of silver. With a roar of half-disbelieving joy, he knelt and swept the ten silver coins into his pouch. He stood up. He looked at Ye Feng. He was still scared. But now... there was respect. "...I... I accept," he grunted.
On the other side of the city, Lin Qing stood across the street from Liu's Medicine Shop. She was trembling, but not from cold. Madam Liu herself was manning the counter. She saw Lin Qing across the street and gave her a mocking sneer.
Lin Qing swallowed her pride. She took a deep breath. She walked across the street and into her rival's shop. Liu's Shop was bigger than hers, brighter, but it smelled... dusty. "Oh, look," Madam Liu sneered. "What miracle brings Miss Lin here? Come to beg for ingredients? I heard you're being evicted. Such a shame."
Lin Qing set her basket down. "I'm here to buy your Silver Moon Flowers." Madam Liu laughed. A high-pitched, unpleasant laugh. "Buy from me? My rival? So you can make more of your 'miracle snake oil' and swindle more noblewomen? Do you think I'm a fool?"
"I know your stock is low-quality," Lin Qing said, repeating Ye Feng's words. "You picked it in the summer, not the spring. The flowers are dry and almost useless. No one has bought them from you in a year."
Madam Liu's sneer faltered. It was true. That stock was just taking up space.
"I will take your entire stock," Lin Qing said. "Silver Moon Flowers. Morning Mist Leaves. Whatever you have. I will clear out your storeroom." Madam Liu's eyes narrowed. "Why?" "Because I need low-quality ingredients for... 'practice batches' for my new employees," Lin Qing lied smoothly. "And how much... are you willing to pay for my 'garbage'?"
Lin Qing opened her pouch. "Three silver. Cash. For everything." Madam Liu's eyes widened. Three silver? For herbs she was going to throw away? That was pure profit! Greed warred with pride.
Greed won. "Five silver," Madam Liu hissed. "Four," Lin Qing countered. She would not be swindled. "Four silver and fifty copper!" "Four silver," Lin Qing said firmly. "And you deliver it to Warehouse Seven at the docks. Not to my shop." Madam Liu thought quickly. She could sell her trash, and she would know where Lin Qing's secret warehouse was. A double win. "Deal!" she said.
Lin Qing paid the four silver coins. She walked out of the shop, feeling sick for having to deal with her enemy, but also... victorious. She had crippled her rival and secured the raw materials for their first 500 pots.
She then went to the poorest district, where the widows and elderly lived. She knocked on Mrs. Chen's door. She recruited Old Man Wu. She promised to pay them... double the normal worker's wage. They all wept. They all agreed. "For you, child. For your grandmother's memory."
Dusk. Day Two of seven was almost over.
Lin Qing returned to her now-empty shop, tired to the bone, but with a burning sense of accomplishment. She had rented the warehouse. She had secured five hundred containers. She had bought out her rival's entire herb stock. And she had recruited five loyal workers.
She lit a lamp, waiting for Ye Feng. She was anxious. What if The Mad Bull had killed him? What if Bos Tie...
The door opened. Lin Qing jumped, grabbing her pestle. Ye Feng walked in. "You're back!" she said in relief. "How did..."
Then she saw the shadow behind him. The shadow had to duck to get through the doorway.
The Mad Bull, Xiong, stepped into the tiny herb shop. He looked like a bear trying to fit inside a dollhouse. He looked around in confusion, his small, beady eyes blinking at all the jars and herbs. In one massive hand, he held a half-eaten meat bun.
Lin Qing stared at this giant. This monster, who was rumored to break arms for fun, was now in her shop.
Ye Feng looked calm. "Lin Qing," he said. "This is Xiong. Our new doorman."
Xiong looked at Lin Qing. He tried for a friendly smile, which came out as a terrifying grimace. He swallowed his bun. "...Evening, Miss Boss," he grunted.