The sun had just set on Day Three. The last orange light vanished from Spring Cloud City, dragging Lin Qing's final sliver of hope with it.
Warehouse Number Seven on the docks fell deathly silent. The scent of newly processed herbs mixed with the cold, musty smell of dust.
"...he's carrying a letter for... the Golden Dragon Syndicate!"
The words from the thin street urchin, "Rat," echoed in the warehouse, hitting the workers like a physical wave.
Old Man Wu dropped his pestle. CLANG. The sound was deafening in the silence. Mrs. Chen gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, her eyes wide with terror. The other widows scrambled back, huddling together as if the name itself was a monster that had just broken down the door.
The Golden Dragon Syndicate.
If Young Master Zhao was a barking mongrel and Bos Tie was a viper hiding in the shadows, then the Golden Dragon Syndicate was the dragon itself. They were a regional power. They didn't operate with club-wielding thugs or bent local 'laws'. They operated with legions of ruthless accountants and squads of trained, cold-blooded killers. They didn't just destroy shops. They erased entire family lines from the ledgers.
Lin Qing felt her legs go weak. She had to grab the workbench to keep from falling.
"Run," whispered Mrs. Chen, her voice trembling. "Miss Lin... take the money. Take that young man. And run from the city. Tonight. Run south and never look back." "She's right," Old Man Wu nodded, his face ashen. "No one fights the Syndicate. They... they're not human."
The panic was infectious. The workers, who just minutes ago had been laughing and energized by their wages, now stared at Lin Qing with eyes full of terror, as if she were already a corpse.
"Ye Feng..." Lin Qing turned, her voice barely audible. "They're right. We have to run. Now. We'll take the sixty-one silver... we can start over in another city. Far south..."
Ye Feng did not move. He was not panicking. He did not look worried.
He, the Immortal Emperor, was analyzing. He was processing this new data with a cold, absolute calm.
He crouched in front of Rat, the street urchin, who was trembling, afraid he had delivered a death sentence. "The messenger," Ye Feng said, his quiet voice cutting through the hysteria. "When, exactly, did he leave?"
Rat, startled by the calm, flinched. "Uh... about... about an hour before sunset, Sir. I saw him myself. He... he was on the best black horse from the Zhao stables. The... the 'Demon' horse, they call it. Fastest in the province."
Ye Feng nodded. "How long is the journey to the Provincial Capital on that horse?"
Rat thought quickly. "A normal horse takes two days. The Demon horse... if he rides it without stopping... maybe... maybe dawn tomorrow morning? Ten... twelve hours?"
Ye Feng stood up. He looked at Lin Qing. "He will arrive at the Provincial Capital in, let's say, ten hours. At dawn." He began to pace the warehouse, ignoring the terrified workers.
"He will find the Golden Dragon Syndicate's office," Ye Feng mused aloud. "That will take an hour. He will deliver his report. The Syndicate is not foolish. They will not act on a rumor. They will verify. They will send a courier bird to their agent here. Perhaps to... Bos Tie."
Ye Feng's eyes flashed. "Bos Tie will confirm. He will say we are a new 'asset'. That will make the Syndicate even more interested. They will see us as a fat sheep, ready to be sheared."
"Stop!" Lin Qing cried, her hands over her ears. "Stop analyzing! It's not helping! We have to go!"
"They will assemble a 'collections team'," Ye Feng continued, ignoring her. "They won't rush. They move with arrogance. Assembling the team, preparing the documents... six hours. Then they will travel back. They will take a carriage, not a racehorse. Fourteen hours."
He stopped pacing. He looked at Lin Qing. "Ten hours to get there. One hour to report. Six hours to prepare. Fourteen hours to return." He held up three fingers, then one. "We don't have six days left, Lin Qing." He lowered his fingers. "We have... thirty-one hours."
Rat gaped. This man... he had just calculated their death schedule.
Thirty-one hours. One and a half days. The reality of that number hit Lin Qing harder than the eviction notice.
"One and a half days..." she whispered. "What can we do in one and a half days?!"
Ye Feng walked over to the terrified workers. He reached into his pouch and pulled out a heavy bag of copper coins (part of the 'information' fund). "Mrs. Chen, Old Man Wu," he said, his voice steady.
They flinched. He gave each of them a full day's wage—fifty copper coins. "Today's work is finished," he said. "Go home to your families. Lock your doors. Do not speak to anyone about what you saw here."
"But... but Miss Lin..." Old Man Wu stammered.
"Miss Lin will be safe," Ye Feng said, with a confidence so absolute it was almost hypnotic. "But we need your loyalty. And that loyalty... is silence." He gave them an extra bag of coppers. "Buy food for two days. Do not leave your homes."
The workers took the money with trembling hands. They looked at Lin Qing, who nodded weakly. One by one, they slipped out of the warehouse, disappearing into the night, leaving Lin Qing and Ye Feng alone.
Ye Feng barred the heavy warehouse door from the inside. He and Lin Qing were now alone in their secret factory, surrounded by five hundred pots of unsold ointment and piles of raw materials.
"Alright," Lin Qing said, her voice trembling but firm. She refused to break again. "Thirty-one hours. Running... is not an option, is it?" "No," Ye Feng said. "They would find us. The Syndicate has eyes everywhere. Running would only tell them that we are guilty... and weak." "So... we fight?" "We cannot fight," Ye Feng said. "Even I..." he paused, "...cannot fight them physically without destroying the entire city. That would attract... worse attention." (Attention from the Heavenly Realm).
"So," Ye Feng said. "We don't run. We don't fight. We... win." He lit several more lanterns, illuminating the vast warehouse. "Zhao sent information," Ye Feng said. "He told the wolves that there is a fat sheep here. Our plan is simple." Lin Qing looked at him. "One: We must prove to the wolves that we are not sheep. We are... hedgehogs. Prickly and difficult to swallow." "Two: We must prove that the real sheep—Zhao—is already diseased and has no meat left on his bones."
"How?" Lin Qing whispered.
"We need a 'Shield' and a 'Sword'," Ye Feng said. "Tonight."
"Our 'Shield'," he said, "is those noblewomen. Specifically, Madam Wei, the Magistrate's wife. We must make her so dependent on us in the next 24 hours that when the Syndicate arrives, they aren't just threatening a small shop... they are threatening the Magistrate's wife's only source of beauty and social status."
"How?" "We will make a new product," Ye Feng said. "Something even more potent. The 'Golden Moon Flower' I mentioned. I will retrieve it." "But... the poisonous fog..." "The fog will not harm me," Ye Feng said curtly. "I will leave before dawn. I will make Madam Wei a 'Special Edition Ointment'. Something she cannot get anywhere else. It will bind her to us."
"And the 'Sword'?" Lin Qing asked.
"Zhao sent a messenger," Ye Feng said. "We will send a thousand messengers." He pointed to the door where Rat had left. "Those street urchins. We will use the rest of the 'information' money." "To spread rumors?" "The right rumors," Ye Feng said. "Zhao told the Syndicate we are rich. We will tell the entire city that Zhao is bankrupt."
"Everyone already knows he's in debt!" Lin Qing said. "They know he's in debt. They don't know he's defaulting. They don't know he's desperate." Ye Feng smiled, a cold expression. "We will spread the rumor that Young Master Zhao was seen at 'The Pit', gambling away his family's house deed. That he's trying to sell his transport business at a massive loss. That he was seen trying to borrow money from... Liu's Shop."
"Liu's Shop?" Lin Qing was confused. "It will destroy his reputation," Ye Feng said. "Borrowing from a low-class rival? That is the height of desperation. It will make all of his smaller, local creditors panic. They will come to collect their debts tomorrow morning. We will create... a bank run... at the Zhao Residence."
The plan was vicious. It was brilliant. It was so... Zhao. "It... it will ruin him," Lin Qing whispered, horrified and awed.
"That's the point," Ye Feng said. "When the Golden Dragon Syndicate's envoys arrive, they won't find a fat sheep to shear. They will find the local wolves already picking Zhao's carcass clean. They will realize Zhao lied to them. That he has nothing. And they... will be angry."
"They'll... take Zhao?" "They'll take what's left of him," Ye Feng said.
"This... this will work," Lin Qing said, new adrenaline pumping through her veins. "We have to... we have to find Rat..." "You handle that," Ye Feng said. "Call him. Give him the money. Spread the rumors tonight." "You... where are you going?"
"I," Ye Feng said, "have other business. I am not waiting 30 hours. I am going to accelerate things."
"What do you mean?" "Guard the warehouse. I'll be back." "Ye Feng, where are you going?!"
Ye Feng didn't answer. He forced open the rusted back window of the warehouse and vaulted out into the darkness of the docks, landing without a sound.
Lin Qing ran to the window. "Ye Feng!" He was already gone. Vanished like a ghost.
One hour later. Night in the East District, where the nobility lived. The Zhao Residence was the largest complex, surrounded by high walls and guarded by four bored-looking guards at the massive front gate.
Young Master Zhao was in his study, drinking expensive rice wine. He felt very pleased with himself. The messenger was on his way. In two days, the Syndicate would arrive. They would crush the little shop, seize its assets (including that secret formula), and his family's debt would be cleared. He was a genius.
"Young Master!" A guard ran in, his face pale. "Young Master... there's... there's someone at the front gate." "Get rid of him!" Zhao Feng snapped. "I'm busy!" "We tried, Master! He... he won't leave. He... he said..." "He said what?!"
The sound of quiet footsteps was heard on the carpeted hallway. Ye Feng walked into the study.
The four guards in the hallway were slumped on the floor. Not dead. Not bleeding. Just... fast asleep, in a dead faint. Ye Feng hadn't even broken a sweat. He had... just walked past them.
"YOU!" Zhao Feng roared, leaping from his chair, his hand grabbing for a decorative dagger on his desk. "GUARDS! GUARDS! HOW DID YOU..."
Ye Feng didn't even look at him. He walked past him, as if Young Master Zhao was just a piece of furniture. He walked to the largest, most ornate carved wooden chair in the room—the chair belonging to Zhao Senior, the patriarch—and sat down.
He sat in the head of the family's chair.
"Your arrogance will be the ruin of your family," Ye Feng said, his quiet voice echoing in the luxurious room.
"What... what are you doing in my house?!" Zhao Feng shrieked, raising the dagger with a trembling hand. "Get out! Or I'll kill you!"
"Your messenger to the Capital," Ye Feng said, ignoring the dagger. "He won't make it."
"What do you mean?!" Zhao Feng screamed, a cold fear beginning to creep up his spine. "What did you do to him?!"
"Nothing," Ye Feng said. "But the fastest horses... can sometimes stumble on a dark road. Their legs can break. It's such a shame. He'll probably have to walk now."
Zhao Feng froze. He... he knew? How could he know? And how could he... "You're lying!"
"I rarely lie," Ye Feng said. "But I'm not here for you. I'm tired of dealing with children." He raised his voice slightly. It wasn't a shout, but it penetrated the wood. "Old Master Zhao! I know you're listening. Come out. I have a business proposal for you."
Silence. Zhao Feng looked at the door behind him in a panic. A sliding panel on the far side of the room opened. Zhao Senior, dressed in a silk sleeping robe, stood there. His face was pale and aged, but his eyes... his eyes were as sharp as needles. He had been listening to everything.
"Father!" Zhao Feng said. "This man... he snuck in! He..."
"Silence, you fool," Zhao Senior hissed, his eyes locked on Ye Feng. He looked at the young man sitting calmly in his chair. He saw his four fainted guards in the hall. He felt the terrifying aura of authority from this young man. This... this was no menial worker.
"Who are you?" Zhao Senior asked.
"I am the new proprietor of 'Qing's Tea & Medicine Shop'," Ye Feng said. (Lin Qing would probably hit him for this, but it was necessary).
"You are bold," Zhao Senior said. "You dare come into the lion's den."
"You are not a lion," Ye Feng said. "You are a badly wounded stag, pretending to be a lion, while this foolish son of yours screams to attract the real wolves."
Zhao Senior's face went ashen. He knew. This man knew everything. "What do you want?"
Ye Feng leaned forward. This was an emperor-level bluff. He was gambling everything tonight. "I know about your debt to the Golden Dragon Syndicate," he said. "And I know your messenger will never arrive." He paused. "I am here... to buy your debt."
Zhao Senior gaped. "Buy... my debt? That's... that's thousands in gold, not silver! You..."
"I have investors," Ye Feng said. "Investors far more powerful than the Syndicate. Investors who do not like competition." (He was thinking of Bos Tie, though Bos Tie knew nothing of this).
He stood up from Zhao Senior's chair. He walked toward the trembling patriarch. "You have one chance. Call off this eviction. Transfer the deed for that entire street block to Miss Lin Qing."
"And in exchange...?" Zhao Senior whispered.
Ye Feng smiled, that cold smile. "In exchange... I will consider taking over your debt. Of course," he paused, "at a much... more reasonable... interest rate." He was offering Zhao Senior a way out. A new noose, controlled by him, in exchange for the old, lethal one.
"If not," Ye Feng added, walking to the door, "I will leave. And I will let the Golden Dragon Syndicate come. And they will take everything."
He looked at the terrified Zhao Feng. "And trust me... they will start with you."
Ye Feng walked out of the room, leaving the father and son in a suffocating silence, the poison of doubt and terror now planted deep in the heart of the Zhao Family. The 30-hour sandglass continued to tick.