That flag.
Just a small piece of black silk embroidered with golden thread, fluttering lazily on a silver post on the side of the carriage. The image of a coiled golden dragon.
To Lin Qing, that flag was a death sentence.
She dropped the land deed. The thick parchment that represented her greatest victory, the result of four days of hard work, sweat, and terror, fell to the shop's dirty floor with a soft thud. That victory now felt like dust. Empty.
Thirty-one hours. Ye Feng's calculation had been wrong.
"Master Feng... Miss Boss..." The giant Xiong's voice was shaking badly. The man who punched beef carcasses for practice, the man who laughed in the fighting pit, now sounded like a terrified child. "They... they're at the city gate. They're going to... they're going to be on this street..."
Ye Feng stood still in the doorway. He wasn't looking at Xiong. He wasn't looking at the devastated Lin Qing. He was staring at the bustling street outside, his dark, bottomless eyes narrowed.
He was angry.
It wasn't the hot rage of a mortal. It was the cold, freezing anger of an immortal emperor. But this anger was not directed at the Golden Dragon Syndicate.
It was directed at himself.
He had failed. He, Ye Feng, Ruler of the Seven Realms, the grand strategist who had mapped interstellar wars, had miscalculated. He had underestimated a mortal. Zhao Feng.
He had calculated the speed of a horse. He had calculated bureaucracy. He had calculated everything, except the simplest variable: low-level mortal magic. Zhao must have had something faster. A trained spirit-courier bird. Perhaps a single-use, short-distance teleportation talisman. Something he would have dismissed as a 'toy', but in this mortal realm, it was a game-changing tool.
"I underestimated him," Ye Feng muttered. His voice was so low, so cold, it made Lin Qing shiver. It was an admission of failure. And somehow, that was more terrifying than any rage.
"Ye Feng..." Lin Qing sobbed, grabbing his sleeve. "Run. We have to run. Through the back window. We'll leave everything. The money. The ointment. The deed. We'll run to the mountains. To your Mist Peak. They won't find us there!"
Ye Feng turned to her. His cold eyes softened slightly as he saw the terror on her face. "Run?" he said. "Lin Qing, if I run from them now, they will hunt us forever. They will tear this city apart to find us. They will interrogate Grandma Li. They will torture Mrs. Chen. They will destroy everything we have ever touched." He gently removed her grip from his sleeve. "An Emperor does not run." He turned to Xiong, who was still frozen in the doorway. "Xiong."
The giant flinched as if struck. "M-Master Feng?" "You're afraid," Ye Feng stated. It wasn't a question. "They're... they're the Syndicate, Master! They aren't thugs! They... they cut off men's hands just for looking at them wrong!" "Then why haven't you run?" Ye Feng asked. "You have ten silver in your pouch. You could be halfway to the docks."
Xiong looked at the thin Master Feng. He looked at the trembling Miss Boss. He remembered the warm gruel. He remembered the respect. He growled, a sound that came from deep in his chest. "I... am the doorman." He grabbed the massive wooden stool he sat on and shattered it with one hand, taking one of the thickest legs. It was now a giant's club. "I... will hold them off," he said, trembling, but he stood his ground.
Ye Feng nodded. Mortal loyalty. Something he could not buy in the Heavenly Realm. "No," Ye Feng said. "You will not hold them off. You will get out of the way." "Master?!" "Go to the warehouse. You and Lin Qing. Lock the door from the inside. Do not come out. No matter what. No matter what you hear." "But, Master Feng! You're alone! They..." "That is an order," Ye Feng said. His voice wasn't loud, but the note of authority in it made Xiong flinch as if he'd been slapped. It was a tone that went beyond Bos Tie, beyond any king.
"Lin Qing," Ye Feng looked at her. "Take the land deed. Take that pot of Golden Ointment. Go to the warehouse. Lock it." "Ye Feng, no! I won't leave you!" "You are not leaving me," he said. "You are protecting our assets. Go." He gently pushed her toward the warehouse.
Just then, the sounds from the street outside stopped. Not just the bustle. All of Spring Cloud City... went silent. The sound of shouting merchants, barking dogs, squeaking cart wheels... it all died. As if someone had vacuumed all the life from the air.
The only sound was... Clop-clop. Clop-clop. The sound of horses walking slowly on stone.
"They're here," Xiong whispered, pale as a sheet. "Go! Now!" Ye Feng commanded.
Lin Qing wanted to protest, but terror locked her. She grabbed the deed, grabbed the precious pot of Golden Ointment, and ran into the warehouse, pulling Xiong with her. "Don't lock it!" Ye Feng shouted. "Leave it open a crack. I want you... to listen." He wanted Lin Qing to know what he was dealing with.
Lin Qing and Xiong vanished into the darkness of the warehouse, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Ye Feng was now alone in the messy herb shop. He took a deep breath, centering himself. This was not a war. This was a negotiation. The most important negotiation of his mortal life.
He walked to the front door. He didn't hide. He didn't prepare a weapon. He simply stepped out onto the street, stood in front of his shop's door, and waited.
A carriage stopped in the middle of the street. It was massive, far larger than Zhao's. It was made of black wood, lacquered so perfectly it looked wet. The windows were screened with golden silk. And on the door, the Golden Dragon flag fluttered lazily in the dead air.
Two guards stood beside the carriage. These were not Zhao's hired thugs. These were not the fat city watchmen. They wore light, fitted black leather armor. At their waists, they carried identical shortswords—jian. They stood perfectly straight, their eyes cold, and they scanned the street with trained efficiency. They were soldiers.
One more man stood in front of the carriage, facing the shop. He was not a guard. He was the one in charge.
He looked nothing like Bos Tie or Zhao Feng. He was in his forties, slim, and wore a long, black silk robe embroidered with gold thread at the cuffs. His hair was pulled back perfectly. He had the face of an accountant, a scholar. But his eyes... his eyes were the eyes of a shark. Utterly dead, emotionless, and highly intelligent. This was Master Jin, the Golden Dragon Syndicate's Inspector-General for the Southern Cloud Province.
He was not looking at Ye Feng. He was looking at Xiong, who he knew was hiding inside. He was looking at the shop itself, assessing its worth.
The street was empty. All the other shops had barred their doors. All the windows were shuttered. The civilians had evaporated. Only Ye Feng stood there, alone.
Master Jin finally moved his gaze to the young man standing in the doorway. He raised an eyebrow, almost imperceptibly. He saw... a menial worker. A servant. Herb dust on his cheap, blue cotton robe. Worn cloth shoes.
This... was the threat Zhao had spoken of? This was the 'new investor'? This was ridiculous.
"Move aside, boy," Master Jin said. His voice wasn't loud, but it was sharp and clear, like a shard of ice. "Our business is not with you. Fetch your master." "My master is busy," Ye Feng said calmly. "And who are you?" "I'm the one who keeps the ledgers," Ye Feng said.
Master Jin laughed. A dry, humorless sound. "The accountant. Good." He stepped forward, his hands clasped behind his back. "I am Master Jin, of the Golden Dragon Syndicate. We are here on a report from our business partner, the Zhao Family. A report of... fraudulent activity. Theft of assets." He stopped one meter from Ye Feng. "We are here to seize those assets. On behalf of the creditors." He glanced into the shop. "Where is the money, boy? Where is the ointment? Give it to us now, and we might let you keep your hands."
Inside the warehouse, Lin Qing held her breath, her hand covering her mouth.
"Zhao's report is out of date," Ye Feng said, his voice just as calm. "He lied to you."
"We do not care if he lied!" Master Jin snapped, his thin patience cracking. "We came all the way to this backwater city. We will not be leaving empty-handed. Now..." He gave a small, subtle signal with his fingers.
The two black-clad guards moved. They were not thugs. They moved in unison, their shortswords clearing their scabbards in a single, fluid motion. SHIIIING. They weren't going to ask again. They were going to take.
Ye Feng sighed. He was so tired of mortals choosing violence. "This is boring," he said.
As the two guards lunged forward... Ye Feng did not move.
He didn't raise a hand. He didn't kick. He didn't use the 'Wolf-Slaying Gaze'. He just... released it.
Something he had kept sealed tight in his Dantian since he arrived. Not Immortal qi. Not physical strength. He released just 0.0001% of his Will as an Immortal Emperor.
It was not an attack. It was... pressure.
It was the pure, conceptual authority of a being who had ruled seven realms for millions of years. It was the weight of countless galaxies, of trillions of prostrated souls.
To Lin Qing and Xiong, hiding in the warehouse, it felt as if the sky had suddenly collapsed. The air in the room became heavy, thick as water. They both fell to their knees, gasping, not from fear, but from... an instinctual, primal awe. As if the legendary dragon king had just awakened in the next room. Xiong, the giant, was now curled on the floor, whimpering like a puppy.
To the two guards in the street... it was the apocalypse. Their mortal souls, trained only for combat, were not prepared for this. The aura hit them like an invisible sledgehammer. Their swords fell from their limp hands. KLANG! KLANG! Their eyes rolled back in their heads. Their knees buckled. They did not scream. They couldn't. They just fainted on the spot, collapsing like string puppets on the dusty road.
And to Master Jin... He was a low-level cultivator. He had reached the mid-stage of Qi Condensation. He could feel energy. And what he felt... made him want to die.
He didn't feel power. He didn't feel qi. He felt... authority. He felt as if he was no longer a Syndicate Inspector. He was an ant being stared at by the sky itself. Every instinct in his trained body screamed at him to prostrate. To throw himself on the ground and beg for forgiveness. He couldn't breathe. His silk robes were soaked through with cold sweat in a second. His knees were knocking violently. He was grinding his teeth so hard he could taste blood, fighting just to remain standing.
Who... WHAT... was this young man? This was no cultivator. This was no master. This was... something else.
"Now," Ye Feng said, his calm voice cutting through the deafening silence. "As I was saying. Zhao's report is out of date."
Ye Feng retracted his aura. Instantly, the air returned to normal. Master Jin staggered, gasping, leaning against one of the shop's pillars to keep from falling. He stared in horror at his two unconscious bodyguards.
He looked at Ye Feng with entirely new eyes. Eyes filled with pure, unadulterated terror.
"You... you..." he stammered.
"I am the new investor in this city," Ye Feng said, taking control of the narrative. "And you have just arrived at my door, uninvited."
Inside the warehouse, Lin Qing could finally breathe again. She stared through the crack in the door, at Ye Feng's straight back. He... he had just incapacitated three Syndicate agents... without moving.
"Zhao lied to you," Ye Feng said, his voice now calm, like a teacher educating a slow student. "He's bankrupt. He has nothing. He's desperate. You came all this way to pick the scraps off an already-eaten carcass." Master Jin, still fighting to control his breathing, could only listen.
Ye Feng stepped back into the shop. He motioned. "Come in. We'll talk. As... equal merchants."
Master Jin, his pride shattered, had no choice. He stepped over the bodies of his unconscious guards and entered the small herb shop. He was trembling, but he was trying to hide it.
Ye Feng walked behind the counter. He saw the land deed and the pot of Golden Ointment that Lin Qing had dropped on the warehouse floor. He retrieved them.
He placed the land deed on the counter. "This," he said, "is the deed to this street block. It's mine now. I took it from Zhao this morning. He has nothing left to offer you."
Master Jin stared at the deed. So, it was true. Zhao was finished. He had sent them on a fool's errand. Pure rage now began to replace his fear. Rage at Zhao.
"He wasted our time," Master Jin hissed. "He will pay for this."
"He will pay you," Ye Feng said. "But not in the way you think." He picked up the ornate pot of Golden Ointment. The one he'd brought from the Mist Peak. "Zhao offered you a carcass. I... will offer you a dragon."
He opened the lid. The heavenly aroma—liquid gold, starlight, and pure life-force—exploded into the room. Master Jin was a cultivator. He knew what this was. His breath hitched. "This... this is... a Spirit Pill? In ointment form?" His dead eyes now shone with a fanatic, greedy light. This... this could help him break through to the Foundation Establishment stage!
"This is the Golden Ointment," Ye Feng said. "The real product of this shop. The ones outside," he gestured to the warehouse, "are just a diluted version for mortal women." He was lying, but Master Jin didn't know that.
"What... what do you want?" Master Jin asked, his eyes unable to leave the golden pot.
"I want a partnership," Ye Feng said. "Not a war. War is... messy and unprofitable." "A partnership?"
"I will give you this," Ye Feng said, pushing the Golden Ointment pot across the counter. "Take this back to your Master. Tell him it's a gift of goodwill. Tell him... Qing's Tea & Medicine Shop wishes to become an exclusive partner of the Golden Dragon Syndicate."
Master Jin was stunned by this turn of events. "Partner...?"
"We will supply the Syndicate with this product. Exclusively. You circulate it in the Provincial Capital. You set the price. You take forty percent." "Sixty," Master Jin hissed, his merchant instincts returning. "Fifty," Ye Feng countered. "And in return..."
"In return?" "In return," Ye Feng said, "the Golden Dragon Syndicate will take possession of all of the Zhao Family's debts. And you will... give them... to us."
Master Jin understood. It was a total coup. Ye Feng didn't just want to beat Zhao. He wanted to own him.
"You want us to do your dirty work?" "I want us to clean up the ledgers," Ye Feng said. "Zhao lied to you. He wasted your resources. This is a way for you to get your losses back... with interest."
Master Jin thought hard. This was an incredible offer. He could return to his Master not with failure, but with a miracle product and a business deal that would generate millions. And they could punish Zhao at the same time.
"My Master... will be very pleased," Master Jin said, slowly regaining his composure. He took the pot of Golden Ointment, his hand still shaking slightly. "He will be," Ye Feng said. "And tell him... the investor behind this shop... does not like to be disturbed. Next time, send a letter first."
Master Jin bowed. Not a fake bow. Not a respectful bow. It was a bow of fear. "I... I will relay the message, Master." "Go," Ye Feng said.
Master Jin scrambled out. He didn't care about his fainted guards anymore. He shouted to his carriage driver, "WAKE THEM UP! WE'RE LEAVING! NOW!"
The black carriage turned around hastily in the narrow street, nearly hitting the opposite shop. And then, as quickly as they had come, they were gone.
Inside the warehouse, Xiong and Lin Qing slumped to the floor, trembling with relief.
Ye Feng stood alone in his shop. He looked at the street, where the two Syndicate guards were beginning to stir, confused. He had just turned their greatest crisis into his greatest victory. He had secured his capital. He had secured his property. And he had just turned his most lethal enemy... into his first business partner.
He picked up the broom from the corner. The floor was filthy. Day Four of seven... wasn't even noon yet.