The air in Spring Cloud City returned to normal.
Inside the dim Warehouse Number Seven, it felt as if an invisible mountain had just been lifted off their chests.
Lin Qing coughed, choked, and gulped in the air, which now felt light and thin. She slumped onto a burlap sack, the precious land deed and the glowing pot of Golden Ointment lying in her lap. Her hands were shaking so badly she could no longer hold them.
She had just witnessed... what? Magic? A miracle?
Beside her, Xiong, The Mad Bull, was in far worse condition. The giant, who was used to brutal physical violence, had been shattered by something he couldn't punch. He was on his knees on the dirt floor, his forehead pressed to the ground in a full kowtow, his entire body rigid.
He wasn't trembling. He was petrified. "A god..." he whispered, his voice hoarse with pure terror. "A god... that... that was... the God of War..." He had felt that pressure. The absolute authority. The will that could have erased his soul from existence. He would never, for the rest of his mortal life, forget that feeling.
Lin Qing looked at the trembling giant, then stared through the open crack of the door. Ye Feng was still out there. Alone. He had done it. He had faced the Golden Dragon Syndicate—the entity that made the entire city freeze in fear—and he had won.
He didn't fight. He didn't negotiate. He just... existed. And they broke.
Clack.
The sound of the warehouse door being pushed open made Lin Qing let out a small scream.
Ye Feng stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the dim light of the shop. He didn't look like a victor of a war. He didn't look majestic or terrifying. He just looked like Ye Feng, her menial worker, his blue cotton robe still dirty from the mountain climb.
"It's safe," he said, his voice calm, as if he had just returned from buying tofu.
Xiong flinched at the sound but didn't dare lift his head. "Lord... Lord God... Lord Immortal... spare... spare this lowly life..."
"Get up, Xiong," Ye Feng said, his tone slightly weary. "Don't be ridiculous." "But, Master... your power... it was..." "It was a breathing technique," Ye Feng said flatly. "Now get up. There are two bags of trash on the main street that you need to throw out."
Xiong looked up, confused. "...Trash?" "The two Syndicate guards," Ye Feng said. "Throw them in the back alley, near Liu's Shop's garbage. They'll wake up in an hour with a bad headache. They won't remember anything, except that Master Jin told them to leave."
Xiong stared at Master Feng. "A... breathing technique?" It was clearly not a breathing technique. But if his Lord God said it was, then it was. Xiong, his terror now morphing into fanatical worship, scrambled to his feet. "Yes, Master Feng!" He hurried out like a giant, eager hound, happy to perform any task other than feel that pressure again.
Now, only Ye Feng and Lin Qing remained. The silence returned, but this time it was infinitely heavier.
Lin Qing slowly stood up, her legs still like jelly. She walked out of the warehouse, past Ye Feng, into the main shop. The shop was peaceful. The sun was shining. Outside, the sounds of the city were slowly returning. The creak of a distant cart, a vegetable vendor starting his cry again. Life was moving on.
But for Lin Qing, the world had been turned upside down.
She turned. Ye Feng was standing in the warehouse doorway, watching her. This was it. The moment. All the little lies, all the awkwardness, all the "impossible" moments—lifting the cauldron with one hand, the "sticky shoes" on the cliff, the "Wolf-Slaying Gaze," burning the order form, making dead herbs glow, and now... incapacitating the Syndicate's army without moving.
"You," Lin Qing said, her voice trembling, but her eyes were sharp. Ye Feng was silent. "You're not a menial worker," she said. "You're not a traveler who lost his wallet. You... you aren't even a disguised martial artist."
She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "I saw what you did. I felt what you did. Grandma Li thinks you're a sorcerer. Xiong thinks you're a god. Master Jin thinks you're a demon."
She stepped forward, her hands clenched at her sides. She was no longer afraid. She was... angry. Angry at being lied to.
"Tell me the truth," she hissed. "This time, don't give me a story about 'sticky shoes' or 'breathing techniques'. Tell me. WHAT ARE YOU?"
Ye Feng looked at Lin Qing. He, the Immortal Emperor, had planned for thousands of scenarios. He had planned for the war with Zhao. He had planned for the negotiation with Bos Tie. He had planned for the bluff against the Syndicate. He had never... planned for this.
How did he explain "Immortal Emperor, Ruler of the Seven Realms" to a mortal girl whose entire world was Spring Cloud City? He couldn't. It would break her mind. It was a truth too heavy.
So, he had to choose a different truth. A smaller truth. A truth this world could understand.
He sighed. For the first time, he looked genuinely tired. "I... am a Cultivator," he said.
Lin Qing froze. "A Cultivator?" she repeated, the word foreign on her tongue. "You mean... like in Grandma Li's stories? The tales of men in the mountains who can fly on swords and live for a thousand years?"
"Something like that," Ye Feng said, choosing his words carefully. "Without the flying on swords. That's too flashy."
Lin Qing stared at him, trying to digest it. A cultivator. A myth. A legend. But... it explained everything. His inhuman strength. His ability to walk on walls. His impossible knowledge of herbs ("alchemy"). And... that terrifying aura. The Qi pressure of a master. And most of all... his naivety. "That's why..." she whispered to herself, "that's why you don't understand 'money'. Or 'profit and loss'. Or how to sweep a floor."
"I come from a hidden sect in the mountains," Ye Feng continued, building his lie on a foundation of truth. "Far away from... all of this." "We focus on natural energy. On alchemy. On understanding the Dao. We don't use... 'money'."
Lin Qing stared at him for a long time. Then, her anger flared again. "So... all of this..." she waved her hand at the whole shop. "Being a 'clumsy menial worker'? Breaking my bowl? Burning my order? It was all... a lie? You were just... playing with me?"
The sense of betrayal stung, sharper than the eviction notice. She had pitied this man. She had fed him gruel. And all this time, he was... a demi-god laughing at her?
"No," Ye Feng said, his voice firmer than Lin Qing expected. "That wasn't a lie." "How could it not be?!" "I genuinely do not know how to sweep," Ye Feng said with brutal honesty. "I genuinely do not understand money. In my sect, if I need something, I make it. If I am hungry, I pick a fruit from a tree. I have never needed to... pay... for a bowl of gruel."
He looked into her eyes. "I left my sect because... I was bored. I had reached the peak of what I could learn there. Everything became... silent. Empty. Just like in the Palace... I mean, on the mountaintop." This was the purest truth.
"I came down to your world to find 'entertainment'," he continued. "And in three hours, I was kicked out of a restaurant. I was starving. I was cold. I was rained on. I realized that all my power... was meaningless in your world. I couldn't buy a bowl of rice."
He paused, his expression softening. "And then... I met you. And you gave me a warm bowl of gruel. No questions asked."
Silence returned. Lin Qing stared at him. Her anger... faded. It melted away. He wasn't a god playing with her. He was... a supernaturally powerful lost child. An ignorant genius. The most powerful and most useless man she had ever met.
She didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. So, she did both. She let out a hysterical, relieved laugh, as tears streamed down her cheeks. "A cultivator... of course. Of course you're a cultivator! Why didn't I think of that!"
She wiped her tears on her dirty sleeve. "So... all this time... you really are that useless?" "I am very useless," Ye Feng agreed. "Until you taught me about... 'business'."
"And... you lied to me," Lin Qing said, the laugh fading. "About Zhao's messenger. You said you stopped him." "I didn't," Ye Feng admitted. "I didn't have time. I underestimated him. I miscalculated." "So you bluffed Old Man Zhao?" "I bluffed him." "And you bluffed Master Jin?" "I... gave him a strong business incentive to agree with me," Ye Feng said. "You scared him to death!"
Lin Qing shook her head, still in disbelief. "You're insane. You're completely insane." She looked at the floor, where the land deed had fallen. She picked it up. She held it in her hand. "But..." she looked up at Ye Feng, "...we won."
"We won," Ye Feng agreed. He looked at Lin Qing. "The question is..." He looked at the glowing pot of Golden Ointment in her hand, then at the deed, then at the pile of silver overflowing from the drawer. "What do we do now?"
Lin Qing looked at her shop. Her little sanctuary. Which was now the center of a business deal worth thousands of silver, protected by a legendary cultivator and an ogre doorman, and partnered with the most powerful criminal organization in the province.
This... was not her grandmother's simple "Qing's Tea & Medicine Shop" anymore.
Just then, Xiong the giant lumbered back in, wiping his hands on his trousers. "All done, Master Feng!" he grunted happily. "The trash is dumped behind Liu's Shop." He then looked around at the messy shop. The deed on the floor. The teacups from the Zhao negotiation. "Miss Boss... Master Feng...?" he asked, confused. "The war... is it over?"
Lin Qing took a deep breath. She tucked the land deed securely into her apron. She took the Golden Ointment pot and placed it on the safest shelf behind the counter. Then she picked up... the broom. The same one Ye Feng had failed to use.
She tossed it to Ye Feng.
Ye Feng, out of reflex, caught it. "The war might be over," Lin Qing said, her voice returning to normal. Sharp, bossy, and in control. "But you see this?" She pointed to the dirty floor. "It's a mess. And those noblewomen will be back this afternoon, expecting more ointment. And that idiotic Young Master Zhao..." she smiled, a wicked little expression, "will be here tomorrow morning for his first day of work."
She looked at Ye Feng. "So... 'Mr. Cultivator'... what's your plan now? Going back to your 'mysterious mountain sect'?" There was a challenge in her voice. But beneath it, there was... fear. The fear of being left alone.
Ye Feng looked at the broom in his hand. He looked at Lin Qing. He looked at the small shop that had become the center of his new universe. He smiled faintly. "I... haven't finished cultivating my heart yet." He glanced at the overflowing pile of silver. "Besides... Young Master Zhao is going to need someone to teach him how to count. And I've only just learned."
He turned to Xiong. "Xiong. Get a mop. You missed a spot."
Lin Qing laughed. A genuine, happy laugh. Day Four of their seven days... wasn't even noon yet. And they had won everything. "Alright," she said, rolling up her sleeves. "Let's clean this place up. We have a business to run."