The dawn over Spring Cloud City felt different.
For most of the residents, it was a dawn just like any other. The sun peeked over the Eastern Cloud Peak, the mist slowly thinned, and the sound of the tofu merchant pushing his cart over the cobblestone streets was the city's alarm clock.
But for Lin Qing, this dawn felt... surreal.
She hadn't slept. Not a single wink.
Instead of lying on her thin cot, she sat on the wooden chair in her small room on the second floor, above the shop. On the table in front of her, illuminated by the flickering light of an oil lamp, lay the three items that had turned her world upside down overnight.
One: A towering pile of silver coins, gleaming like dragon scales. Far more money than she had ever possessed in her entire life.
Two: The land deed. The fragile, yellowed paper now felt heavier than gold. It was the guarantee of her life.
Three: The small pottery jar of "Golden Ointment," which, even in the dim light, seemed to radiate a warm, mystical glow.
Overnight, she had gone from a small shop owner on the brink of bankruptcy to... to what? A business partner of the Golden Dragon Syndicate? The employer of a giant assassin? And... the boss of a Cultivator.
Lin Qing massaged her temples, feeling a sharp headache stabbing behind her eyes.
Ironically, now that the biggest threat of her life (eviction) was gone, she felt a hundred times more stressed.
Before, her problems were simple: earn money, pay debts, survive.
Now, her problems were: How does she manage a man who can make Master Jin kneel with just his "aura," but at the same time can't be trusted to brew tea without nearly causing an alchemical disaster? How does she explain to customers why her doorman looks like he just ate three thugs for breakfast? And, for all the Gods' sakes, what was she going to do with Young Master Zhao, who was due to arrive this morning?
The idea that Ye Feng was a "Cultivator" explained everything and, simultaneously, nothing at all.
It explained his inhuman strength, his impossible knowledge of herbs ("alchemy"), and his ability to walk on walls.
But it also highlighted just how... useless... he was at everything else.
Lin Qing remembered his words from last night. "I genuinely do not know how to sweep." He had said it with such brutal honesty. He wasn't pretending to be clumsy; he was fundamentally incompetent at normal life.
He was the world's ultimate weapon, who just happened to have the practical intelligence of a three-year-old.
"This is going to kill me," Lin Qing muttered to her oil lamp. "Forget the Syndicate, I'm going to die of stress."
She took a deep breath. "Alright. One thing at a time." She blew out the lamp as the first light of morning broke through her window. "The business must go on."
She put on her usual linen work robe, tied her hair back, and went downstairs to the shop.
She half-expected to find Ye Feng asleep on a pile of burlap sacks in the warehouse. Of course, she was wrong.
Ye Feng was "awake." He was standing in the middle of the dim shop, as still as a statue. He wasn't moving. His eyes were closed.
Lin Qing paused on the last step. "What are you doing?"
Ye Feng opened his eyes. There was no sign of grogginess. His eyes were clear and deep, as if he had been observing the cosmos all night. "Oh, good morning, Boss Lin," he said cheerfully. "I am cultivating."
"Cultivating?"
"Yes. I was observing the rotation of the dust particles in the morning light. It's fascinating. The swirl pattern is almost identical to the Seven-Star Sword Formation, but on a micro-scale. I think if I can comprehend the Dao of Dust, I might be able to improve..."
"STOP," Lin Qing cut him off, holding up a hand. Her headache was back. "I don't need a mystical lesson before breakfast. The Dao of Dust can wait. The Dao of this Dirty Floor is what needs your attention. Get the broom. And this time, try using the bristle part to touch the floor. Not the handle."
"Ah! A new challenge!" Ye Feng said with genuine enthusiasm, rushing to grab the broom as if it were a celestial artifact.
Lin Qing could only sigh. She began counting the herbal supplies at the counter, when the front door creaked open.
It wasn't a customer. It was Xiong.
The giant strode in, his massive frame eclipsing the doorway. Last night, after Ye Feng had left, she had interrogated Xiong, and the big man, with residual terror in his eyes, had told her everything—how Ye Feng had lifted the thousand-kati alchemy furnace with one hand, how he had leaped from the cliff, and how he had crippled the Syndicate's envoy without touching him.
Today, Xiong looked refreshed. He was carrying a large paper bag that was steaming.
"Madam Boss! Lord Master!" Xiong announced in a booming voice, placing the bag on the table. He had decided on new titles for them.
"Breakfast!" he said proudly. He pulled out the contents. Ten large, plump, steamed meat buns.
"Thank you, Xiong. That's very..." Lin Qing began.
Xiong carefully took eight of the buns and piled them in front of Ye Feng. "Lord Master must be hungry after... cultivating... all night."
Then he took one bun and placed it in front of Lin Qing. "For Madam Boss."
He kept the last one for himself and began to chew happily.
Lin Qing stared at the single, pathetic bun in front of her, then at the mountainous pile in front of Ye Feng. Ye Feng, who had no concept of social etiquette, had already picked one up and was biting into it with an expression of pure analysis. ("Hm. This meat is overcooked. Its Qi flow is blocked.")
"XIONG!" Lin Qing snapped, her patience gone.
Xiong started, the bun halfway to his mouth. "Yes, Madam Boss?"
"I'm your boss too! I'm the one paying you! How does he get eight and I get one?"
Xiong looked genuinely confused by the question. It was an illogical query to him. "But... Madam Boss... Lord Master is... the Lord Master. He needs energy for his... breathing techniques. You just... count herbs."
Lin Qing was ready to throw the accounting ledger at both of their heads.
This was her new life. One subordinate who worshipped her as a god, and another subordinate who was a god but knew nothing.
"Never mind," Lin Qing growled, snatching her single bun. "Just eat. We have to open. And Xiong?"
"Yes, Madam Boss!"
"Our new employee is coming today. Young Master Zhao."
Xiong's eyes narrowed. "That silk worm? He dares show his face here after insulting you?"
"He's not here to insult. He's here to work," Lin Qing said with a thin smile. "He is the 'payment' for our agreement."
Xiong processed this. "Work? Him? What's he going to do? Fan us?"
"Something like that," Lin Qing said. "Rule number one, Xiong: you are not allowed to hit him. Rule number two: you are not allowed to threaten to hit him. Rule number three: you are permitted to... stare at him. Very intensely."
Xiong grinned, showing a few uneven teeth. "I understand, Madam Boss."
At precisely nine in the morning, the door chime rang.
The shop was clean (or at least, Ye Feng had successfully moved all the dust from one corner to another). Lin Qing was behind the counter, pretending to be busy with her ledger. Ye Feng was trying to figure out how a feather duster worked ("This thing just moves the problem. Inefficient."). Xiong stood by the door, arms crossed over his tree-trunk chest, looking like an angry guardian statue.
A luxurious sedan chair stopped outside. But this time, the atmosphere was different.
It was the Zhao Family's most opulent chair, made of golden nanmu wood and carved with dragons. But it was being carried by two exhausted-looking bearers, not the usual elite four. And there was no entourage, no fanning servants.
The sedan door opened.
Young Master Zhao Feng stepped out.
The man looked like he had just endured the worst night of his life.
He was not wearing his favorite gold-embroidered silk robes. He was wearing a high-quality, but simple, dark blue cotton robe. For Zhao Feng, this was practically the same as burlap. His hair was tied up neatly, but his hairpin was a simple jade one, not his usual gem-encrusted piece.
But the most striking thing was his eyes. They were red and swollen. He had clearly been crying. Or arguing. Or both.
He stood in front of the Qing Shop's door for a full minute, staring at the simple wooden sign as if it were the gates of hell.
Inside, Ye Feng waved cheerfully with his feather duster. "Good morning, Sir Zhao! You're right on time for your first day!"
Zhao Feng flinched. He glanced at Ye Feng, and a look of pure, unadulterated fear flashed across his face. He still remembered that tea. The tea that had made him feel enlightened, followed by the worst headache of his life.
He then saw Xiong. Xiong just stared at him. No expression. Just the flat, assessing gaze of a predator sizing up a piece of meat.
Zhao Feng swallowed.
He was Young Master Zhao. Heir to the city's greatest property fortune. He was supposed to be at an auction house, bidding on rare paintings, or at the finest tea pavilion, listening to music.
Instead, he was here.
He remembered the conversation with his father last night. After Master Jin of the Golden Dragon Syndicate had personally visited the Zhao residence—an unprecedented and terrifying event—his father, Old Zhao, had summoned him.
Old Zhao hadn't yelled. He had spoken in a calm, disappointed tone, which was so much worse.
"You have shamed the Zhao family," his father had said. "You provoked someone that even Master Jin fears. You nearly got us all killed. And for what? A dilapidated shop?"
"But Father! That servant... he... he bewitched me!"
"Silence. You made a deal. You made a wager with Ye Feng. You lost. The Zhao family always pays its debts. You will go work there. You will learn humility. You will learn the value of money. And most importantly, you will learn who you must not provoke. You will go there tomorrow, and you will work like a lowly servant, until Miss Lin releases you."
"Father! This is an indignity!"
"This is life, Feng'er. You are lucky to still be alive to feel it."
So, here he was. Zhao Feng straightened his back, trying to maintain the last tattered shreds of his dignity. He stepped over the threshold, avoiding Xiong's gaze.
He walked to the counter, where Lin Qing was observing him.
"Miss Lin," he said, his voice hoarse and stiff. "I... am here... to... report." Each word felt like swallowing hot coals.
Lin Qing set down her calligraphy brush. She gave him a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. It was the smile of a boss who was thoroughly enjoying this moment.
"Ah, Employee Zhao. Welcome to the Qing Tea & Medicine Shop," she said lightly. "We're so glad you could join the team. You're just in time. Xiong, please close the door. We need to brief our new employee."
Xiong slammed the door shut, the THUD making Zhao Feng jump.
"Alright, Employee Zhao," Lin Qing continued, leaning forward. "As part of our team, you will have several responsibilities. Ye Feng!"
"Yes, Boss Lin!" Ye Feng hurried over, nearly tripping over his own feet.
"Please explain to Employee Zhao... his Morning Duties."
Ye Feng thought for a moment. "Oh! Of course! The Morning Duties!" He turned to Zhao Feng with a wide, unsettlingly bright smile.
"Welcome, colleague! Our Morning Duties are vital for the shop's Qi flow. First, we must ensure the wood element in the warehouse is balanced. This involves moving several very heavy burlap sacks from the 'Yin' side of the warehouse to the 'Yang' side. It helps with air circulation."
Zhao Feng stared at him blankly. "Moving... burlap sacks?"
"Precisely!" Ye Feng said. "Then, there is the metal element. The alchemy pots... I mean, the medicine pots... must be polished. This is my favorite part. You must scrub them until you can see your own face. It purifies the intent."
"Scrubbing... pots?" Zhao Feng's voice trembled.
"And finally," Lin Qing took over, her voice like steel, "is the earth element. This one is special for you, Employee Zhao."
She pointed to the back door. "Out back, by the well, there is a large pile of burlap sacks that used to hold ginger and turmeric from last week's shipment. Those sacks are expensive. We don't throw them away. We wash them."
Dead silence.
Even Ye Feng looked surprised by the idea. "We wash them? Wouldn't it be more efficient to simply create new ones from... spiritual grass?"
"We are not in your 'mountain sect,' Ye Feng," Lin Qing hissed. "We are in a city. We save money. And Employee Zhao is going to help us save."
She walked behind the counter and retrieved the coarsest, dirtiest wooden brush she owned. It was normally used for scrubbing moss off the well stones.
She tossed it at Zhao Feng's feet. It landed with a wet, dirty THWACK.
"Your first task, Employee Zhao," Lin Qing said, her smile now fully visible. "Wash that pile of burlap sacks at the back well. Make sure they are clean. Until there is no more ginger smell. And make sure they are dry before lunch."
Zhao Feng's eyes widened in horror. He stared at the brush. He looked at his own hands—a scholar's hands, soft, manicured, with polished nails. Hands that had never done a day of physical labor in his life.
"Wash... burlap sacks... used for... ginger?" he whispered, bile rising in his throat.
"That's right," Lin Qing said. "Is there a problem?"
Zhao Feng wanted to scream. He wanted to rage. He wanted to call his guards, burn this place to the ground, and have this harlot run out of town.
But then, he felt it.
It was Xiong's gaze. The giant was staring at him, not moving, not threatening. Just... staring. The same look one would give a cockroach right before stepping on it.
And he remembered his father's warning. "You are lucky to still be alive."
Zhao Feng trembled. He slowly, very slowly, bent down. His shaking hand reached out and picked up the filthy, wet brush. He could feel the grit and moss on his palm.
"No... no problem... Boss Lin," he said through clenched teeth.
"Excellent," Lin Qing said. "Ye Feng, please show Employee Zhao where his pile of sacks is. And Ye Feng?"
"Yes, Boss Lin?"
"Make sure he doesn't 'accidentally' balance his Qi into the well."
"Understood, Boss Lin!"
Fifteen minutes later, the most absurd sight in the history of Spring Cloud City was taking place in the backyard of the Qing Shop.
Young Master Zhao Feng, heir to the Zhao fortune, was standing in front of a massive pile of dirty, pungent-smelling burlap sacks. Ice-cold well water was soaking his expensive cotton robes. He held the first sack, trying to figure out how to even begin without actually touching it.
"Here's the thing, Employee Zhao," Ye Feng was explaining patiently, as if teaching a small child. "You must use your waist power. Not just your arms. If you only use your arms, your meridians will be blocked by the third sack. See, the brush angle must be 45 degrees..."
"I... I know how to wash!" Zhao Feng snapped, on the verge of tears. He plunged the sack into the bucket of ice water, letting out a small shriek as the water splashed onto his face.
He began to scrub. Awkwardly. Angrily. Ineffectively.
Ye Feng observed him, chin resting in his hand. "No, no. Your technique is all wrong. You're wasting energy. Your strokes are too short. You must... like this."
Ye Feng picked up another brush. Without touching the water, he moved the brush through the air. His movements were fluid, graceful, and impossibly powerful. He moved like a shadow. Swish, swish, swish. It wasn't a washing motion; it was a complex sword form.
"See? The Dao of Sack Scrubbing," Ye Feng said proudly. "I mastered the theory last night."
Zhao Feng stared at him, then at the filthy sack in his hands. He understood nothing.
"You... you're insane," Zhao Feng muttered.
"Xiong!" Lin Qing called from inside. "Can you supervise Employee Zhao? Make sure he doesn't hurt himself with that brush."
Xiong lumbered outside, his massive frame blocking the sun. He said nothing. He just stood there, crossed his arms, and stared at Zhao Feng.
Every time Zhao Feng paused to catch his breath or whimper about his blistering hands, Xiong would just clear his throat.
HRRRMMPH.
Zhao Feng would immediately return to scrubbing frantically, tears of frustration and humiliation welling in his eyes.
Inside, Lin Qing and Ye Feng watched the scene from the kitchen window.
"He's... really terrible at this," Lin Qing whispered, unable to hold back a small laugh.
"Of course," Ye Feng whispered back, his tone analytical. "His bone structure is not designed for manual labor. And his heart meridian is blocked by anger, which impedes the flow of Qi to his extremities. Objectively, he is the worst worker I have ever observed."
Lin Qing looked at him. "You know all that... and yet you still can't sweep the floor properly."
Ye Feng looked offended. "Boss Lin, those are two different things. Analyzing the Dao of Bad Workers is easy. Mastering the Dao of Sweeping... that requires immense innate talent. I clearly do not possess it."
Lin Qing laughed. A genuine, relieved laugh. It felt like a great weight had been lifted from her chest. This was insane. Her life was completely insane. But maybe... just maybe, she could handle it.
TRING!
The bell on the front door rang. This time it was sharp and urgent.
Lin Qing and Ye Feng looked at each other. That wasn't the sound of a regular customer.
They hurried to the front.
Standing inside their humble shop were not one, but five women. They were all dressed in the finest silk robes, with perfect makeup and jade and gold hairpins. They were... the wives and concubines of the city's wealthiest officials and merchants.
The woman in the lead—the one in a phoenix-embroidered robe—looked around the shop with slight disdain, before her eyes fixed on Lin Qing.
"Excuse me!" she said, her voice sharp and authoritative. "Is this the place? Is this the hovel that sells that 'Golden Ointment' miracle?"
Another woman beside her chimed in, "The Magistrate's wife sent us! She said it could remove wrinkles overnight! Where is it?"
Lin Qing froze.
The real customers had arrived. Not thugs. Not syndicates. Not spoiled young masters. But real, wealthy customers.
This was the beginning of their real business.
She glanced at Ye Feng, who was staring at the women with the same analytical curiosity he had given the dust particles.
Lin Qing took a deep breath, the professional smile of a shopkeeper falling into place.
"Welcome, ladies," she said, her voice calm and confident. "You've come to the right place."