The silence in the Qing Shop was oppressive, almost as thick as the Golden Ointment in the pot.
The five noblewomen stood in the center of the room, their sharp, trained gazes assessing every stain on the wooden floor, every crack in the herb shelves, and every cobweb in the corners of the ceiling. Their well-bred noses wrinkled slightly. This place smelled... of herbs. Not expensive perfumes, not polished sandalwood, but the raw, earthy smell of roots, soil, and crude medicine.
To them, it was the smell of poverty.
The woman in the lead—the one in the phoenix-embroidered robe—was Madam He, the third wife of the City Treasurer, a woman who wielded financial power in the wives' social circle. She was the first to break the silence.
"So," she said, her voice smooth as silk but cold as ice. "This is the 'hovel' the Magistrate's wife was talking about?"
She wasn't being insulting; she was merely stating a fact as she saw it.
Lin Qing felt her blood simmer slightly, but she forced a stiff, professional smile. She had spent her life dealing with small merchants and friendly neighbors. She had never dealt with nobility. She felt like a rabbit suddenly forced to negotiate with a pack of beautifully furred wolves.
"Welcome to the Qing Tea & Medicine Shop, ladies," Lin Qing said, her voice a little higher than usual. She was trying to sound calm and confident. "I am Lin Qing, the owner. You've come to the right place for the Golden Ointment."
Madam He raised an eyebrow. "Golden Ointment. A proud name for mud sold in a place like this. The Magistrate's wife said this... thing... can remove wrinkles overnight." She let out a small laugh, one devoid of humor. "My dear girl, we have tried everything from pure pearl powder from the southern seas to sheep placenta cream from the northern grasslands. What makes you think your village concoction is any better?"
"Because our concoction isn't made from dead, mundane ingredients," a new voice suddenly interjected.
It was Ye Feng.
He stepped forward from the shadows near the herb rack, feather duster still in hand. He looked at Madam He not as a customer, but as a specimen.
Lin Qing nearly swallowed her own tongue. No, no, no, Ye Feng, not now!
Ye Feng tilted his head, his clear, deep eyes analyzing Madam He from head to toe. "Your Spleen Meridian is blocked," he stated in the flat tone of a physician. "Your Qi flow is obstructed by an excess of... 'metal energy'."
"W-what did you say?" Madam He gasped, her hand instinctively flying to her expensive golden hairpin.
"Metal Energy," Ye Feng repeated, as if explaining to a child. "Your jewelry. It's too much. And that pearl powder you mentioned? It's the remnants of dead shells. It has no spiritual energy. You are, in essence, rubbing calcium dust on your face. Of course it won't work. It's just clogging your pores further."
A total, shocked silence fell over the room.
The noblewomen stared at Ye Feng in horror. A servant... an errand boy... dared to criticize them? Dared to criticize their 50-silver-a-pouch pearl powder?
Lin Qing acted fast. She leaped forward, laughing awkwardly, and gently shoved Ye Feng back with her elbow.
"Hahaha! Ladies, please forgive my Alchemy Assistant," Lin Qing said, quickly inventing a new, impressive-sounding title for him. "He... Ye Feng. He is a Cultivator from a secluded mountain sect. He's a bit... blunt. He doesn't understand our worldly etiquette."
The word "Cultivator" landed in the room like a small bomb.
The women gasped.
"A... Cultivator?" whispered one of them, a Madam Wang.
"Like in the stories?"
"Nonsense! They're just myths," Madam He hissed, but her eyes were now looking at Ye Feng with a new mixture of fear and curiosity.
Ye Feng, not understanding why Lin Qing had called him an "Alchemy Assistant" (he was clearly the Master Alchemist), decided to be helpful.
He pointed to the second woman, Madam Liu. "And you, Madam. You should not eat so many melons in winter. The Yin energy is too strong. It's what's causing those dark spots on your cheeks. A normal ointment won't cure that. It's an internal problem."
Madam Liu turned deathly pale. How did he know she ate expensive, imported melons every night?
Lin Qing decided she had to take control of this situation now.
"Ye Feng!" she ordered in a sharp voice. "Be quiet. And go fetch Pot Number Three."
"Understood, Boss Lin!" Ye Feng, happy to have a task, hurried to the back.
Lin Qing turned back to the women, who now looked thoroughly shaken. Their disdain had been replaced by intrigue. A Cultivator... who could diagnose their problems just by looking? Maybe this wasn't such a hovel after all.
"Again, please forgive him," Lin Qing said, her confidence now returning. She realized Ye Feng had just handed her the perfect trump card. She was no longer a seller; she was the guardian of a secret.
"Our Golden Ointment," Lin Qing continued, her voice now calm, "is unlike anything you have ever tried. It does not cover wrinkles. It repairs them from within. It uses pure spiritual energy to rejuvenate the skin..."
"Nonsense," Madam He cut in, trying to regain control. "Prove it. Give us a free sample. If it's as magical as you say, we'll buy it."
Lin Qing smiled. "Madam He, with all due respect, if I gave out free samples of this product, I would be out of stock in an hour and have nothing to sell to the Magistrate's wife."
Dropping the Magistrate's wife's name was a smart move. Madam He pressed her lips together.
"Besides," Lin Qing continued, "you don't give 'free samples' of a piece of imperial jade, do you? You appraise it. This ointment... is far more precious."
Just then, Ye Feng returned. He was carrying the small, sealed pottery jar—the original one he had made for Master Jin. He placed it on the counter with a solid click.
The women unconsciously leaned forward.
Lin Qing opened the lid.
A rich, sweet, and living aroma spread through the room. It was a scent that soothed the very soul. The women inhaled deeply, their eyes wide. Even Madam He looked impressed.
The contents of the pot glowed with a soft, golden light.
"It's..." whispered Madam Wang, the youngest of the group. "It's... beautiful."
"I want to try," Madam Wang said suddenly, stepping forward. "I'll pay. How much?"
Madam He shot her a sharp look. "Don't be a fool, Wang. You don't even know what's in it."
"I don't care!" Madam Wang said, clearly desperate about a few small pox scars on her cheek. "I will try it."
Lin Qing saw her opening. "I cannot sell it by the piece, Madam. But... I can offer a demonstration."
She picked up a small jade spatula (one she normally used for weighing ginseng) and dipped it into the ointment. She took only the tiniest speck, no bigger than a grain of rice.
"Please, hold out the back of your hand, Madam Wang."
Madam Wang held out a trembling hand. Her skin was pale and dry.
Lin Qing expertly dabbed the golden speck onto the back of Madam Wang's hand. She didn't rub it in. "Now, Madam. Spread it with your finger. Slowly."
Madam Wang did. The moment the ointment touched her skin, she gasped.
"It's warm!" she exclaimed.
All the women leaned in closer. The sight was unbelievable.
As the ointment was absorbed, the skin on the back of Madam Wang's hand seemed to change before their very eyes. The dry, pale skin became supple. The fine lines over her knuckles seemed to soften and... vanish. And most importantly, her skin began to glow. Not a greasy shine, but a glow from within, as if a tiny lantern had been lit beneath her skin.
"By the Gods..." murmured Madam Liu.
Madam Wang lifted her hand to her face, tears welling in her eyes. She compared it to her other hand. The difference was night and day. One hand belonged to a thirty-year-old woman, the other to a teenager.
"It's... it's magic..." Madam Wang whispered.
The silence in the room was now a silence thick with covetous desire.
Madam He, who had been the most skeptical, was the first to move. Her sharp eyes were fixed on the pot on the table. She no longer saw "mud" in a "hovel." She saw a weapon. A weapon that would make her the most beautiful and envied woman in all of Spring Cloud City.
"How much?" she demanded, her voice hoarse. No more pleasantries. "I want that pot. All of it."
All eyes were now on Lin Qing.
Lin Qing froze. This was it. The moment of truth. What was the price of a miracle? She had never sold anything for more than 5 silver. If she said 10 silver, it would be outrageous. But this...
She glanced at Ye Feng, desperate for help.
Ye Feng, the Cultivator, just shrugged. He genuinely had no idea.
Lin Qing panicked. She had to name a price. A big one.
"This pot..." Lin Qing began, her voice trembling. "This pot... is very special. The price is..."
"Oh, that pot?" Ye Feng suddenly spoke up again, his tone flat and factual. "The price for that is the land deed to this building and one thousand silver."
Time stopped.
Madam He stared at Ye Feng as if he had just grown a second head. "What... did you say?"
"That's the price," Ye Feng repeated, confused why this was difficult to grasp. "Master Jin of the Golden Dragon Syndicate offered us the land deed and one thousand silver in exchange for that pot yesterday. But we refused, of course. Bad business. The land deed is worth more."
If the room was silent before, it was now a vacuum.
The noblewomen looked as if they had just been struck by lightning.
One... thousand... silver?
And... the land deed?
Master Jin? THE GOLDEN DRAGON SYNDICATE?!
Madam He took a step back, her face draining of all color. She thought she was dealing with an ignorant village merchant. She had no idea she was dealing with a monster who had extorted the Golden Dragon Syndicate!
Lin Qing closed her eyes. Her headache had just evolved from stabbing to a full-blown supernova. Ye Feng, the supernatural idiot, had just revealed everything. He had exposed their most secret, dangerous business deal to the biggest gossips in the entire city.
She was going to kill Ye Feng. Slowly. After she finished counting the money.
"YOU... YOU'RE INSANE!" Madam He shrieked, her voice cracking. "A THOUSAND SILVER! THAT'S EXTORTION! WHO DO YOU THINK WE ARE?"
Lin Qing opened her eyes. Anger suddenly replaced her panic. She had had enough. Enough of these women, enough of Ye Feng, enough of being poor.
She took a deep breath and unleashed the real Boss Lin.
"Madam He," Lin Qing said, her voice now as cold as ice, matching Madam He's initial tone. "Please do not shout in my establishment. You are disturbing the other customers." (Even though there were no other customers).
She looked the noblewoman dead in the eye. "And my assistant misspoke. He's new to the city."
"Master Jin did not offer one thousand silver for this pot," Lin Qing continued, choosing her words with care. "Master Jin offered one thousand silver and the land deed as an initial investment for the exclusive distribution rights to the entire Golden Ointment product line."
It was a brilliant lie. It reframed Ye Feng from a mad extortionist into a shrewd businessman.
"And as he said," Lin Qing added, "we refused. We are not interested in outside investors at this time."
Madam He was silent, processing this new information. This... made sense. The Syndicate was always looking for the next big thing.
"This pot on the counter," Lin Qing said, gesturing to the golden treasure, "is from Cultivator Ye Feng's personal batch. It's what we made for our own use, not for mass sale."
She looked at Madam He. "But, seeing as the Magistrate's wife personally recommended you... we are willing to part with some."
Madam He was calm now. She was a negotiator. "So, the price is not one thousand silver."
"Of course not," Lin Qing said. "But it's not five silver, either."
She had to think of a number. A number that was impossible, yet payable. A number that would establish the status of this product forever.
"We are selling it in small portions. One small porcelain box... about the size of a thumb..." Lin Qing visualized it. "...the price is one hundred silver."
THUD!
In the backyard, there was the distinct sound of Young Master Zhao fainting and collapsing onto the pile of wet sacks. But no one inside noticed.
One hundred silver.
The annual salary of a city guard captain. The price of a small house in the suburbs.
Madam Wang gasped and fell back, her dreams shattered. She could never afford that.
But Madam He... Madam He didn't flinch.
One hundred silver was a lot. But... she had just seen a miracle. She saw the back of Madam Wang's hand. What was the price to erase ten years from her face? What was the price to make the Treasurer's first wife look old and haggard? What was the price to make the Treasurer never look at a younger concubine again?
To Madam He, one hundred silver was... cheap. It was an investment.
"I'll take it," Madam He said firmly.
"Me too!" cried Madam Liu, terrified about her "internal problems." "If it can cure my spots, I'll pay!"
"I... I..." the poor Madam Wang looked desperate.
Lin Qing held up her hand. "Wait. I think there's been a misunderstanding."
All the women froze.
"I said... we were willing to part with some. I didn't say... we had any."
"What do you mean?" Madam He asked, her eyes narrowing dangerously.
"Ladies," Lin Qing said with theatrical regret. "This pot is the only one we have right now. This was our test batch."
"Nonsense!" Madam He snapped. "Make more! Your Cultivator is right there! Tell him to make it!"
Lin Qing shook her head. "Madam, this isn't porridge. This is alchemy." She glanced at Ye Feng. "Ye Feng, how long would it take to make the next batch?"
Ye Feng, who had been quiet, finally spoke. "Hm. To create the ointment base? About fifteen minutes of stirring."
Lin Qing nearly kicked him.
"BUT," Ye Feng continued, "it would be useless. The primary ingredient, the Snow Moon Grass, only blooms under the light of the fifth full moon. And the Jade Peak Spiritual Dew can only be gathered during the pure-Yin hours before dawn. We would have to wait... perhaps... another three months for the correct ingredients."
Ye Feng, of course, was making all of this up. He could have created enough ointment to cover the entire city in an hour. But he had been observing Lin Qing. He had seen how she negotiated. He was realizing that in this mortal world, scarcity was another form of power. He was "cultivating" the Dao of Business.
Lin Qing looked at Ye Feng, nearly weeping with pride. This idiot... this idiot is a genius!
Three months! The women looked devastated.
"Then... this pot!" shrieked Madam He, pointing at the counter. "Sell it to me! All of it! I'll pay... 200 silver!"
"300!" cried Madam Liu.
"Ladies, please!" Lin Qing slammed her hand on the counter. "This pot... is already mostly promised to the Magistrate's wife."
It was the ultimate trump card. No one dared to challenge the Magistrate's wife.
"But," Lin Qing continued quickly, "I'm sure she wouldn't mind if I parted with the remaining portions. I believe... I have just enough for... three small boxes."
Three boxes. There were five women.
Chaos erupted.
"I must have one!"
"My husband is the Head of Tax!"
"I was here first!"
"ENOUGH!" Lin Qing shouted.
She looked at them all. "This is the only fair way. One hundred silver each. Madam He, Madam Liu, and you, Madam Zhang. You three were the first to bid."
Madam Wang and the fifth woman looked crushed.
"And for you two," Lin Qing said, her voice softening, "And for anyone else the Magistrate's wife sends... we will be opening... a waiting list."
A waiting list. It was a brilliant word.
"Anyone who wishes to be on the waiting list for the next batch in three months," Lin Qing said, "Must pay a 50 silver deposit up front. To secure the ingredients, of course."
The women didn't even blink. Pay 50 silver now for the chance to buy a 100-silver product in three months? It was the best deal they had ever heard.
Ten minutes later, the Qing Shop was a flurry of activity.
Madam He, Madam Liu, and Madam Zhang each handed over heavy pouches of silver. Lin Qing carefully divided three tiny portions of ointment into three small jade boxes she normally used for her most expensive ginseng.
Madam Wang and the fifth woman frantically paid their 50 silver deposits, their names written neatly by Lin Qing on a new page of her ledger under the title: "WAITING LIST - GOLDEN OINTMENT."
The women left, clutching their tiny boxes (or their deposit receipts) as if they were their lives. They no longer looked down on the shop. They left with a sense of respect, fear, and victory.
After the door chime rang for the last time, silence returned to the Qing Shop.
This time, the silence felt different.
It was a silence filled with the sound of clinking silver.
On the counter, next to the now almost-empty pot of ointment, sat an enormous pile of silver. Far larger than the pile from that morning.
300 silver from the three sales.
100 silver from the two deposits.
Four hundred silver.
Lin Qing sagged against the counter. Her legs felt like jelly. She couldn't breathe. She stared at the pile of silver. Four hundred silver. In less than half an hour.
She looked at Ye Feng.
Ye Feng was looking at the ledger where Lin Qing had written "Waiting List."
"Boss Lin," Ye Feng said, looking confused. "You wrote the price wrong. You said 100 silver. But here you wrote '50 silver deposit.' You are losing 50 silver on every customer."
Lin Qing stared at him. And then she started to laugh. She broke into a loud, hysterical laugh, a laugh filled with relief, stress, and pure, unadulterated disbelief. She laughed until tears streamed down her cheeks.
"Ye Feng," she said through her sobs, "You... are... the best... and worst... thing... that has ever happened to me."
"Is that a compliment?" Ye Feng asked.
"I don't know!"
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The sound of heavy, dragging footsteps came from the back.
The backyard door swung open, and Young Master Zhao Feng stumbled in. He was drenched from head to toe. His expensive cotton robes were torn and stained with mud. His hands were raw red and blistered. He was shaking from the cold. A powerful, pungent smell of ginger wafted off him.
He looked like he had just fought a hundred burlap sacks, and lost. Badly.
"I..." he panted, his voice breaking. "I... have finished... washing... one... sack..."
He lifted his exhausted head. His red-rimmed, swollen eyes focused on the counter.
He saw Lin Qing, who was crying with laughter. He saw the confused Ye Feng.
And then he saw... the mountain of silver on the table.
A pile of silver large enough to buy the entire street block he was standing on.
Zhao Feng stared at the silver. He looked down at his ruined hands. He looked at the filthy burlap sacks still waiting for him outside.
The connection in his brain could not be made. It was too much.
"I..." he mumbled.
His eyes rolled back into his head.
And Young Master Zhao Feng, heir to the Zhao fortune, fainted dead away onto the dirty floor of the Qing Shop.