Chapter 14: Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14: The Rat in the Walls

The numbers in Zhao Feng's ledger told a story that made his blood run cold.

He ran the calculations three times, each time arriving at the same conclusion. His qi stone reserves were draining faster than they should. Not from theft—the seals on his crates remained undisturbed, the locks intact. But the stones themselves were losing potency. A slow degradation that shouldn't be possible with proper storage.

Someone was siphoning Qi from his warehouse.

Zhao Feng set down his brush and pressed his fingers to his temples. In his past life, he'd heard rumors of such techniques—parasitic cultivation methods that could drain energy through barriers, through distance, through the very fabric of storage arrays. But those were lost arts, buried with the ancient sects that had been destroyed during the Great Purge.

Unless someone had rediscovered them.

He extinguished his lantern and sat in the darkness, letting his eyes adjust. The warehouse had four walls, a ceiling of rotting timber, and a dirt floor packed hard by decades of use. If someone had planted a siphon array, it would be hidden. Buried. Possibly activated by a trigger word or a specific time of day.

He needed to find it before his entire stockpile turned to dust.

The knock came at midnight.

Zhao Feng rose from his crouch, brushing dirt from his robes. He'd spent the last three hours running his hands over every surface, feeling for the faint pulse of active Qi that would betray a hidden formation. Nothing. Either the siphoning was being done by an expert, or the array was buried deeper than he could sense.

"Enter," he called.

The door creaked open, and Wu Chen stepped inside, his round face gleaming with sweat despite the cool night air. Behind him came two men Zhao Feng didn't recognize—cultivators, by the look of their bearing. One wore a blue silk robe and carried a sword at his hip. The other was older, his face weathered, his eyes sharp.

"Brother Zhao," Wu Chen said, spreading his arms in a gesture of welcome that didn't reach his eyes. "I've brought associates. Important ones."

Zhao Feng didn't move from his position by the table. "You said nothing about bringing guests."

"Circumstances change." Wu Chen gestured to the blue-robed man. "This is Young Master Lin from the Lin family of Green Cloud City. He's interested in your... operation."

The Lin family. Zhao Feng kept his expression neutral, but his mind raced. The Lin family was a mid-tier clan, influential but not dominant. In his past life, they'd aligned themselves with his third son, providing military support in exchange for trade routes. They were wolves dressed in merchant's clothing.

"I wasn't aware I had an operation worth a Young Master's attention," Zhao Feng said carefully.

Young Master Lin stepped forward, his sword clinking against his hip. He was young—early twenties, with the arrogant posture of someone who'd never been told no. "Don't play games with me, merchant. I know what you're doing. Buying up low-grade qi stones, cornering the market in the outer districts. You're planning something."

"I'm planning to make a living."

"You're planning to disrupt the established order." Lin's eyes narrowed. "My family holds contracts with half the mining operations in the eastern provinces. If you think you can undercut us, you're either very brave or very stupid."

Zhao Feng felt Xiao Chen's presence before he saw him—a flicker of movement in the shadows near the roof. The boy had followed him after all. Good.

"I'm neither," Zhao Feng said. "I'm a merchant. I buy low, I sell high, and I pay my taxes. If your family's prices are too high for the common cultivator, that's not my concern."

Wu Chen laughed nervously. "Gentlemen, gentlemen. There's no need for hostility. Brother Zhao, Young Master Lin isn't here to threaten you. He's here to offer you a partnership."

"A partnership."

"Fifty percent of your operation," Lin said flatly. "In exchange for protection and access to our supply chains. You'll be a subsidiary of the Lin family. You'll answer to us."

Zhao Feng studied the young master's face. The arrogance was there, yes, but beneath it he saw something else. Desperation. The Lin family was feeling pressure from somewhere. They needed his supply network, his methods, his growing influence.

In his past life, he'd learned that desperation was the most dangerous currency. It made men do foolish things.

"I'll consider your offer," Zhao Feng said.

Lin's hand moved to his sword. "That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you're getting tonight." Zhao Feng met his gaze steadily. "I'm a simple merchant. I need time to review contracts, consult with my associates, ensure the terms are favorable. Surely a man of your standing understands the importance of due diligence."

For a long moment, the warehouse was silent. Then Lin laughed—a sharp, humorless sound.

"You've got balls, merchant. I'll give you that." He turned toward the door. "You have three days. After that, my offer becomes less... generous. Wu Chen will be in touch."

The door slammed shut behind them.

Zhao Feng waited until their footsteps faded before allowing himself to exhale. He turned to the shadows near the roof. "You can come down now."

Xiao Chen dropped silently to the floor, landing in a crouch. The boy moved like a ghost, his bare feet making no sound on the packed earth.

"He's lying," Xiao Chen said.

"Which part?"

"All of it. I followed him before he came here. He met with someone else first. A woman. She gave him orders."

Zhao Feng's heart rate spiked. "Describe her."

"Tall. Black hair with a white streak. Wore a red robe with gold embroidery. She had a scar on her left cheek, shaped like a crescent moon."

Zhao Feng felt the world tilt beneath him.

He knew that scar. He knew that woman.

In his past life, she'd been known as the Crimson Viper—an assassin and information broker who'd served his eldest son. She'd been the one who'd orchestrated the betrayal. The one who'd found his hidden vaults, his secret accounts, every detail of his operation.

And she was here. Now. Six months before she should have appeared.

"You're sure about the scar?" he asked, his voice carefully controlled.

"I don't forget faces," Xiao Chen said. "She's the one who killed Old Zhang last month. Cut his throat in broad daylight and walked away like nothing happened."

Old Zhang. Zhao Feng remembered the name—a minor merchant who'd tried to undercut the local gangs. His death had been written off as a random robbery.

But if the Crimson Viper was active, if she was giving orders to Wu Chen and the Lin family, then someone was already moving against him. Someone who knew what he was planning. Someone who'd seen the same future he had.

"Xiao Chen," he said slowly, "I need you to do something for me. Something dangerous."

The boy's dark eyes didn't waver. "What?"

"I need you to find out where that woman is staying. Where she meets people. Who she reports to." Zhao Feng reached into his sleeve and pulled out a small jade token. "Take this. If you're caught, show it to them. Tell them you work for a merchant named Zhao Feng who wants to buy information. They'll believe you."

"And if they don't?"

"Then you run. You hide. And you find me."

Xiao Chen took the token, his fingers brushing against Zhao Feng's. The boy's hands were cold, calloused from years of survival.

"I'll do it," he said. "But I need to know something first."

"Ask."

"Who is she really? You recognized her. I saw it in your face."

Zhao Feng considered lying. Considered weaving a story about old enemies and past debts. But Xiao Chen was too sharp. The boy would see through it.

"She's a ghost from a life I used to live," Zhao Feng said. "A life I thought I'd left behind. She's here to make sure I don't succeed."

"Why?"

"Because I'm a threat to someone very powerful. Someone who doesn't want me to change the world."

Xiao Chen stared at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded.

"I'll be back by dawn," he said, and vanished into the night.

---

Zhao Feng didn't sleep.

He spent the remaining hours before daylight reinforcing the seals on his warehouse, adding layers of protective formations he'd learned in his past life. They weren't perfect—he lacked the cultivation base to power truly effective arrays—but they would slow down any thief long enough for him to respond.

As the first light of dawn crept through the cracks in the walls, he heard footsteps outside.

Not Xiao Chen's. These were heavier. Deliberate.

The door swung open, and a woman stepped inside.

She was tall, as Xiao Chen had described, with black hair that fell past her shoulders and a single white streak running through it like a bolt of lightning. Her red robe was immaculate, the gold embroidery catching the morning light. And on her left cheek, a crescent-shaped scar that seemed to glisten in the shadows.

"Cultivator Zhao," she said, her voice smooth as silk. "I've heard so much about you."

Zhao Feng's hand moved toward the dagger hidden in his sleeve.

"I wish I could say the same," he replied. "But you have me at a disadvantage."

The woman smiled, and it was the smile of a predator who'd already cornered her prey.

"Call me Lin Mei. I represent interests that would very much like to see you succeed." She stepped closer, her movements fluid, graceful. "Or fail. Depending on how our conversation goes."

"Then let's talk."

"Oh, we will." She reached into her robe and pulled out a folded piece of paper, tossing it onto the table between them. "But first, I wanted to deliver a message. From an old friend of yours."

Zhao Feng didn't touch the paper. "I don't have old friends."

"You do. You just don't remember them yet." She turned toward the door, pausing with her hand on the frame. "Read the message, Cultivator Zhao. And then decide whether you want to keep playing this game, or whether you'd rather walk away while you still can."

She left without another word.

Zhao Feng stood motionless for a long moment, the paper lying on the table like a coiled snake. Finally, he reached out and unfolded it.

The handwriting made his blood run cold.

It was his own.

*Zhao Feng—*

*If you're reading this, then time has moved differently than I expected. I don't know when this will reach you, but I know you'll remember.*

*Don't trust the woman in red. She serves the same master she always has.*

*And he knows you're here.*

*He's coming.*

*—Zhao Feng*

The signature was in his own hand. The same loops and curves he'd used for forty years in his past life. The same ink. The same paper.

But he'd never written this letter. He'd never sent it. And yet here it was, a warning from a version of himself that shouldn't exist.

He read it again, and felt the walls of his carefully constructed plan begin to crumble.

Someone else had been reborn.

And they were already three steps ahead.