Chapter 15: Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15: The Obsidian Token

The calculations blurred before Zhao Feng's eyes. He blinked, forcing his focus back to the ledger. Six months until the Immortal Ascension Tournament. In his past life, the lightning techniques that propelled the unknown outer disciple to victory had come from the Obsidian Pavilion, a black-market auction house that operated in the shadows of Green Maple City.

But the Obsidian Pavilion didn't accept just anyone. They required an invitation, and those invitations were reserved for cultivators of the fifth rank or higher, or merchants with a net worth exceeding one hundred thousand spirit coins.

Zhao Feng had neither.

He set down his brush and rubbed his temples. The candle had burned down to a stub, casting dancing shadows across the warehouse walls. Outside, the night sounds of the merchant district had gone quiet. Even the dogs had stopped barking.

A soft tap came at the door.

Three knocks. Pause. Two knocks.

Xiao Chen's signal.

Zhao Feng rose, his muscles stiff from hours of hunching over the ledger. He unlatched the door and pulled it open. The boy slipped inside like a shadow, his thin frame barely making a sound. His eyes were bright, alert, and he carried the smell of smoke and cheap wine.

"He's here," Xiao Chen said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Wu Chen. He came to the district about an hour ago with three men. They're drinking at the Lotus Petal Tavern."

Zhao Feng's pulse quickened. "What are they discussing?"

"Business. He's bragging about a big shipment coming in three days. Something about 'settling accounts' with a merchant who cheated him." Xiao Chen paused, his young face serious. "He described you. Not by name, but he said 'the young fool who bought the tannery warehouse.' He knows you're operating here."

That was faster than Zhao Feng had expected. Wu Chen had connections throughout the city, tentacles that reached into every market and alley. But this soon? Someone had talked.

"Did he mention any names? Anyone who might have told him about me?"

Xiao Chen shook his head. "Just general threats. But there was something else." He reached into his tattered sleeve and pulled out a small object, holding it out to Zhao Feng. "One of his men dropped this when they left the tavern."

Zhao Feng took it. His fingers recognized the shape before his eyes did. A token, carved from black jade, with a single character etched into its surface: 影. Shadow.

The Obsidian Pavilion.

His hands trembled slightly. This wasn't just any token. This was a merchant's pass, a symbol that allowed the bearer to access the Pavilion's trade floors and bid on their most exclusive items. In his past life, such tokens had been worth more than most merchants earned in a decade.

"How did you get this?"

"I followed them after they left the tavern. One of the men stopped to relieve himself behind a teahouse. The token fell from his pocket. I waited until he was gone, then picked it up."

Zhao Feng stared at the boy. In his past life, Xiao Chen had died protecting him, but he'd never known the boy's full capabilities. This level of stealth, of quick thinking—it was exceptional.

"You did well," Zhao Feng said, his voice quiet. "Very well."

Xiao Chen's chest puffed slightly, but he kept his expression neutral. "What now?"

Now. Zhao Feng's mind raced. Wu Chen had a shipment coming in three days. He had a token to the Obsidian Pavilion. But more importantly, he had a connection to the auction house that Zhao Feng desperately needed.

"Now, we change our plans."

---

The next morning, Zhao Feng woke before dawn. He dressed in his finest clothes—still modest by merchant standards, but clean and presentable—and made his way to the Lotus Petal Tavern.

The establishment sat at the intersection of two main roads, its red lanterns still glowing in the gray morning light. The smell of rice wine and grilled meat clung to the air. A few early drinkers sat at the bar, nursing their cups with bloodshot eyes.

Zhao Feng took a seat in the corner, his back to the wall. He ordered a pot of tea and waited.

He didn't have to wait long.

Wu Chen descended the stairs at the hour of the dragon, his robes rumpled, his hair unbound. He looked like a man who had slept in his clothes, but his eyes were sharp, scanning the room with practiced efficiency. They landed on Zhao Feng and narrowed.

The big man walked over, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floor. He didn't sit.

"You're the one who bought the tannery warehouse."

It wasn't a question.

"I am," Zhao Feng said, pouring himself a cup of tea. "Join me. The tea is passable."

Wu Chen's lips curled. "I don't drink tea with people who owe me money."

"Owe you?" Zhao Feng raised an eyebrow. "I don't recall any transaction between us."

"No transaction." Wu Chen pulled out a chair and sat down, his weight making the wood groan. "But you're operating in my territory. Every merchant in this district pays me a protection fee. You haven't paid."

"I wasn't aware the merchant district had a landlord."

"It has me." Wu Chen leaned forward, his voice dropping to a growl. "You've been here three weeks. That's three weeks of missed payments. I'm generous, so I'll let you pay for the full month. Five hundred spirit coins. Plus interest."

Five hundred. Zhao Feng nearly laughed. That was more than most small merchants made in a year. Wu Chen wasn't asking for protection. He was asking for everything.

"And if I refuse?"

"Then your warehouse might have an accident. A fire, perhaps. Or a theft." Wu Chen smiled, showing yellowed teeth. "These old buildings, they burn so easily."

Zhao Feng took a slow sip of his tea, buying time. In his past life, he would have been intimidated. He would have paid, hoping to buy peace, only to discover that Wu Chen's demands would never stop.

But this wasn't his past life.

"I have a counteroffer," Zhao Feng said, setting down his cup. "I'll pay you nothing. Instead, I'll give you something worth far more."

Wu Chen's eyes flickered with interest. "What could a boy like you possibly have that I want?"

Zhao Feng reached into his sleeve and pulled out the Obsidian Pavilion token. He placed it on the table, face up, the character 影 catching the morning light.

"I know where you got this," Zhao Feng said. "And I know you're planning to use it to bid on the Lightning Condensation Art at the next auction."

The color drained from Wu Chen's face. His hand shot out, grabbing the token, but Zhao Feng was faster. He swept it off the table and back into his sleeve.

"How—" Wu Chen's voice cracked. "How do you know about that?"

"I know many things, Wu Chen. I know your shipment of spirit herbs coming in three days is worth thirty thousand spirit coins. I know you've mortgaged your wife's jewelry to fund it. And I know that if you don't win that bidding war, you'll lose everything."

Wu Chen's hands gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white. "Who are you?"

"Someone who can help you." Zhao Feng leaned back, his posture relaxed, his voice calm. "I have information about the auction. I know who else is bidding, what their limits are, and how you can beat them."

"And what do you want in return?"

"Half of the Lightning Condensation Art."

Wu Chen laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "Half? You think I'd share the most valuable technique in the city with some gutter rat playing merchant?"

"I don't think you have a choice." Zhao Feng met his gaze without flinching. "Without my information, you'll bid blind. You'll either overpay and ruin yourself, or you'll lose to someone with deeper pockets. With my help, you have a chance."

The silence stretched between them. Wu Chen's chest heaved with barely contained rage. But beneath the anger, Zhao Feng saw something else: fear.

"One week," Wu Chen finally said, his voice tight. "I'll give you one week to prove your information is real. If it's not..." He let the threat hang in the air.

"Agreed."

Zhao Feng stood, leaving a few copper coins on the table for the tea. As he turned to leave, Wu Chen's voice stopped him.

"Boy. If you're lying to me, I'll make sure you disappear so completely that even the rats won't remember you existed."

Zhao Feng didn't turn around. "I'm not lying, Wu Chen. But you should know something."

"What?"

"The man who dropped this token." Zhao Feng held up the Obsidian Pavilion pass. "You might want to check his loyalties. He dropped it a little too easily."

He walked out of the tavern, the morning sun warm on his face. Behind him, he heard Wu Chen's fist slam against the table.

---

Xiao Chen was waiting for him at the warehouse, his small form tucked into the shadows of the doorway.

"You're alive," the boy said, his voice flat, but his eyes betraying his relief.

"Barely." Zhao Feng unlocked the door and stepped inside. "But we've bought ourselves a week."

"What happens in a week?"

Zhao Feng looked at the crates of qi stones, the bundles of spirit grass, the humble beginnings of what would one day be an empire. A week wasn't much time. But it was enough.

"In a week," he said, "we take the first step toward the Immortal Ascension Tournament. And Wu Chen becomes our unwitting partner."

Xiao Chen frowned. "You're going to betray him."

"Of course." Zhao Feng smiled, and there was no warmth in it. "I'm a merchant. Betrayal is just another transaction."

He turned to his ledger, his mind already racing with calculations. But before he could begin, a knock came at the door.

Three quick raps. Urgent.

Zhao Feng exchanged a glance with Xiao Chen. The boy slid to the side, pressing himself against the wall, a small knife appearing in his hand as if by magic.

Zhao Feng approached the door. "Who is it?"

A woman's voice answered, breathless and trembling. "Zhao Feng? Are you Zhao Feng?"

His blood ran cold. He recognized that voice. He'd heard it in his past life, on the day his sons had betrayed him.

It was his first wife. Yun Mei.

"I need to speak with you," she said, her voice cracking. "Please. It's about your father."

Zhao Feng's hand froze on the latch.

His father had died twenty years ago. In his past life.

But in this life, his father was still alive. Still a poor farmer in the outskirts of Green Maple City. Still breathing.

And Yun Mei had no reason to seek him out unless something had gone terribly wrong.

He pulled open the door.

Yun Mei stood there, her clothes disheveled, her face streaked with tears. She looked nothing like the cold, calculating woman he remembered from his past life. She looked terrified.

"Your father," she gasped. "They've taken him."

"Who?"

"The Wu family. They have him. They're holding him at their compound." She grabbed his arm, her fingers digging into his skin. "They said if you don't give them what they want by sunset tomorrow, they'll kill him."

The warehouse seemed to tilt around Zhao Feng. His mind raced, connecting the dots. Wu Chen. The token. The threat in the tavern.

Wu Chen hadn't believed Zhao Feng's