Chapter 17: Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17: The Price of Trust

The lantern flickered as Zhao Feng traced his finger along the ledger's columns. Six months until the Immortal Ascension Tournament. The numbers told him he was ahead of schedule—barely.

*Thirty-seven thousand spirit coins in liquid assets. Fourteen thousand in raw qi stones. A reliable supplier network extending three cities outward.*

In his past life, he'd taken twelve years to build this foundation. This time, he'd done it in three months.

But twelve years had also taught him that foundations crumbled faster than they rose.

A knock came at the warehouse door. Three quick raps, a pause, then two more. The signal he'd arranged with Xiao Chen.

Zhao Feng set down his brush. "Enter."

The door creaked open, and Xiao Chen slipped inside like a shadow. The boy had cleaned up over the past weeks—new clothes, hair tied back, eyes sharp instead of desperate. But tonight, something was wrong. His movements were too quick, too tight.

"The Wu Chen situation has changed," Xiao Chen said without preamble.

"Explain."

"You were right that he's not just a merchant. He's connected to the Black Lotus Society."

Zhao Feng's hand stilled on the ledger. The Black Lotus. He'd known they existed in this era, but he'd hoped to avoid their attention for at least another year. In his past life, they'd tried to recruit him three times. The third time, they'd sent assassins.

"How deep?"

"Deep enough that he reports to someone in the inner city. I followed him to a meeting last night. Three men, all wearing black robes with lotus embroidery. They talked about you."

"Specifics."

Xiao Chen's jaw tightened. "They know about the qi stone shipments. They know about the spirit grass deals. They know you're operating without backing from any major family." He paused. "They called you 'an unclaimed asset.'"

*Unclaimed.* The word grated. In his past life, he'd been claimed by his family, his sons, his so-called partners—each of them taking pieces until nothing remained. This time, he'd sworn to belong to no one.

"They want to recruit me," Zhao Feng said. It wasn't a question.

"Or eliminate you. The man in charge—the one Wu Chen reports to—said if you won't be useful, you'll be a threat. He gave Wu Chen a deadline. Seven days."

Zhao Feng leaned back, his mind racing. The Black Lotus in this era was smaller than he remembered, but no less dangerous. They operated in shadows, controlled information networks that spanned the empire, and had no qualms about removing obstacles.

"How much does Wu Chen know about my operations?"

"Not everything. He knows about the warehouse, but not the secondary location in the bamboo district. He knows you trade in qi stones, but not that you've started refining them."

*Good.* The refinement operation was his ace. Raw stones were common. Refined stones—purified, potent, consistent—were rare. In his past life, he'd cornered the refined stone market by accident, simply because no one else had thought to standardize the process.

"Xiao Chen, I need you to do something dangerous."

The boy straightened. "I've done dangerous before."

"This is different. I need you to let Wu Chen catch you."

Silence. The lantern flame danced, casting shadows across Xiao Chen's face.

"You want me to feed him information," the boy said slowly.

"Carefully selected information. True enough to be believed, false enough to be useless. You'll tell him I'm planning a major deal in three days—a shipment of high-grade qi stones from the northern trade route. You'll tell him the time, the location, the value."

"And when he shows up to steal it, he finds nothing."

"No. When he shows up, he finds exactly what I want him to find."

Xiao Chen's eyes narrowed. "You're baiting a trap for the Black Lotus. That's suicide."

"It's leverage. The Black Lotus respects power. If I can demonstrate that I know their movements better than they know mine, they'll reassess. They'll negotiate instead of attack."

"And if they decide to just kill you faster?"

Zhao Feng smiled, cold and thin. "Then I'll have to make sure they can't."

---

The next three days passed in a blur of preparation. Zhao Feng worked eighteen hours straight, sleeping in the warehouse on a pile of spirit grass sacks. His body ached—the body of an eighteen-year-old wasn't used to this pace—but he pushed through it.

On the second day, he visited the bamboo district location for the first time in a week.

It was a small building tucked between a noodle shop and a fortune teller's stall. The sign outside read "Chen Family Sundries" in faded characters. Inside, the shelves were lined with cheap trinkets and household goods—a perfect cover.

The real business happened in the basement.

Zhao Feng descended the stone stairs, his footsteps echoing in the narrow passage. The basement had been expanded, carved out by his hired hands over the past month. Four rooms now sat underground, each lined with shelves and workbenches.

In the first room, two alchemists—retired outer disciples from the Falling Star Sect—worked over bubbling cauldrons, refining raw qi stones into concentrated essence. The process was simple but tedious. Heat the stones to a precise temperature, extract the vapor, condense it into liquid form, then let it crystallize into refined stones.

The result was worth ten times the raw material.

In the second room, a young woman named Mei Lin sorted spirit herbs by grade. She'd been a beggar when Zhao Feng found her, her cultivation crippled by a failed breakthrough. But her eyes were sharp, and she had an instinct for quality that couldn't be taught.

"Three shipments arrived this morning," she said without looking up. "The cloudroot is excellent. The midnight lotus is mediocre at best."

"Replace the supplier for the lotus."

"Already done."

Zhao Feng allowed himself a small nod. The people he'd gathered weren't loyal yet—not truly. They worked for coin and survival. But they were competent, and competence could grow into loyalty with time.

He was inspecting the third room's stockpile when Xiao Chen appeared at the basement entrance, breathless.

"He took the bait."

Zhao Feng straightened. "Details."

"Wu Chen has assembled a group of enforcers. Twelve men, all qi condensation cultivators. They're planning to hit the northern trade route at midnight tonight. But there's something else."

"What?"

"The man Wu Chen reports to—the one I mentioned before—he's going to be there personally. He wants to watch."

Zhao Feng's heart rate increased, but his face remained stone. An audience. That complicated things. If the Black Lotus leader was present, the trap had to be perfect. One mistake, and he wouldn't just lose the shipment—he'd lose everything.

"Change of plans," Zhao Feng said. "The northern route was always a decoy. The real shipment is going through the eastern route, under cover of a funeral procession. But that doesn't matter anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not going to let them steal a decoy. I'm going to meet them."

Xiao Chen's face went pale. "That's insane."

"It's calculated. If I can speak directly to the Black Lotus leader, I can end this tonight. A few words of negotiation, and they'll leave me alone for years."

"And if the words don't work?"

Zhao Feng picked up a refined qi stone from the shelf. It pulsed with soft light, warm in his palm. In his past life, he'd learned to fight with words, coin, and contracts. But some battles couldn't be won with merchants' tools.

He still had his past life's cultivation memories. He still knew techniques that shouldn't exist for another hundred years.

"Then I'll use other words."

---

Midnight. The northern trade route stretched through a narrow valley, flanked by rocky outcroppings and ancient pines. The moon was hidden behind clouds, leaving the road in near-total darkness.

Zhao Feng stood in the center of the road, alone.

He wore simple merchant's robes, no armor. A single pouch hung at his belt, containing twenty refined qi stones—a fortune that would make most cultivators weep with envy.

The bait.

He heard them before he saw them. Footsteps, soft and deliberate, coming from both sides of the road. Shadows detached themselves from the trees, forming a loose circle around him.

Twelve men. Just as Xiao Chen had said.

They wore black robes, their faces hidden behind cloth masks. Qi fluctuations rippled around them like heat haze—all of them at the fifth level of qi condensation or higher. Dangerous, but not unbeatable.

"Wu Chen," Zhao Feng called out. "I know you're here. Show yourself."

A figure stepped forward from the circle, pulling down his mask. Wu Chen was a thin man with a weasel's face and nervous eyes. He looked like a merchant, which made him dangerous. Merchants understood that the best lies were wrapped in truth.

"Zhao Feng," Wu Chen said, his voice oily. "I must admit, I didn't expect you to come personally."

"I believe in handling my own affairs."

"A commendable trait. But foolish." Wu Chen gestured, and the circle tightened. "My employer wants to meet you. He's waiting at the ridge."

Zhao Feng followed his gaze. On the eastern ridge, a single figure stood silhouetted against the sky. Tall, draped in black, with the unmistakable aura of a foundation establishment cultivator.

*So the leader is here after all.*

"I'll go willingly," Zhao Feng said. "But call off your dogs. If they touch me, the deal is off."

Wu Chen's eyes flickered with amusement. "What deal? You're in no position to negotiate."

"I'm always in a position to negotiate." Zhao Feng opened the pouch at his belt, letting the refined qi stones catch the faint moonlight. "Do you know what these are?"

Wu Chen leaned forward, his expression shifting from amusement to hunger. "Refined stones. High quality. Where did you get these?"

"I made them. And I can make more. Thousands more. Your employer doesn't want to kill me, Wu Chen. He wants to own me. But I'm not for sale."

The circle of enforcers had stopped moving, their attention fixed on the glowing stones. Greed was a powerful tool—Zhao Feng had learned that lesson early.

"Tell your employer I want to discuss a partnership. Equal terms. I provide refined stones at a discount, and the Black Lotus provides protection and exclusive distribution rights in the inner city."

Wu Chen laughed. "You're asking the Black Lotus to work for you."

"I'm asking them to work *with* me. There's a difference."

The laugh died. Wu Chen's face hardened. "You're either very brave or very stupid."

"Those are often the same thing." Zhao Feng began walking toward the ridge, the enforcers parting before him. "Coming, Wu Chen? Or do you need permission from your master first?"

The weasel-faced merchant's jaw clenched, but he followed.

The walk to the ridge took ten minutes. Zhao Feng used every second to study his surroundings, counting the guards hidden in the shadows, noting the escape routes, memorizing the terrain.

When he reached the top, the figure was waiting.

He was older than Zhao Feng expected—maybe fifty, with graying hair and a face carved from stone. His cultivation aura pressed down like a physical weight, making it hard to breathe.

*Foundation establishment, fifth level. Dangerous, but not untouchable.*

"So," the man said, his voice deep and cold. "You're the merchant who's been causing ripples."