Chapter 20: The Poison in the Wine
~1.6k words · 2026-06-22
The lantern flickered as Zhao Feng set down his brush. His calculations covered three pages of the ledger, each line a thread in the web he was weaving. The Immortal Ascension Tournament was his target, but the path there required stepping stones he hadn't yet placed.
A knock at the warehouse door broke his concentration.
Three quick raps. A pause. Two more.
Xiao Chen's signal.
Zhao Feng crossed the room and pulled back the bolt. The boy slipped inside like a shadow, his thin frame barely visible in the dim light. His eyes were wide, his breathing rapid.
"Wu Chen isn't just a merchant," Xiao Chen said without preamble. "He's a spy for the Jin family."
Zhao Feng felt the words land like stones in his stomach. The Jin family. One of the three major merchant clans that dominated Greencloud City. In his past life, they'd been his rivals for decades before he'd crushed them.
"You're certain?"
"I followed him to a teahouse in the eastern district. He met with a man wearing Jin family colors. They spoke for an hour. Wu Chen left with this." Xiao Chen pulled a folded piece of paper from his tattered sleeve. "He dropped it when he paid for his tea. I grabbed it before the waiter could clean up."
Zhao Feng took the paper and unfolded it. His eyes scanned the elegant script, and his blood ran cold.
*The boy has acquired a warehouse on Merchant's Row. Stockpile of low-grade qi stones estimated at ten thousand spirit coins. No known backing from any major family. He operates alone. Recommend we approach with caution or eliminate before he grows. —W.C.*
Below the message, someone had scrawled a response in crimson ink:
*Proceed with elimination. Make it look like a robbery. —J.*
Zhao Feng read the words twice. Then a third time.
In his past life, he'd destroyed the Jin family. Ruined their businesses, bought their debts, scattered their heirs to the winds. They'd never seen it coming until it was too late.
This time, they'd noticed him before he'd even taken his first real step.
"You need to leave," Xiao Chen said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Tonight. They're coming."
"When?"
"I don't know. But the response was fresh. The ink was still wet when I found it."
Zhao Feng looked around the warehouse. His stockpile. His foundation. Everything he'd built in the past two months. If he abandoned it, he'd be back to nothing. If he stayed, he'd be dead.
There had to be another way.
"How did they find me?" he asked, more to himself than to Xiao Chen.
"You bought a warehouse. You've been trading qi stones. You're eighteen years old with no family name and no backing. You stood out." The boy's voice held a wisdom that belied his years. "In this city, being noticed is the same as being targeted."
Zhao Feng closed his eyes. The boy was right. He'd been too aggressive, too visible. In his past life, he'd had decades to build his influence slowly. This time, he'd tried to sprint before learning to walk.
The Jin family had seen him as a weed growing in their garden. Weeds were pulled out before they could spread roots.
"I need to think," Zhao Feng said. "Give me a moment."
He paced the length of the warehouse, his mind racing through possibilities. Flight was the safest option, but it would cost him everything. Fighting was suicide—he was barely at the second level of qi condensation, no match for even a low-tier Jin enforcer.
But what if he didn't fight? What if he changed the game entirely?
He stopped pacing.
"Xiao Chen," he said slowly. "Who is the Jin family's biggest rival?"
"The Zhao family. They've been fighting over the spirit ore trade for three generations."
The Zhao family. His own family name, though no relation. In his past life, the Zhao clan had been his strongest allies before his sons had turned them against him.
"How do I get a meeting with their patriarch?"
Xiao Chen's brow furrowed. "You don't. The Zhao patriarch only meets with established merchants. He won't even talk to street traders."
"Then I need to give him a reason."
Zhao Feng walked to his desk and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper. He dipped his brush in ink and began to write. Not a request for a meeting. An offer.
*To the honorable Zhao patriarch,*
*I have come into possession of information regarding Jin family trade routes through the Spiritwood Forest. I believe this information would be of great value to your house. In exchange, I seek protection and a partnership.*
*I await your response at the warehouse on Merchant's Row.*
*—Zhao Feng*
He sanded the ink and folded the paper. "Take this to the Zhao family compound. Slip it under the gate if you have to. Make sure it reaches the patriarch's hands."
Xiao Chen took the letter, his expression uncertain. "What if they don't respond?"
"Then I'll think of something else. Go."
The boy vanished into the night.
Zhao Feng turned back to his ledger. The Jin family's enforcer would come. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. He had to be ready.
He pulled a small pouch from his robe—a collection of spirit herbs he'd been saving for a breakthrough pill. Instead, he began mixing them into a powder. Not for cultivation. For defense.
The hours passed. The lantern burned low. Zhao Feng worked by feel, his fingers moving with the precision of forty years' experience. When he was done, he had three small packets of powder, each capable of inducing temporary paralysis in anyone who inhaled it.
Not lethal. But effective.
He placed one packet in his sleeve, one under his desk, and one by the door.
Then he waited.
Dawn came, gray and cold. Zhao Feng had just begun to think the Jin family might have postponed their attack when he heard footsteps outside. Not the careful approach of a single assassin. The heavy tread of multiple boots.
He counted. Four. Maybe five.
He blew out the lantern and pressed himself against the wall, the packet of powder ready in his hand.
The lock on the door clicked. Someone had picked it. The door swung open, and a sliver of morning light cut across the floor.
A man's voice, rough and low: "Check the corners. Make sure he's alone."
Shadows moved. Zhao Feng held his breath.
A figure passed within inches of him, close enough that he could smell the cheap wine on the man's breath. He didn't move. Didn't breathe.
The search took three minutes. When it was done, the voice spoke again: "Clear. Where's the target?"
"Patriarch said he sleeps here. Must have left early."
"Doesn't matter. Take the stones. Burn the rest. Make it look like a robbery gone wrong."
Zhao Feng's hand tightened around the powder packet. He could take out one, maybe two of them before they overwhelmed him. That wasn't enough.
But then he heard a new sound. A commotion from outside. Shouts. The clatter of running feet.
"Someone's coming!" one of the enforcers hissed. "A lot of someones."
"Abort. Move, move, move!"
The shadows retreated. The door slammed shut. Boots pounded away into the distance.
Zhao Feng stayed pressed against the wall, his heart hammering. He counted to sixty before he allowed himself to move.
He opened the door and looked outside.
A group of men in blue robes stood in the street, their leader a tall man with graying temples and eyes like chips of ice. He held Zhao Feng's letter in his hand.
"You're the boy who sent this?" the man asked, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority.
Zhao Feng stepped forward and bowed. "I am."
The man studied him for a long moment. Then he smiled, and there was no warmth in it.
"I am Zhao Wuji, patriarch of the Zhao family. You claim to have information about Jin trade routes." He folded the letter and tucked it into his sleeve. "If you're lying to me, boy, I'll have your tongue."
"I'm not lying," Zhao Feng said.
"Then tell me what you know."
Zhao Feng met the patriarch's gaze. In his past life, he'd negotiated with emperors and sect leaders. A city merchant clan didn't intimidate him.
"Not here," he said. "Inside. And I want something in return before I share anything."
Zhao Wuji's eyes narrowed. "You're in no position to make demands."
"I'm in every position to make demands," Zhao Feng replied. "Because if I don't give you this information, the Jin family will control the Spiritwood Forest trade within a month. And when they do, your family will be finished."
A tense silence fell over the street. Zhao Wuji's men shifted uneasily, their hands moving toward their weapons.
The patriarch's smile faded entirely.
"You speak boldly for a dead man walking."
"I speak boldly because I'm the only one who can save you."
Zhao Wuji stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Inside. We talk."
Zhao Feng stepped aside and let the patriarch enter. As the Zhao family men filed past him, he caught a glimpse of movement at the end of the street.
A figure in gray robes, watching.
The figure raised a hand in a casual wave, then turned and disappeared around a corner.
Zhao Feng's blood went cold.
He knew that gesture. He'd seen it a hundred times in his past life.
The Jin family had just learned that the Zhao patriarch had come to visit him personally.
And that meant the game had just escalated far beyond what he'd planned.
A knock at the warehouse door broke his concentration.
Three quick raps. A pause. Two more.
Xiao Chen's signal.
Zhao Feng crossed the room and pulled back the bolt. The boy slipped inside like a shadow, his thin frame barely visible in the dim light. His eyes were wide, his breathing rapid.
"Wu Chen isn't just a merchant," Xiao Chen said without preamble. "He's a spy for the Jin family."
Zhao Feng felt the words land like stones in his stomach. The Jin family. One of the three major merchant clans that dominated Greencloud City. In his past life, they'd been his rivals for decades before he'd crushed them.
"You're certain?"
"I followed him to a teahouse in the eastern district. He met with a man wearing Jin family colors. They spoke for an hour. Wu Chen left with this." Xiao Chen pulled a folded piece of paper from his tattered sleeve. "He dropped it when he paid for his tea. I grabbed it before the waiter could clean up."
Zhao Feng took the paper and unfolded it. His eyes scanned the elegant script, and his blood ran cold.
*The boy has acquired a warehouse on Merchant's Row. Stockpile of low-grade qi stones estimated at ten thousand spirit coins. No known backing from any major family. He operates alone. Recommend we approach with caution or eliminate before he grows. —W.C.*
Below the message, someone had scrawled a response in crimson ink:
*Proceed with elimination. Make it look like a robbery. —J.*
Zhao Feng read the words twice. Then a third time.
In his past life, he'd destroyed the Jin family. Ruined their businesses, bought their debts, scattered their heirs to the winds. They'd never seen it coming until it was too late.
This time, they'd noticed him before he'd even taken his first real step.
"You need to leave," Xiao Chen said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Tonight. They're coming."
"When?"
"I don't know. But the response was fresh. The ink was still wet when I found it."
Zhao Feng looked around the warehouse. His stockpile. His foundation. Everything he'd built in the past two months. If he abandoned it, he'd be back to nothing. If he stayed, he'd be dead.
There had to be another way.
"How did they find me?" he asked, more to himself than to Xiao Chen.
"You bought a warehouse. You've been trading qi stones. You're eighteen years old with no family name and no backing. You stood out." The boy's voice held a wisdom that belied his years. "In this city, being noticed is the same as being targeted."
Zhao Feng closed his eyes. The boy was right. He'd been too aggressive, too visible. In his past life, he'd had decades to build his influence slowly. This time, he'd tried to sprint before learning to walk.
The Jin family had seen him as a weed growing in their garden. Weeds were pulled out before they could spread roots.
"I need to think," Zhao Feng said. "Give me a moment."
He paced the length of the warehouse, his mind racing through possibilities. Flight was the safest option, but it would cost him everything. Fighting was suicide—he was barely at the second level of qi condensation, no match for even a low-tier Jin enforcer.
But what if he didn't fight? What if he changed the game entirely?
He stopped pacing.
"Xiao Chen," he said slowly. "Who is the Jin family's biggest rival?"
"The Zhao family. They've been fighting over the spirit ore trade for three generations."
The Zhao family. His own family name, though no relation. In his past life, the Zhao clan had been his strongest allies before his sons had turned them against him.
"How do I get a meeting with their patriarch?"
Xiao Chen's brow furrowed. "You don't. The Zhao patriarch only meets with established merchants. He won't even talk to street traders."
"Then I need to give him a reason."
Zhao Feng walked to his desk and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper. He dipped his brush in ink and began to write. Not a request for a meeting. An offer.
*To the honorable Zhao patriarch,*
*I have come into possession of information regarding Jin family trade routes through the Spiritwood Forest. I believe this information would be of great value to your house. In exchange, I seek protection and a partnership.*
*I await your response at the warehouse on Merchant's Row.*
*—Zhao Feng*
He sanded the ink and folded the paper. "Take this to the Zhao family compound. Slip it under the gate if you have to. Make sure it reaches the patriarch's hands."
Xiao Chen took the letter, his expression uncertain. "What if they don't respond?"
"Then I'll think of something else. Go."
The boy vanished into the night.
Zhao Feng turned back to his ledger. The Jin family's enforcer would come. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. He had to be ready.
He pulled a small pouch from his robe—a collection of spirit herbs he'd been saving for a breakthrough pill. Instead, he began mixing them into a powder. Not for cultivation. For defense.
The hours passed. The lantern burned low. Zhao Feng worked by feel, his fingers moving with the precision of forty years' experience. When he was done, he had three small packets of powder, each capable of inducing temporary paralysis in anyone who inhaled it.
Not lethal. But effective.
He placed one packet in his sleeve, one under his desk, and one by the door.
Then he waited.
Dawn came, gray and cold. Zhao Feng had just begun to think the Jin family might have postponed their attack when he heard footsteps outside. Not the careful approach of a single assassin. The heavy tread of multiple boots.
He counted. Four. Maybe five.
He blew out the lantern and pressed himself against the wall, the packet of powder ready in his hand.
The lock on the door clicked. Someone had picked it. The door swung open, and a sliver of morning light cut across the floor.
A man's voice, rough and low: "Check the corners. Make sure he's alone."
Shadows moved. Zhao Feng held his breath.
A figure passed within inches of him, close enough that he could smell the cheap wine on the man's breath. He didn't move. Didn't breathe.
The search took three minutes. When it was done, the voice spoke again: "Clear. Where's the target?"
"Patriarch said he sleeps here. Must have left early."
"Doesn't matter. Take the stones. Burn the rest. Make it look like a robbery gone wrong."
Zhao Feng's hand tightened around the powder packet. He could take out one, maybe two of them before they overwhelmed him. That wasn't enough.
But then he heard a new sound. A commotion from outside. Shouts. The clatter of running feet.
"Someone's coming!" one of the enforcers hissed. "A lot of someones."
"Abort. Move, move, move!"
The shadows retreated. The door slammed shut. Boots pounded away into the distance.
Zhao Feng stayed pressed against the wall, his heart hammering. He counted to sixty before he allowed himself to move.
He opened the door and looked outside.
A group of men in blue robes stood in the street, their leader a tall man with graying temples and eyes like chips of ice. He held Zhao Feng's letter in his hand.
"You're the boy who sent this?" the man asked, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority.
Zhao Feng stepped forward and bowed. "I am."
The man studied him for a long moment. Then he smiled, and there was no warmth in it.
"I am Zhao Wuji, patriarch of the Zhao family. You claim to have information about Jin trade routes." He folded the letter and tucked it into his sleeve. "If you're lying to me, boy, I'll have your tongue."
"I'm not lying," Zhao Feng said.
"Then tell me what you know."
Zhao Feng met the patriarch's gaze. In his past life, he'd negotiated with emperors and sect leaders. A city merchant clan didn't intimidate him.
"Not here," he said. "Inside. And I want something in return before I share anything."
Zhao Wuji's eyes narrowed. "You're in no position to make demands."
"I'm in every position to make demands," Zhao Feng replied. "Because if I don't give you this information, the Jin family will control the Spiritwood Forest trade within a month. And when they do, your family will be finished."
A tense silence fell over the street. Zhao Wuji's men shifted uneasily, their hands moving toward their weapons.
The patriarch's smile faded entirely.
"You speak boldly for a dead man walking."
"I speak boldly because I'm the only one who can save you."
Zhao Wuji stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Inside. We talk."
Zhao Feng stepped aside and let the patriarch enter. As the Zhao family men filed past him, he caught a glimpse of movement at the end of the street.
A figure in gray robes, watching.
The figure raised a hand in a casual wave, then turned and disappeared around a corner.
Zhao Feng's blood went cold.
He knew that gesture. He'd seen it a hundred times in his past life.
The Jin family had just learned that the Zhao patriarch had come to visit him personally.
And that meant the game had just escalated far beyond what he'd planned.