Chapter 5: The Wolf Shows His Teeth

The morning air carried the scent of rain and burning incense. Zhao Feng stood at the entrance of the Cloud Terrace market, watching the merchants set up their stalls with the practiced eye of a man who had once owned half the goods they sold.

Three weeks since his rebirth. Three weeks of buying low-grade qi stones at midnight auctions, of memorizing the faces of every minor cultivator who passed through the district, of building a foundation so fragile that one wrong step would shatter everything.

He adjusted the sleeve of his cheap cotton robe. The fabric chafed against his wrists, a constant reminder of how far he'd fallen.

And how far he would climb.

"Young Master Zhao."

The voice came from behind him, smooth as polished jade. Zhao Feng didn't turn. He'd heard those footsteps approach twenty paces away, measured and deliberate. A man who wanted to be noticed.

"Brother Wu," Zhao Feng said, turning slowly. "I was wondering when you'd find me."

Wu Chen stood three steps away, his silk robes embroidered with silver thread that caught the morning light. Behind him, two guards waited with their hands tucked into their sleeves. The kind of men who kept short blades hidden there.

"I've been watching your progress," Wu Chen said, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Impressive work with the spirit grass contracts. You cornered the market on low-grade restoration herbs in what, two weeks?"

"Three."

"Even better." Wu Chen stepped closer, his eyes scanning the market stalls. "But you're playing a dangerous game, young brother. The families who control these lanes don't take kindly to outsiders."

Zhao Feng kept his face neutral. In his past life, he'd crushed men like Wu Chen under his heel without a second thought. Minor nobles who thought their bloodline entitled them to everything they desired. But that was sixty years of experience talking. Right now, he was just an eighteen-year-old nobody with a few thousand spirit coins to his name.

"I'm just a merchant trying to make a living," Zhao Feng said.

Wu Chen laughed. It was a pleasant sound, the kind that made people trust him. Zhao Feng had made that sound himself, many times, right before he destroyed his competitors.

"Let's stop pretending," Wu Chen said, dropping his voice. "I know you're the one who bought the Liu family's storage debt. I know you've been buying qi stones through three different middlemen to hide your tracks. And I know you're sitting on a stockpile that could destabilize this entire district."

The words landed like stones in still water. Zhao Feng's blood ran cold. He'd been careful. Painfully, obsessively careful. He'd used false names, changed his appearance at every transaction, never visited the same broker twice.

But Wu Chen had still found him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Zhao Feng said.

"Of course you don't." Wu Chen reached into his sleeve and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "But your father might be interested to know that his useless third son has been making moves behind his back. Or the Lin family might want to know who's been buying up all the fire-attributed qi stones before their annual tribulation preparation."

Zhao Feng's jaw tightened. The Lins were one of the most powerful cultivation families in the province. If they thought someone was manipulating their resource supply, they wouldn't ask questions. They'd just crush whoever was responsible.

"What do you want?"

Wu Chen's smile widened. "Now we're talking. I want in."

"In?"

"Your operation. Whatever you're planning, I want a piece." Wu Chen folded his arms. "I've been stuck managing this backwater market for three years while my brothers climb the ranks in the capital. I need resources. Cultivation resources. And you need protection."

Zhao Feng studied the young noble's face. Wu Chen was twenty-five, maybe twenty-six. Strong cultivation base, probably peak Qi Condensation. Ambitious eyes that couldn't quite hide their hunger. In his past life, Zhao Feng had met a thousand men like him. Useful tools, if handled carefully.

But tools could break. And broken tools could cut both ways.

"Why should I trust you?" Zhao Feng asked.

"Because I could have gone to your father. Or the Lins. Instead, I came to you." Wu Chen spread his hands. "I'm offering an alliance, young brother. My family's name and protection in exchange for a share of your profits. Thirty percent."

"Ten."

"Twenty."

"Fifteen, and you provide security for my warehouse."

Wu Chen's eyes narrowed. For a moment, Zhao Feng saw the predator beneath the pleasant mask. Then the smile returned.

"Fifteen, and first refusal on any future deals."

"Done."

They shook hands. Wu Chen's grip was firm, his palm calloused from sword practice. A man who trained as well as schemed. Dangerous.

"I'll send my man Xiao Liu to your warehouse tonight," Wu Chen said. "He knows the patrol routes and can keep the city guards away from your shipments."

"I'll be there."

Wu Chen turned to leave, then paused. "One more thing, young brother. I had you investigated after I spotted your first transaction. You're smarter than you let on. Smarter than your family gives you credit for." His voice dropped lower. "But there's something strange about you. The way you move, the way you talk. Like you've been doing this for decades, not weeks."

Zhao Feng's heart hammered against his ribs. He kept his face still, his breathing even.

"Maybe I'm just a fast learner."

Wu Chen studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Maybe you are. I'll see you tonight."

He walked away, his guards falling into step behind him. Zhao Feng watched until they disappeared around a corner, then let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

That was too close.

He'd been careless. In his past life, he'd had an army of accountants and spies to cover his tracks. Now he was alone, relying on tricks that were forty years out of date. The cultivation world had changed. The markets had changed. And he'd been too arrogant to realize it.

He needed help.

Not Wu Chen's kind of help, with its hidden costs and sharp edges. Real help. Loyal help.

His mind drifted to a memory. A boy with dirt on his face and fire in his eyes, reaching for something he couldn't have. A boy who would grow into a man who moved mountains.

In his past life, that boy had become Zhao Feng's most trusted enforcer. The one who stood by him when his sons turned away. The one who died protecting Zhao Feng's escape route, buying him precious minutes with his own blood.

But that was in the future. Right now, that boy was just a thirteen-year-old urchin scraping by in the lower districts.

Right now, he still had a chance to save him.

Zhao Feng turned from the market and walked toward the slums.

---

The lower districts smelled like rot and desperation.

Zhao Feng picked his way through the narrow alleys, stepping over piles of refuse and sleeping beggars. The buildings leaned against each other like drunks, their wooden walls stained with decades of grime. Somewhere nearby, a child was crying.

He found the boy exactly where he remembered.

In a corner of the abandoned temple, curled against a cracked stone pillar. His clothes were rags. His face was gaunt. And his eyes—those dark, defiant eyes—watched Zhao Feng approach with the wariness of a cornered animal.

"Go away," the boy said. His voice cracked. "I got nothing worth stealing."

"I'm not here to steal from you, Xiao Chen."

The boy's eyes widened at the sound of his name. "How do you know my name?"

Zhao Feng crouched down, bringing himself to the boy's eye level. This close, he could see the scars on Xiao Chen's arms, the malnutrition in his bones, the desperation that had already begun to harden into something colder.

"I know a lot of things about you," Zhao Feng said. "I know you've been surviving on your own for three years since your parents died. I know you pick pockets in the eastern market, and you've never been caught. I know you dream of becoming a cultivator."

Xiao Chen's hands curled into fists. "What do you want?"

"I want to offer you a deal." Zhao Feng reached into his sleeve and pulled out a small pouch. It clinked when he set it down. "Fifty spirit coins. Enough to rent a room for a year and eat every day."

Xiao Chen's eyes locked onto the pouch. His tongue wet his lips. "What's the catch?"

"There's always a catch." Zhao Feng smiled. "I need someone I can trust. Someone who knows the streets, who can move without being seen, who can gather information without raising suspicion. You work for me for one year, and I'll not only pay you—I'll teach you how to read, how to calculate, how to survive in a world that wants to crush you."

"And if I say no?"

"Then you keep living like this, and eventually you die in this alley." Zhao Feng stood up. "I'm not going to force you, Xiao Chen. The choice is yours."

The boy stared at the pouch for a long time. His hands trembled slightly.

"Why me?" he finally asked. "There's a hundred other street kids you could pick."

Because I watched you die for me in another life. Because you were the only one who stayed.

"Because I see something in you," Zhao Feng said instead. "A spark that refuses to go out. That's rare. That's valuable."

Xiao Chen's jaw worked. Then, slowly, he reached out and took the pouch.

"When do I start?"

Zhao Feng felt something loosen in his chest. "Tonight. There's a man named Wu Chen coming to my warehouse. I need you to watch him. Learn his habits. Find out what he really wants."

"And if he tries to hurt you?"

"Then you come find me, and we decide what to do next."

The boy nodded, clutching the pouch to his chest. Zhao Feng turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing through the empty temple.

Behind him, Xiao Chen watched him go, his dark eyes unreadable.

---

The warehouse sat at the edge of the merchant district, sandwiched between a tannery and a closed-down teahouse. Zhao Feng had bought it for a fraction of its value, using money he'd scraped together from his first deals. The roof leaked. The walls had holes. But it had a locked door and space to store his growing collection of qi stones.

He arrived at dusk, carrying a lantern and a bag of supplies. The lock was intact. The seals he'd placed on the door hadn't been disturbed. Good.

Inside, he lit the lantern and surveyed his domain.

Crates of low-grade qi stones lined the walls. Bundles of spirit grass sat in neat stacks. A scale, a mortar and pestle, and a ledger book sat on a table in the center of the room. Everything he needed to begin his empire.

But it wasn't enough. Not yet.

He opened the ledger and began calculating. His current stockpile was worth roughly ten thousand spirit coins. Enough to buy a decent cultivation technique, maybe a low-grade spirit sword. But that wasn't the goal.

The goal was the Immortal Ascension Tournament, six months away.

In his past life, that tournament had changed everything. The winner had been a nobody from the outer disciples, a young woman who'd shocked everyone with her mastery of lightning techniques. The major families had scrambled to recruit her, offering fortunes for her allegiance.

But Zhao Feng knew something they didn't.

He knew where she'd gotten those techniques. He knew the hidden