The morning sun cast long shadows over the bustling streets of Clear Sky City as I tightened the jade clasp on my robe and stepped outside. Today marked the beginning of my market research. If I was going to run a spiritual robe shop, it wouldn't just be functional—it would redefine elegance and utility. But I couldn't do it alone.
"Changsheng!" A voice, bright and flamboyant as its owner, echoed through the courtyard. Changhu, my thirteenth brother, waved at me from beneath the shade of a blossoming fire-willow tree.
He always stood out—cultivators did, but Changhu made it look like an art. His robe was deep crimson trimmed with teal, matching the elegant fan in his hand—until it flicked open with a click to reveal thin, crescent-shaped blades lining its folds.
"Stylish and deadly," he grinned, twirling it. "Just like me."
"Brother Hu," I greeted, smiling. "You're as subtle as ever."
"Subtlety's for assassins. We're merchants today."
"Ready to play dress-up, little brother?" he grinned, eyes glinting with mischief.
"I thought we were doing market research," I replied.
"Same thing. Robes are just armor with better taste."
Changhu was unlike the rest of my clan brothers. He had wind and fire spiritual roots, which made him fast, flashy, and devastating in close quarters. His reputation was strange—equal parts duelist and designer, as comfortable discussing sword stances as he was criticizing someone's boots. His cultivation had recently broken through to late Foundation Building, and he moved with the lazy confidence of someone who knew they were beautiful and deadly.
He waved his fan. "Let's go educate your rustic little eyes."
The robe market in Clear Sky City was a world of its own.
Located in the southwest quadrant, it was less chaotic than the weapon district but no less alive. It lacked the tang of blood-forged steel and instead sang with dyed silk banners, perfume wafting from open doors, and the whisper of enchanted fabrics brushing against fingers.
I quickly learned that robes—like weapons—were ranked by level and grade.
1st-Level Robes were suitable for Qi Refining cultivators and early Foundation Builders. Prices ranged from a mere 10 spirit stones for low-grade basics to 300 for top-grade, where the robe had a minor enchantment—heat resistance, light step, maybe a speed buff.
2nd-Level Robes were worn by late Foundation and early Jindan cultivators. These ranged from 500 spirit stones for low-grade, climbing up to several thousand for top-grade versions—armor-strength threads, defensive formations, or aura-concealing weaves.
Changhu pointed at one particularly extravagant storefront. "That's Silken Veil Pavilion. Top-grade robes only. Their 'Ghoststep Jade Lotus' sells for six thousand spirit stones."
I winced. "That much?"
He clapped a hand on my shoulder. "You didn't bring much from home, did you?"
"No. I had no use for spirit stones before," I admitted. "Didn't value them."
Changhu snorted. "Welcome to civilization."
My fingers brushed the edge of my storage pouch—a gift from Father. Thunder sigils woven into fire-darkened leather, the clasp shaped like a silver pear, his chosen weapon. It was elegant, low-profile, and had space for twenty cubic feet. Father didn't speak much, but when he gave gifts, they carried meaning.
Every shop we entered shared one flaw: they looked like weapon shops with cloth instead of swords.
Shelves stacked with identical folded robes. Wooden racks spaced methodically. Dim lighting, musty interiors, counters that separated buyer from seller.
"Cold. Transactional. Boring," I muttered.
"Exactly," Changhu said. "Where's the seduction? The drama? The lighting that flatters your eyes?"
He waved his fan and pirouetted in front of a mirror like a performer mid-duel.
I started sketching a vision in my mind—high-end robe displays behind enchanted glass, ambient lighting to highlight threadwork, scent charms to infuse the room with sandalwood and lotus. Customers should want to stay, not just buy.
That was when we met Hu Ren.
The young shopkeeper was managing a mid-tier robe boutique on his own. Surnamed Hu, barely twenty-five by the look of him, Foundation Establishment stage—barely—but composed.
We were browsing through the robe street's mid-tier boutiques when we stepped into a small, corner-located store with an understated sign: "Inkcloud Threads." It didn't scream wealth, but something about the quiet orderliness of the interior made me pause.
The aroma here was different—tea leaves and pine smoke. The robes weren't just folded; they were displayed with care. Color-coded, fabric samples hanging neatly, enchantment details written on thin wooden plaques beside each rack.
A single youth stood behind the counter, his sleeves rolled up and ink on his fingers. He was repairing a thin thread of spiritual silk with a needle imbued with fire qi, his aura faint but stable—Foundation Establishment.
"Welcome," he said, not looking up. "We're running a discount today—first-level upper-grade robes, twenty percent off if you find an imperfection before I do."
His voice was calm. Precise. Not the voice of a desperate seller, but someone too busy to waste time.
Changhu chuckled. "You're confident, brother. What if we do?"
"Then you deserve the discount," the young man replied, finally glancing up. His eyes were narrow and sharp, with that slight edge that came from too many years fending for yourself. "Name's Hu Ren. Owner, enchanter, tailor, and unfortunately, accountant too."
"Running this shop all by yourself?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"For the past year," he said, threading the silk with practiced ease. "Inherited it when my uncle passed. It wasn't much, but I built it back up. Just enough to stay breathing in this city."
I examined the racks more carefully. Not just well-arranged—optimized. He'd laid them out according to movement styles: light footwork users, heavy defense cultivators, spiritual projection types. Subtle signs showed me that this man didn't just know robes—he understood their wearers.
I tapped one robe marked as resistant to qi leakage. "What's the failure rate?"
"2.7% on the latest batch. 4.2% on older ones," Hu Ren replied instantly, his hands never pausing. "I only keep numbers in my head that matter."
"You enchanted it yourself?"
"No. My array master quit last week. I refined the base silk and re-inked the weaker glyphs. It's not perfect, but better than what you'll find two shops down."
I exchanged a look with Changhu, who fanned himself with slow approval. "This one's sharp."
"Too sharp to waste here," I said. "I'm opening a robe shop under the Ye Clan banner. Four floors. Full freedom to run things your way. Interested?"
Hu Ren didn't answer at once. He finished the stitching in silence, tied it off, and blew gently on the needle. The fire qi hissed out.
"Ye Clan, huh?" he said, eyes narrowed. "You're not bluffing?"
I pulled out my clan token and placed it gently on the counter.
He studied it for a moment. His brows tightened, just slightly. He wasn't intimidated. He was calculating.
"I've had offers before," he said. "Sect-backed investors. One wanted me to move to Riverjade Province, said I'd triple my profit in a year. I turned them down."
I nodded. "Why?"
"I don't want to be someone's decoration," he said. "Not another name under a fancy banner."
"Good," I said. "I'm not offering you a banner. I'm offering you the chance to help build one."
For the first time, he paused. Looked at me—not the robe, not the token—me.
"I'll come," Hu Ren said slowly, "on two conditions. One, I keep final say on hiring staff. And two, you give me a week to finish up here properly. I don't abandon things I start."
I smiled. "Deal."
"Then you'd better not waste my time, Young Master Ye."
Later that evening, back at my new residence atop the robe shop, I looked out over the market from my rooftop. Four floors below, my new domain waited—quiet now, but ripe with potential.
The house was functional but well-built. Enchanted windows for ventilation. Array-stabilized walls to block stray qi fluctuations. My room had a carved desk, a tea set from the northern prefectures, and a cultivation mat that hummed with low-grade spirit-gathering energy.
It wasn't home, but it would do.
Tomorrow, I would begin redesigning the shop's interior with Hu Ren. I had dreams—of a boutique, of a place where cultivators would not only shop but linger, drawn in by beauty and charm. Dior, Gucci, Spiritveil—whatever the names, I would create my own legacy.
As the sun dipped, casting the city in gold and lilac, Changhu leaned against the railing beside me.
"Tomorrow," he said, "you'll meet a few people . The ones your age. Sons and daughters of sect elders, merchant princes, rogue geniuses."
"That sounds fun," I said.
He eyed me. "You sure? These aren't your average bumpkin cousins. They've seen the world. They're sharp."
I turned, meeting his gaze. "I don't need to outtalk them. I just need to outgrow them."
Changhu grinned and snapped open his fan. "Spoken like a Ye."