Shen City did not sleep that night.
It couldn't.
Whispers moved faster than the wind—about meat in the streets, about the prince who went into the mountains himself, about hope returning where none should exist.
Qin Wang Shan listened.
And he waited.
At dawn, he summoned the hunters again. This time, he did not ask about beasts.
"Tell me about the roads," he said.
The men exchanged looks.
"What roads, Your Highness?" one asked carefully.
"The ones the empire does not use," Qin Wang Shan replied. "The ones not marked on official maps."
Silence.
Then, slowly, one of the hunters stepped forward.
"There is an old pass," he said. "West of the mountains. Narrow. Dangerous. It was abandoned years ago."
"And now?" Qin Wang Shan asked.
The man hesitated.
"…Now, smugglers use it."
Qin Wang Shan nodded.
Just as he suspected.
Neglected land created forgotten paths. And forgotten paths created opportunity.
That evening, Qin Wang Shan stood over a crude map spread across the table. The markings were rough, incomplete—but enough.
"This route bypasses Shen City entirely," an official muttered. "Merchants don't stop here because it's safer not to."
"Safer for them," Qin Wang Shan corrected. "Not for us."
He looked up.
"Who controls this route?"
The room fell silent.
"No one officially," another official answered. "Unofficially… several groups."
Smugglers.
Black-market traders.
Men who feared the empire—but respected profit.
Qin Wangshan folded his hands.
"Then we do not fight them," he said. "We negotiate."
The officials stared.
"Negotiate… with criminals?" one asked in disbelief.
Qin Wang Shan's gaze hardened.
"They exist because the empire abandoned this place," he said calmly. "We didn't create them."
He paused.
"But we can control them."
That night, a small group left Shen City quietly.
No banners.
No uniforms.
Only men who knew how to move without being seen.
Qin Wang Shan stayed behind.
A ruler did not gamble his city on blind courage.
He gambled on preparation.
Two days later, the envoys returned.
Alive.
That alone was victory.
"They agreed to talk," the leader said, barely hiding his relief. "But they set conditions."
Qin Wang Shan gestured for him to continue.
"They will trade grain and salt through Shen City," the man said. "But they demand lower inspection fees and protection from… imperial interference."
The hall was silent.
This was dangerous.
Accepting meant defying the empire—quietly, but undeniably.
Refusing meant starvation.
Qin Wang Shan closed his eyes briefly.
Then he spoke.
"Tell them this," he said. "Shen City will not shelter criminals who prey on its people."
The envoy stiffened.
"But—"
"However," Qin Wang Shan continued, "those who trade fairly will be protected. No bribes. No exploitation. No violence."
He looked around the room.
"This city will survive," he said. "But not by becoming a den of thieves."
The envoy bowed deeply.
"I'll deliver your words."
That night, Qin Wang Shan stood alone once more.
He knew the risk.
If Wushen discovered this, consequences would follow.
But hunger killed faster than politics.
Far away, in the imperial capital, a clerk paused mid-report.
"Strange," he muttered. "Shen City's grain numbers have… stabilized."
He frowned.
"That's impossible."
In Shen City, lanterns burned brighter.
And somewhere beyond the mountains, men who lived in the shadows began to reconsider who truly ruled the forgotten roads.