The warehouse was a ruin in the lower city, abandoned after a fire that the sect records attributed to "cultivation accident" but Fat Hong's sources traced to insurance fraud. Three stories of charred timber and collapsed roofing, legally worthless, practically invisible to the authorities who patrolled above.
Perfect.
"The structural integrity is compromised on the eastern wing," Xiao Hong reported, consulting her notes. "But the central chamber has a stone foundation. It survived the fire. It could survive a minor earthquake."
"Or a Core Formation expert's tantrum," I added, examining the space with a merchant's eye. Not what it was. What it could be.
The ceiling was high enough for dramatic lighting. The walls were damaged enough to suggest dangerous exclusivity. The entrance was concealed enough to require guidance, but accessible enough to not discourage wealthy clients.
"Dimensions?"
"Forty paces by sixty. Stone floor, partially intact. The previous owners used it for... storage of questionable goods."
I smiled. "History adds character. What about the neighborhood?"
"Controlled by the Iron Fist gang, who answer to Fat Hong. The surrounding buildings are occupied by his informants and debt collectors. No sect presence within three blocks. The patrol routes pass by twice per day, predictable to the minute."
"Utilities?"
"Water from the old well, tested clean. Spirit stone generators available through Wang Chen's contacts. And..." she hesitated, "Madame Luo has offered her textile workers for renovation. In exchange for ten percent of auction house profits and first right of refusal on any cultivation materials we acquire."
I nodded, calculating. Ten percent was steep for labor, but Madame Luo's workers were loyal, discreet, and skilled at creating illusions of luxury. Her real payment was access. Information on what the powerful bought and sold when they thought no one watched.
"Acceptable. Tell her fifteen percent, but she provides security as well. Her grandsons have military training. I want them in uniform, visible, intimidating."
"She will want twenty for armed presence."
"Then she gets twelve and a seat on the advisory council. We are not hiring muscle. We are building a coalition."
Xiao Hong noted the terms, her brush moving with satisfying efficiency. In three weeks, she had transformed from frightened maid to competent executive assistant. The System's FATE EVALUATION had been correct. Her potential was never the issue. Only her opportunity.
"Young Master," she said, finishing the entry, "there is another matter. The first inventory."
I turned from my inspection. This was the true purpose of our visit. The warehouse was infrastructure. Necessary, but secondary to the product.
"Show me."
She led me to the cellar, down stairs that had survived the fire through sheer stone stubbornness. The air grew cooler, then cold. At the bottom, a heavy door barred with iron and my own experimental seal. A combination lock, mechanical rather than spiritual. The kind of puzzle that would frustrate cultivators who expected to solve problems with force.
I entered the combination. The door clicked open.
The chamber beyond was small. Ten paces square. But it glowed with the accumulated wealth of transactions that should not have been possible.
Spirit stones in crates. Low grade, medium grade, a handful of high grade that Wang Chen had advanced against future profits.
Cultivation techniques on bamboo slips, copied from the sect library during my three months of remaining access. Common techniques, mostly. But organized by element, compatibility, and estimated market value.
Pills in ceramic jars, labeled with dates and potency. Foundation Establishment boosters. Healing medicines. The rare Concentration Powder that allowed three days of meditation without food or water.
And in the center, on a pedestal of black velvet, the items that would establish our reputation.
Three Fate Tokens.
They looked like ordinary jade pendants. Smooth, oval, carved with symbols that meant nothing to the untrained eye. But I could see the shimmer around them. The distortion in the air that indicated active narrative manipulation.
The System had provided them. Rewards for achieving Silver Rank. I did not fully understand their function, but I understood their value.
They were promises. Guarantees. The physical manifestation of changed destiny.
"What do they do?" Xiao Hong asked, her voice hushed despite the privacy of the chamber.
"They store potential," I said, selecting one. It was warm in my hand, humming with possibility. "When I changed your fate, when I altered Liu's trajectory, I created... interference. Ripples in the story that should have been. These tokens capture that interference. They allow the bearer to make one significant choice that the narrative would normally deny them."
"Like?"
"Like surviving a battle they should lose. Like meeting a person they should never encounter. Like discovering a secret that was hidden from them." I returned the token to its place. "They are not power in the traditional sense. They are narrative leverage. The right to rewrite one page of your own story."
She stared at them with new understanding. "And people will pay for this?"
"People will pay everything for this." I gestured to the room around us. "Cultivation is a lottery. Talent is random. Resources are hoarded. Destiny is supposedly fixed by the heavens. We are offering something different. Certainty. Agency. The chance to be the author of your own life, if only for one chapter."
I closed the chamber door, sealing the inventory behind combination and seal.
"Xiao Hong, the cultivation world has markets for pills, weapons, techniques. But it has never had a market for fate itself. We are going to create it. And we are going to make it so exclusive, so mysterious, so profitable that the people who buy from us will guard our secrets better than we could ourselves."
"The auction," she said. "When?"
"Three days. Invitations only. Twelve guests, carefully selected. Each one has something we want. Something only we can provide." I counted them off on my fingers. "Wang Chen, representing new money and old grievances. Madame Luo, representing manufacturing and labor. Fat Hong, representing the gray economy. Old Man Wei, representing established trade networks. And eight others, each with unique needs and unique vulnerabilities."
"And what are we selling?"
"Not the Fate Tokens. Not yet. Those are our reserve currency, our backing collateral. We are selling something more immediate." I smiled, feeling the cold calculation that had served me in my former life now find its true purpose. "We are selling information about Lin Feng."
Xiao Hong blinked. "The protagonist? The one from the tomb?"
"The same. He arrives in sixty two days. But he is not the only one seeking the Fallen Prince's inheritance. There are others. Rivals. Enemies. People who would pay dearly to know his weaknesses, his schedule, his dependencies." I led her back up the stairs, into the ruined warehouse that would soon transform. "We are not going to stop him from getting the inheritance. We are going to sell tickets to watch him try. We are going to sell insurance against his success. We are going to sell the right to say, years from now, that you knew him when."
"Is that not dangerous? Profiting from the protagonist's story?"
"It is essential. The narrative protects him, yes. But narratives need audiences. Witnesses. People who invest emotionally in his journey." I paused at the warehouse entrance, looking out at the lower city that would become my kingdom. "We are going to be his audience. His chroniclers. His investors. We will profit from his rise, hedge against his fall, and when he finally reaches the peak... we will be the only merchants who can sell him the thing he needs most."
"Which is?"
I stepped into the sunlight, feeling the weight of two lives, two worlds, two kinds of power settling into alignment.
"Legitimacy. The right to rule without fighting. The recognition that strength is not just cultivation, but commerce. Connection. The network of obligations that turns a powerful individual into an unstoppable institution."
I turned back to her, seeing the understanding growing in her eyes.
"Lin Feng thinks he is writing his own legend. We are going to be the publishers. The distributors. The critics who decide which chapters matter. And when he finally realizes that he needs us more than we need him... that is when the real pricing begins."
---
The invitations were delivered by hand, carried by children who did not know their contents, paid in copper coins that could not trace back to us.
Each was a work of art. Heavy paper, scented with jasmine, sealed with black wax bearing no insignia. The message inside was simple.
*The Merchant of Fates requests your presence.*
*Three days hence. Sunset.*
*Location to be revealed twelve hours prior.*
*Bring your desires and your discretion.*
*The first auction is free.*
*The second will cost everything.*
I watched from the warehouse roof as the last child disappeared into the crowd. The lower city churned below us, thousands of lives intersecting in patterns of survival and ambition. Somewhere above, in the sect proper, Elder Brother Liu was packing his belongings, his family scrambling to explain his sudden resignation. Somewhere beyond the walls, Wang Chen's agents watched the Tomb of the Fallen Prince, waiting for Lin Feng's approach.
And somewhere in the future, a protagonist who did not yet know my name was training in obscurity, believing his destiny was his own.
"Young Master," Xiao Hong called from below. "The first response. Wang Chen accepts. He asks if he may bring a guest."
"His sister?"
"How did you..."
"He needs to demonstrate value to her. Show her that his disinheritance was not the end of his relevance." I considered. "Accept. But warn him. The auction house is neutral ground. Family politics stay outside. If she disrupts the proceedings, she will be treated as any other hostile element."
"And if she is hostile?"
"Then we sell her something that makes her less so." I descended from the roof, feeling the structure sway slightly beneath my weight. "That is the beauty of commerce, Xiao Hong. Every problem is a customer. Every customer is an opportunity. And every opportunity, properly exploited, becomes power."
---
The transformation took three days and most of our capital.
Madame Luo's workers performed miracles. The burned timber was replaced with dark cloth that absorbed light and created intimacy. The stone floor was polished to mirror brightness, reflecting the floating spirit lamps that provided illumination without heat or smoke. The entrance was disguised as a collapsed wall, requiring guided approach through a maze of legitimate businesses that provided cover and plausible deniability.
I designed the interior myself, drawing on memories of exclusive clubs and private banks from my former world. A central stage, raised three feet, surrounded by curved seating that allowed every guest to see every other guest. No privacy. No anonymity. The social pressure of observation would drive prices higher than any amount of marketing.
Behind the stage, a heavy curtain. Behind the curtain, Xiao Hong and I, managing inventory and information. And behind us, the sealed door to the cellar, guarded by Madame Luo's grandsons in uniforms that suggested military precision without claiming official authority.
The effect was precisely calculated. Not a sect hall, with its pretensions of meritocracy. Not a criminal den, with its air of desperation. Something new. Exclusive. Dangerous in a way that attracted rather than repelled.
When the first guests arrived, they hesitated at the entrance, uncertain if they had found the right location. Fat Hong's collectors guided them in, polite but firm, relieving them of weapons and recording their identities for our files.
Wang Chen came first, as expected. His sister followed, and I understood immediately why he needed her to see this.
Wang Mei was not beautiful in the conventional sense. Her features were too sharp, her posture too rigid, her eyes too assessing. She looked at the warehouse the way I had looked at it three days ago. Seeing potential. Seeing risk. Seeing the gap between what was promised and what was delivered.
"Impressive," she said, her voice carrying despite the soft acoustics. "For a ruin."
"All value is perception," I replied, emerging from behind the curtain to greet her personally. "This ruin will host transactions worth more than your family's annual revenue. The question is whether you will be a participant or merely an observer."
Wang Chen stiffened. His sister smiled. It transformed her face, revealing the intelligence that her brother had described.
"You are Chen Wei. The stepping stone who would not die."
"I am the Merchant," I corrected. "My past is inventory. My future is auction. Tonight, I offer you both the opportunity to purchase something that no cultivation sect, no trading consortium, no royal treasury can provide."
"Which is?"
I gestured to the stage, where the first item waited beneath a silk cloth.
"Certainty. In a world of chaos, we sell the right to know what comes next. And for our opening lot... the exact date, time, and method by which Lin Feng will enter Azure Cloud City."
The warehouse fell silent. Twelve guests, representing twelve power centers, suddenly focused with the intensity of predators who had scented blood.
Wang Mei's eyes narrowed. "You expect us to believe you can predict the future?"
"I expect you to believe that information has value. That those who possess it early can position themselves advantageously. And that those who dismiss it will find themselves reacting to events rather than shaping them." I mounted the stage, feeling the elevation change my perspective. Literally above them. Figuratively beyond them.
"The starting bid is one thousand spirit stones. Or... one favor, to be named later, from each participating house."
"Favors are dangerous," Old Man Wei observed from his seat. "They compound. They create obligation."
"Obligation is the only currency that never devalues," I countered. "Spirit stones can be stolen. Techniques can be copied. But a debt of honor, properly recorded, properly enforced, becomes the foundation of empire."
I let that settle. Then I pulled the silk cloth away, revealing not a physical object, but a projection. The System's interface, made visible through careful manipulation of spirit energy, displaying a map, a timeline, and a name highlighted in gold.
LIN FENG. ARRIVAL: 62 DAYS. LOCATION: WESTERN GATE. CULTIVATION: QI GATHERING, LEVEL 7. POSSESSIONS: JADE PENDANT (HEIRLOOM), BROKEN SWORD (CONCEALED), 3 SILVER COINS.
The details were intimate. Embarrassing. The kind of information that no one should know about a stranger.
The kind of information that changed everything.
"Begin bidding," I said.
And they did.
---
The auction lasted four hours.
The Lin Feng intelligence sold for 2,400 spirit stones and six favors, to a coalition of three smaller trading houses who immediately began planning their approach to the arriving protagonist. They would not interfere with his rise. They would simply be present at every stage, offering assistance, building relationship, positioning themselves as essential to his success.
The next lot was a cultivation technique. Not rare. Not powerful. But perfectly matched to the elemental affinity of a guest who had spent twenty years searching for compatible training.
It sold for 800 spirit stones and a shipping contract that would reduce Chen Mercantile's transport costs by forty percent.
Then a pill. Then a secret. Then a debt of gratitude from a Core Formation expert who had needed discrete healing after a failed breakthrough.
Each transaction built the next. Each successful purchase created social pressure to participate. Each participant who won became invested in the auction house's continued existence. Each participant who lost became determined to win the next round.
By the final lot, the atmosphere had transformed from suspicion to enthusiasm, from caution to competitive aggression.
I saved the best for last.
"Lot Twelve," I announced, my voice hoarse from hours of performance. "The first Fate Token. The right to alter one narrative event. To survive what should kill you. To succeed where you should fail. To choose, for one moment, your own destiny rather than accepting the one written for you."
I held it up. The jade glowed with inner light, casting shadows that seemed to move independently of the spirit lamps.
"The reserve price is ten thousand spirit stones. Or... one percent of your house's annual revenue in perpetuity."
The silence was absolute. Then chaos.
Wang Chen bid first, as expected. Madame Luo countered, offering manufacturing capacity instead of currency. Old Man Wei proposed a trade route monopoly. Fat Hong, surprisingly, offered information. The locations of three sect informants in his organization, ready to be turned or eliminated.
The price climbed. 15,000. 20,000. A ship. A mine. A marriage contract.
I watched them compete, feeling the power of the moment. This was not cultivation. No spiritual energy was being exchanged. No realms were being advanced. But power was flowing nonetheless, concentrating in my hands, in my warehouse, in the network of obligation I was weaving.
Finally, only two remained. Wang Mei, who had watched silently all night, and a mysterious figure in the back row who had not spoken until now.
"The Wang Consortium's eastern territories," Wang Mei said. "Three provinces. Full administrative rights."
"Interesting," I said. "But the token is not territory. It is possibility. What would you do with it?"
She met my eyes. "I would survive."
The simplicity of the answer struck me. Not conquer. Not dominate. Survive. In a world that had written her as supporting character, as marriage prize, as background to her brother's ambition, she wanted what I had wanted.
Agency.
"The other bidder," I said, turning to the shadowed figure. "Your offer?"
A voice like grinding stone. "The location of the Heaven's Secret Pavilion. The organization that trains fate readers and prophecy breakers. You have been searching for them. I know where they are."
The warehouse held its breath. The Heaven's Secret Pavilion was myth. Legend. The boogeyman that sect elders invoked to warn against seeking forbidden knowledge.
But I had been searching. Quietly. Through intermediaries and cutouts. Because if fate could be read, it could be written. And if it could be written, it could be sold.
"The token is yours," I said.
Wang Mei's face showed nothing. But her hands, clenched in her lap, told another story.
After the guests departed, after the spirit stones were counted and the contracts recorded, she found me in the cellar, examining the remaining Fate Tokens.
"You cheated me," she said. Not angry. Analytical.
"I sold to the highest bidder," I corrected. "Your offer was substantial. His was... transformative. For my business, not yours."
"And if I had offered transformation?"
I looked at her. Really looked. The sharp features. The calculating eyes. The rigid posture that spoke of years spent proving herself in a world that discounted her.
"You would not have," I said. "Because you do not yet understand what I am building. You think this is commerce. It is not. This is narrative engineering. The Heaven's Secret Pavilion can teach me to read the script. To anticipate the plot. To position my clients not just for success, but for significance."
"And what do I get?"
I considered. She was dangerous. Intelligent. Underutilized by her family's conservative structure. Everything I needed in a partner, and everything I feared in an enemy.
"You get education," I said finally. "Work with me. Learn the System. In six months, you will be able to make your own Fate Tokens. In a year, you will not need to buy destiny. You will sell it."
"And the price?"
"Your brother's alliance. Your family's resources. And your discretion, when the sect authorities inevitably investigate what we are building."
She extended her hand. "Partners, then. Until the narrative changes."
I shook it. "Partners. And Wang Mei?"
"Yes?"
"Welcome to the story."
She smiled, sharp and genuine. "I was always in the story, Merchant. You simply learned to read my name."
---
[TRANSACTION COMPLETED: FIRST AUCTION]
[Revenue: 47,000 spirit stones equivalent]
[Contracts: 23 favors, 7 exclusive partnerships, 3 information exchanges]
[Reputation +2000]
[Gold Rank Progress: 3400/10000]
[New Contact: WANG MEI (Business Partner, Potential Rival)]
[New Quest: Locate Heaven's Secret Pavilion]
The notifications came as I locked the cellar door, sealing the remaining inventory against the night.
Xiao Hong waited upstairs, exhausted but triumphant. "Success?" she asked.
"Success," I confirmed. "And something more. Validation. The market exists. The demand is real. And we are the only suppliers."
"What comes next?"
I looked out at the lower city, at the darkness that concealed countless stories waiting to be rewritten.
"Expansion. The Heaven's Secret Pavilion. More auctions. And Lin Feng." I smiled, feeling the weight of knowledge and power settling into comfortable alignment. "In sixty two days, he arrives. And when he does, he will find a city that has already been sold his story. A culture that has invested in his success. A network that will lift him up or drag him down, depending entirely on what he is willing to pay."
"Will he pay?"
"Everyone pays," I said. "The only question is whether they pay on their terms, or on mine."
I extinguished the last spirit lamp, plunging the warehouse into darkness that was not empty, but full of potential.
"Tomorrow," I said to the shadows, to Xiao Hong, to the future itself, "we begin preparing for the protagonist's arrival. And we make sure that when Lin Feng finally enters Azure Cloud City, he steps onto a stage that we have built, into a role that we have written, and into a destiny that carries our price tag."
The Merchant of Fates had opened for business.
The world would never be the same.
---
If you like the novel give power stones and golden ticket.