The hours between the market negotiation and the scheduled meeting passed with methodical precision.
Xu Jun returned to the Tranquil Lotus Inn shortly after his conversation with Boss Zhang, moving through the midday streets with the purposeful stride of a merchant conducting routine business. Nothing about his demeanor suggested anything unusual—no nervousness, no excessive caution, no behavioral patterns that might attract attention from the city guards who occasionally patrolled the commercial district.
Back in his room, door locked and window screen adjusted to prevent outside observation, he set about creating the remaining three void crystals with the same mechanical efficiency he'd applied to the first.
The process had become so routine over his long existence that he barely needed conscious attention to execute it. Find appropriate base materials—in this case, three smooth river stones he'd collected during his initial reconnaissance, each roughly the size of a child's fist, their surfaces worn smooth by centuries of water flow. Arrange them on the desk in a triangular pattern, more out of habit than necessity.
Then begin the negation sequence.
First, negate the stone's fundamental identity as compressed mineral formation. Remove its history—the geological processes that had created it, the molecular bonds that held it together, the accumulated weight of existence as mundane matter. Strip away everything that made it what it was, reducing it to a blank slate of potential, a space where reality had temporarily forgotten what should occupy it.
This was the delicate part, the moment where precision mattered most. Negate too much and the stone would simply cease to exist, dissolving into constituent atoms or perhaps less than atoms, matter unmaking itself at the most fundamental level. Negate too little and the transformation wouldn't take hold properly, resulting in an unstable hybrid that would revert to its original state within hours or even minutes.
The balance required was exquisite, maintained through fifteen centuries of practice, countless repetitions that had burned the proper boundaries into his consciousness like grooves worn into stone by repeated water flow.
Second, impose void characteristics onto the prepared substrate. This required understanding what void essence actually was—not just the appearance of it, not merely the surface properties that casual observation might note, but the fundamental signature that made void essence distinct from every other form of cultivation material.
The light-absorption property came first. Genuine void essence didn't merely appear dark—it actively consumed illumination that struck it, drinking in photons and converting them to... something else. Not heat. Not any form of energy that conventional physics recognized. The light simply ceased to be, negated at the point of contact, creating that characteristic aura of darkness that surrounded authentic void crystals even in bright sunlight.
Then the spatial distortion field. Void essence warped space slightly around itself, not dramatically enough to be obvious but sufficient that careful observation would reveal the effect—straight lines that bent subtly when passing near it, distances that seemed slightly wrong in its immediate vicinity, the feeling of depth that didn't quite match the crystal's actual size.
Finally, the energy signature that cultivation experts would recognize. This was perhaps the most complex aspect, requiring him to recreate the specific resonance pattern that void essence produced when subjected to spiritual sense examination. The pattern was intricate, multifaceted, varying subtly based on the observer's cultivation level and technique. Getting it right required not just understanding the pattern but anticipating how different types of cultivators would perceive it.
Too perfect and it would seem artificial. Too crude and it would be recognized as fake immediately. The art was in creating something that seemed naturally formed, with the kind of minor imperfections and irregularities that characterized genuine materials formed by cosmic forces rather than conscious craft.
Third, establish the temporal binding that would maintain the transformation. This was the limitation of his technique, the price of creating something from nothing through negation rather than true transmutation. The binding would hold for approximately seventy-two hours before degrading, the negation patterns slowly losing coherence as reality reasserted its preference for truth over deception.
Seventy-two hours. Three days. More than enough time for his purposes, but a ticking clock nonetheless. He made note of the exact moment each crystal was completed, calculating the precise time when reversion would begin. Zhang would ideally sell the crystals to his buyers within twenty-four to forty-eight hours, meaning they would be in someone else's possession when the transformation failed. The buyers would blame Zhang for selling them defective goods. Zhang would blame his mysterious supplier Chen Wu. But by then, the trail would be sufficiently cold and confused that tracking down the original fraud would be nearly impossible.
Fourth and finally, add the small touches that made each crystal unique. Genuine void crystals showed variation—minor differences in size, slight irregularities in the light-absorption pattern, subtle variations in the spatial distortion field. Mass-produced fakes often failed this test, appearing too uniform, too identical. So Xu Jun invested extra effort ensuring each of his three new crystals differed from the first and from each other in small but perceptible ways.
The entire process took approximately forty-five minutes for all three crystals, working without interruption, his concentration absolute. When he finished, he had four void crystals of apparently excellent quality arranged on his desk, each one a masterpiece of fraudulent craftsmanship, each one destined to revert to worthless river stone within three days.
He wrapped them carefully in black silk cloth—presentation mattered in luxury goods sales—and secured them in an inner pocket of his robe. The weight was negligible, though he maintained the appearance of treating them as precious cargo that required careful handling.
With an hour still remaining before his appointment, Xu Jun sat at his desk and reviewed his plans for converting the soon-to-be-acquired capital into sustainable assets. One hundred and thirty gold coins represented substantial wealth by most standards, but it was merely seed money, the initial stake that would be leveraged into something far more significant.
The optimal strategy, he'd determined, involved three parallel tracks of investment and development.
Track one: Acquire physical property. A building that could serve multiple purposes—legitimate business front, secure base of operations, storage for sensitive materials, meeting space for discrete transactions. The building should be positioned strategically, ideally in the commercial district with good access to major streets but not so prominent as to attract excessive attention. Cost: approximately forty to sixty gold depending on property condition and location.
Track two: Establish legitimate business presence. The rare book and antiquities dealer cover he'd mentioned to Wei Lin was actually quite suitable—it explained unusual hours, strange visitors, occasional valuable transactions, without requiring massive inventory or complex operations. Initial investment in inventory and business licensing: perhaps twenty to thirty gold.
Track three: Build information networks. This couldn't be purchased directly but required careful cultivation of relationships with strategically positioned individuals. Information brokers, guild officials, sect disciples with loose lips, merchants with wide networks, guards who could be bribed for intelligence. Allocate thirty to forty gold for this purpose, distributed through bribes, gifts, and strategic payments that would establish him as a reliable source of compensation for useful intelligence.
The remaining gold would be held in reserve for unexpected opportunities or expenses. Maintaining liquid capital was essential for responding to situations that required immediate action.
His planning complete, Xu Jun departed the Tranquil Lotus Inn and made his way toward the Golden Prosperity Merchant House, timing his arrival for exactly two hours past noon as agreed.
The walk took fifteen minutes at a measured pace that suggested someone with business to conduct but no particular urgency. He observed the streets as he walked, noting the afternoon patterns—shops busy with customers, vendors calling out lunch specials, guards conducting routine patrols, cultivators moving through crowds with the arrogant certainty that people would clear their paths.
The city was alive, vibrant, completely unaware that something fundamentally wrong was walking through its streets, conducting fraudulent business, weaving itself into the social fabric like a parasite integrating with its host.
The Golden Prosperity Merchant House occupied a prominent corner in the commercial district, its three-story structure standing as clear testament to Boss Zhang's decades of successful trading. The building's exterior was impressive without being ostentatious—whitewashed walls that had been recently refreshed, showing no signs of weathering or neglect, dark wooden trim carved with traditional prosperity symbols that suggested expense without vulgarity, a tiled roof that showed careful maintenance rather than simple adequacy.
The entrance was flanked by two stone lions in the guardian position, their style and craftsmanship suggesting they'd been commissioned from a skilled artisan rather than mass-produced in some factory workshop. Above the door hung a large sign with characters rendered in genuine gold leaf spelling out the establishment's name—Golden Prosperity Merchant House—the gold catching the afternoon sunlight and glinting in a way that announced wealth while avoiding the gaudy ostentation that would attract thieves or official scrutiny.
Guards stood at the entrance, both sporting the muscular build and alert posture of men trained in combat and experienced in violence. They wore matching uniforms that marked them as private security rather than city guards—deep blue tunics with the merchant house's emblem, practical trousers, sturdy boots that could handle running or fighting. Both carried short swords at their hips with the ease of men who knew exactly how to use them, who'd drawn those blades in anger before and wouldn't hesitate to do so again if circumstances required.
Xu Jun's enhanced perception registered their cultivation bases automatically—both at Tier 1, competent enough to handle common threats like thieves or drunk troublemakers, but not powerful enough to attract attention from sect recruiters who might offer them positions that would take them away from Zhang's employment. It was the optimal level for private security: strong enough to be useful, weak enough to remain loyal for reasonable pay.
As he approached, the guard on the right stepped forward with practiced efficiency, his hand not quite reaching for his weapon but his body language clearly communicating readiness to intervene if the visitor proved hostile or suspicious. His eyes swept over Xu Jun with professional assessment—checking for obvious weapons, evaluating body language for signs of aggression or nervousness, noting the quality of clothing to gauge social status.
"State your business," the guard said, his tone achieving perfect neutrality—not hostile, which might offend legitimate visitors, but not welcoming either, which might encourage unwanted loiterers. Simply performing his function of screening those who wished to enter.
"I have an appointment with Boss Zhang," Xu Jun replied calmly, maintaining the relaxed but professional demeanor of someone accustomed to dealing with security protocols. He produced the business card Zhang had given him that morning. "He's expecting me. The name is Chen Wu."
The guard took the card and examined it with careful thoroughness, holding it up to catch better light, checking the seal for authenticity with the experienced eye of someone who'd been burned by forgeries before and learned to be skeptical. His fingers traced over the embossed characters, confirming they were properly raised rather than merely printed. He even bent the card slightly, testing the paper quality.
After perhaps ten seconds of examination, he nodded with evident satisfaction and handed the card back. "Second floor, third door on the right. His secretary will announce you properly."
"Thank you," Xu Jun said, tucking the card away with appropriate care.
The guard stepped aside and gestured him forward, already returning his attention to the street, scanning for the next potential visitor or threat. The interaction had been professional, efficient, exactly what one would expect from well-trained private security.
The interior of the Golden Prosperity matched its exterior in quality and care. The floor was solid wood, not the cheaper pine that many businesses used but some harder variety—oak or perhaps ironwood—polished to a subtle shine that spoke of regular maintenance without being so glossy as to be slippery or ostentatious. The walls were decorated with landscape paintings that showed genuine artistic skill rather than mass-produced prints, each one depicting scenes from the local region—mountains at dawn, rivers in autumn, forests in spring. Furniture positioned throughout the ground floor showroom was sturdy and attractive without being needlessly expensive, the kind of practical quality that suggested Zhang understood the difference between investment and waste.
Everything spoke of a business that was successful and professional, established enough to command respect within the merchant community but not so wealthy as to attract dangerous envy from competitors or unwanted attention from officials looking for opportunities to extract bribes.
The ground floor functioned as showroom and reception area, with several desks occupied by clerks handling routine transactions and correspondence. A few customers browsed display cases containing samples of goods Zhang dealt in—spirit woods with visible grain patterns that suggested cultivation enhancement properties, unusual minerals that caught light in interesting ways, carefully preserved herbs in sealed containers that maintained their potency. The atmosphere was quietly busy, people moving and working with purposeful efficiency that suggested a well-managed operation where everyone understood their roles and executed them competently.
Xu Jun climbed the stairs to the second floor, noting the subtle security measures built into the architecture with the analytical eye of someone who'd infiltrated countless such establishments over his long existence. The stairwell was deliberately narrow, forcing people to ascend single-file, making it defensible against multiple attackers and preventing anyone from easily rushing the upper floors. Clear sightlines from the landing above meant guards stationed there could observe anyone ascending long before they arrived. The walls showed reinforcement behind the decorative plaster, probably brick or stone rather than simple wood, creating choke points that could be held by a small force against larger numbers.
The second floor hallway had multiple doors, suggesting compartmentalized offices that could be sealed individually if security was breached. Formation arrays were etched discreetly into doorframes—Xu Jun recognized basic alarm patterns and what appeared to be defensive barriers that could be activated quickly. Nothing sophisticated enough to stop serious attack from powerful cultivators, but adequate protection against common threats like thieves or disgruntled business rivals.
Zhang took security seriously without becoming paranoid about it. A balanced approach that suggested experience with actual threats rather than merely theoretical concerns.
The third door on the right bore a brass plate with Zhang's name engraved in elegant calligraphy that matched the style of the business cards. Xu Jun knocked three times, firm but not aggressive, the knock of someone who had legitimate appointment and authority to be there.
"Enter," came Zhang's voice from within, carrying a note of anticipation that suggested he'd been watching the time and expecting his visitor.
Xu Jun opened the door and stepped into Zhang's private office.
The office was smaller than he'd anticipated based on the building's size—perhaps fifteen feet square—but efficiently organized and well-appointed. A large desk dominated the center of the room, its dark wood surface covered with the organized chaos of active business: ledgers laid open showing columns of figures in meticulous script, correspondence arranged in neat piles awaiting response, sample goods awaiting evaluation, an abacus positioned for quick calculations, writing implements in a jade holder, sealing wax and stamps for authenticating documents.
Behind the desk sat Boss Zhang, his expression transforming from concentrated focus on paperwork to pleased recognition as Xu Jun entered. He stood with the smooth efficiency of someone whose weight didn't prevent him from moving when necessary, his silk robes rustling slightly with the motion.
"Mr. Chen! Punctual. I appreciate that quality in business partners." Zhang's smile was genuine, reaching his eyes in a way that his earlier professional smiles hadn't. This was a man anticipating profit, genuinely pleased to see the source of that profit arrive on schedule. He gestured to a chair positioned across from his desk. "Please, sit. Can I offer you tea? I have some excellent spring green from the southern mountains. First harvest of the season—very fine quality."
The offer of tea was both hospitality and subtle status display. Spring green first harvest commanded premium prices, the kind of tea that successful merchants served to important visitors but not casual acquaintances.
"Tea would be welcome, thank you," Xu Jun replied, settling into the offered chair. The seat was well-cushioned, comfortable, designed for extended business discussions.
Zhang clapped his hands twice, sharp sounds that carried authority, and a servant appeared from an adjoining room almost instantly—clearly standing by in anticipation of summons. The servant was young, perhaps twenty, wearing simple but clean attire that marked him as household staff rather than business employee.
"Two cups of the spring green," Zhang instructed. "The good set. We're conducting important business."
The servant bowed—a proper bow from the waist, showing training in formal service—and departed silently, closing the door with careful precision that prevented any unnecessary sound.
"I must confess," Zhang said as he settled back into his chair, his posture relaxed but his eyes bright with barely suppressed excitement, "I've been looking forward to this meeting all morning. Since you left the market, actually. Void crystals of the quality you showed me are rare commodities. Very rare indeed. I deal in unusual materials professionally, have for three decades, and I can count on one hand the number of times I've handled genuine void crystals of that grade."
He was revealing his hand, showing enthusiasm that might hurt negotiating position if there were still negotiation to be done. But there wasn't—they'd already agreed on price that morning. This was simply Zhang's natural volubility when discussing profitable deals he was confident in, the excitement of a merchant who'd spotted an excellent opportunity and wanted to share his pleasure in the anticipated profit.
"I already have two potential buyers in mind," he continued, leaning forward slightly in his enthusiasm. "Both sect procurement officers who've been asking me for months about void crystals. One represents the Flowing Cloud Sect—they need void essence for a technique their inner disciples are developing. The other is a formation master from the Jade Seal Sect who uses void crystals in defensive arrays. Both will pay premium prices, probably sixty to seventy gold each, maybe higher if I play them against each other properly."
He was calculating his profit margins openly, clearly pleased with himself. He'd purchased four crystals for one hundred thirty gold total—roughly thirty-two gold each. Reselling them for sixty to seventy each meant profits of at least one hundred twelve gold, possibly up to one hundred fifty if he maximized the pricing. Nearly doubling his investment in a matter of days. For a merchant, that was exceptional return.
"I'm pleased the goods meet your needs," Xu Jun said with carefully calibrated neutrality, neither matching Zhang's enthusiasm nor dampening it. "I have the remaining three crystals with me, as agreed."
"Excellent, excellent!" Zhang gestured toward the locked strongbox positioned on his desk, its iron construction and complex lock mechanism suggesting it contained significant value. "And I have your payment prepared. One hundred and thirty gold coins, imperial mint, standard weight. All legitimate currency—I don't deal in clipped coins or foreign currency that might cause problems at exchanges. You're welcome to count them, of course. I pride myself on honest dealing in all transactions, even those that are... shall we say, discreet."
The servant returned at that moment bearing a tray with two porcelain cups and a small pot of tea, the service set clearly the "good" one Zhang had specified—delicate porcelain decorated with mountain scenes, probably imported from one of the famous pottery regions. The servant poured with practiced efficiency, his movements showing training in formal service protocols, before withdrawing again with another precise bow.
The tea was indeed excellent quality, its aroma delicate and complex with the characteristic sweetness of first-harvest spring greens. Xu Jun took a polite sip, allowing the flavor to register on his tongue—grassy, slightly sweet, with subtle mineral notes that suggested high-altitude growing conditions—before setting the cup aside.
"Before we complete the transaction," Xu Jun said carefully, his tone shifting to something more serious, "I should mention something important about these particular crystals' properties. They're powerful materials, certainly suitable for the applications your buyers have in mind, but they have certain peculiarities in their handling and storage requirements."
This was calculated misdirection, establishing plausible explanation for future degradation. When Zhang eventually discovered the crystals had reverted to ordinary stones, he needed to remember being warned about instability, creating ambiguity about whether the fault lay with the materials themselves, improper handling, or intentional fraud.
Zhang's enthusiasm dimmed slightly, his expression becoming more cautious. "Peculiarities? What kind of peculiarities? You mentioned nothing of this nature during our morning discussion."
"I didn't want to complicate the negotiation with technical details that might not be relevant depending on how you intended to use them," Xu Jun explained smoothly. "But since you've specified your buyers' intended applications, I should explain the proper handling requirements to ensure optimal results and avoid degradation."
He paused for effect, taking another sip of tea, letting Zhang's concern build slightly before continuing.
"Void essence, by its nature, is fundamentally unstable—it exists at the boundary between being and non-being, which means it requires careful environmental management to maintain its integrity over extended periods. These crystals need to be stored with proper formation support, specifically isolation arrays that prevent excessive interaction with ambient cultivation energy. Direct contact with strong cultivators can accelerate degradation significantly—the void essence reacts poorly to concentrated spiritual pressure, beginning a cascade reaction that depletes its potency over time."
All of this was plausible enough to sound legitimate. Many rare cultivation materials did have special storage requirements, and void essence's paradoxical nature made it reasonable that it would be sensitive to environmental factors.
"Nothing immediately dangerous," he continued, "but these specific crystals will lose potency if mishandled. I'd strongly recommend your buyers use them relatively quickly after purchase, ideally within a few weeks to a month for optimal results. Beyond that timeframe, degradation becomes increasingly likely."
"I see," Zhang said slowly, processing this information with visible concern. "That's... significant. My buyers were likely planning to store them until specific projects require their use, which might be months from now."
"Then you should emphasize the importance of rapid utilization when you sell them," Xu Jun advised. "Price them accordingly—premium materials that must be used quickly command different valuations than those with indefinite shelf life. Your buyers will understand. Experienced cultivators know that some materials are time-sensitive."
Zhang nodded, his earlier enthusiasm tempered but not destroyed. "Thank you for the disclosure. That kind of honest warning is exactly why I value building long-term business relationships. Too many merchants would hide such details until after the sale, leaving me to discover problems when my buyers complain. Your integrity is appreciated and will be remembered."
The irony of being praised for integrity while perpetrating fraud was not lost on Xu Jun, though his expression revealed nothing of his internal amusement.
He produced the three additional void crystals from his robe, unwrapping them one by one with ceremonial care and setting them on Zhang's desk in a neat row beside the strongbox. They caught the afternoon light filtering through the office's window, each one creating that characteristic light-dampening effect, that subtle aura of darkness that marked authentic void essence even in bright illumination.
Zhang examined them with obvious satisfaction, his earlier concern about instability apparently insufficient to significantly diminish his commercial enthusiasm. His fingers traced over each crystal carefully, not quite touching but sensing their properties through his basic cultivation perception. His relatively modest Tier 1 cultivation base was enough to confirm surface properties—the spatial distortion, the void energy signature, the formation integrity.
What he couldn't detect, what required either much higher cultivation level or very specialized examination techniques, was the temporary nature of these properties, the countdown timer running in the background as reality prepared to reassert truth over deception.
"Perfect," Zhang murmured, genuine satisfaction evident in his voice. "All four matching in quality, or near enough that the variations appear natural rather than manufactured. My buyers will be very pleased indeed."
He reached for the key he wore on a chain around his neck, using it to unlock the strongbox with a solid click of mechanism disengaging. The lid opened to reveal neat stacks of gold coins that gleamed in the afternoon light—imperial currency, stamped with official seals, legitimate money that could be spent anywhere without raising questions about authenticity or origin.
"One hundred and thirty gold coins, as we agreed this morning," Zhang said formally, sliding the strongbox across his desk toward Xu Jun. "Please, count them to your satisfaction. Verify the weight and authenticity. I want you completely confident in this transaction."
Xu Jun performed a counting gesture, his fingers moving over the stacks with apparent care, but actually he was sensing the exact number through the faint energy signatures each coin carried, a technique far more reliable than visual counting and much faster. The spiritual sense of coins was distinctive, difficult to forge, and these all registered as genuine imperial mint. One hundred thirty gold, exactly as promised. Zhang hadn't tried to short the payment with false coins, depleted spirit stones disguised as gold, or any of the dozen other fraudulent tricks dishonest merchants sometimes employed.
Honest dealing, just as the merchant had claimed. Which would make his eventual discovery of the fraud that much more painful and personally offensive.
"The count is accurate," Xu Jun confirmed. "All coins genuine. A pleasure doing business with you, Boss Zhang."
"The pleasure is entirely mutual, Mr. Chen. Truly." Zhang stood and offered his hand across the desk, his grip firm and warm with genuine satisfaction when Xu Jun accepted the gesture. "I sincerely hope this is the beginning of a long and mutually profitable relationship. If you acquire more unusual items in your travels—void crystals, rare minerals, ancient texts, whatever catches your attention—please think of me first. I'm always interested in quality goods from reliable suppliers, and I pay fair prices consistently."
"I'll certainly keep you in mind for future transactions," Xu Jun assured him, managing to sound sincere despite complete absence of any actual intention to maintain contact once this fraud was discovered. By the time Zhang realized what had happened, Chen Wu would be far too embedded in the city's social structure to be safely confronted, or possibly would have fabricated evidence suggesting he'd been defrauded by the original supplier, maintaining his own cover by appearing to be victim rather than perpetrator.
They exchanged final pleasantries, concluded their business with appropriate professional courtesy, and Xu Jun departed Zhang's office carrying the strongbox of gold.
The guards at the entrance nodded to him courteously as he exited, their expressions showing no suspicion or particular interest, seeing only another merchant concluding successful business with their employer. Just another face among hundreds who visited the Golden Prosperity Merchant House weekly. Nothing remarkable. Nothing worth remembering.
Once outside, Xu Jun walked several blocks in a random pattern designed to detect surveillance before ducking into a narrow alley between a closed tailor shop and a warehouse. He verified no one had followed, confirmed the alley provided adequate concealment from street traffic, and quickly transferred the gold coins to a canvas bag he'd prepared earlier specifically for this purpose.
The bag appeared completely ordinary—rough fabric that might contain grain or simple goods—but Xu Jun had spent twenty minutes that morning inscribing subtle formation patterns into its weave, patterns that would prevent anyone from sensing what it contained through spiritual perception. The bag would register to examination as containing common trade goods, nothing valuable enough to attract thieves or warrant official inspection.
The strongbox itself he abandoned in the alley after wiping it clean of any physical traces. Keeping it would create unnecessary connection back to Zhang if anyone bothered investigating later. Let some scavenger find it and sell the iron for scrap.
One hundred thirty gold coins. Solid imperial currency. Legitimate money that wouldn't raise questions when spent. More than enough to proceed with all three tracks of his integration strategy—property acquisition, business establishment, and information network development.
Phase one: Complete.
He'd entered Sky Abyss City three days ago with nothing but fabricated identity and clothes on his back, carrying not a single copper coin, possessing no property, knowing no one, having no legitimate presence in any record or register.
Now he had lodging, substantial capital, initial contacts including a sect disciple and a major merchant, growing understanding of local power structures and economic systems, and a cover identity that had been tested through multiple interactions without raising any suspicions.
Progress optimal. Efficiency maintained. Complications minimal. Timeline ahead of projections.
Exactly as planned. Exactly as it always went when you'd spent fifteen centuries perfecting your methods through trial and error across countless cities and countless lifetimes.
The afternoon sun was warm on his face as he emerged from the alley and joined the flow of street traffic, just another merchant among thousands conducting daily business in Sky Abyss City, completely unremarkable, instantly forgettable.
Perfect.
The void endured. The void adapted. The void consumed opportunity and converted it into advantage and continued its inexorable expansion.
And somewhere in the foundations of Sky Abyss City's social structure, invisible threads were being woven—threads that led back to Chen Wu, threads that would eventually connect to everything and everyone that mattered, until the web was complete and escape became impossible for anyone caught within it.
One transaction at a time. One relationship established. One deception executed flawlessly.
Until the city was his.
Patient. Methodical. Inevitable.
The game continued, and Xu Jun had never lost.
Not once in fifteen centuries.
Not once.