Zhì Yuǎn ignored the manager and walked through the bronze doors.
The interior of the Exchange Pavilion reeked of sweat and cinnabar. Dozens of mercenaries crowded against the counters. However, the trio's march opened a clean path. The physical force and the constant heat radiating from Zhì Yuǎn's body forced the crowd to instinctively press against the walls.
The young man's gaze stopped at the shelves in the adjacent wing. Old leather manuals rested on the stone. The method to repair Yù Méi's shattered chest was right there.
But the granite plaques beneath the texts demanded the metropolis' toll. The pavilion did not accept silver. Knowledge required energy coins: Mortal Grade Spirit Stones. The imperial silver in Zhì Yuǎn's belt was useless.
Yù Qíng evaluated the plaques. The woman's hand moved forward and her nails dug hard into Zhì Yuǎn's arm.
— These prices are an insult, A-Yuǎn — she whispered, the homicidal impatience clear in her voice. — Break the guard's neck. We take the manuals and I burn the building down. Counting pebbles with insects is an insult.
Zhì Yuǎn's expression did not change. His hand descended, covered Yù Qíng's cold fingers, and pressed them firmly against his own arm. The fever from the young man's skin clashed against his wife's coldness, neutralizing the tension in her tendons at the same instant.
— Burning the building today will bring the provincial guard tomorrow morning — he replied, cutting through her fury with dry pragmatism.
The thermal shock of his grip locked the girl's impulse. She loosened her nails.
— We won't act like rats — the young man declared, releasing her hand and continuing to walk. — We're going to force the owners of this pavilion to empty their coffers into our laps, playing by their own rules.
The homicidal fury evaporated from Yù Qíng's black eyes in the same instant.
She closed her lips beneath the veil. Her husband's authority was the only law the girl recognized. Her pale face tilted in a silent and perfectly submissive nod, accepting the command without resistance.
Adjusting her navy-blue silk, the wife straightened beside him.
The trio's march left the leather shelves behind, plunging into the heart of the Exchange Pavilion.
The air in the new wing was cold and damp. Black granite pedestals with thick glass domes occupied the space, surrounded by formations that vibrated softly.
At the center of the exhibition, small crystal vials rested on dark velvet. The liquid trapped inside showed a milky turbidity and a faint glow.
The wooden plaque at the base of the pedestal described the product:
Spiritual Water. Extracted from aquifers that rested for decades over nearly extinct Qi Veins. Assists in nourishing the meridians and facilitates the absorption of external energy. Eighty Mortal Grade Spirit Stones of Medium Quality per vial.
Yù Qíng gripped the silk of her own sleeve.
— Eighty medium-quality stones for that? — the woman's voice hissed sharply, her black eyes piercing the plaque. — From what I understand, that price would sink our village's coffers for ten generations, if it were even possible to buy with silver.
A few steps away, Yù Méi's throat went dry. She read the plaque and fixed her eyes on the vials. The absurd price crushed her to the ground.
Zhì Yuǎn stopped in front of the glass.
The man leaned his broad torso forward. The defensive current of the formation flashed and lashed the air against his face, but the hyper-density of his Refined Body's skin swallowed the shock without producing a single scratch. The open pores beneath his gray tunic pulled at the atmosphere. The young man's perception filtered through the magnetic barrier and tracked the odor leaking through the cork stopper.
The evaluation lasted only the time of a breath.
The liquid smelled like stagnant rainwater. Mundane water that had needed to rot for fifty years just to absorb the pale dust of a dead stone. Compared to the incandescent furnace burning Golden Qi in the young man's veins, it was tasteless trash.
Zhì Yuǎn straightened his spine and turned on his heel, turning his back on the illuminated display case without a trace of deference.
Yù Méi held her breath. Panic surged in her chest when she saw Zhì Yuǎn lose interest so quickly.
— This water won't work for her — Zhì Yuǎn said, his voice low and direct. — Her meridians aren't just weak. They're destroyed. This thing was made to nourish normal meridians, not to rebuild what doesn't even exist anymore.
He kept walking.
— But this dirty water gave me an idea.
Yù Qíng looked at him, curious.
— The stalls outside sell mineral water for copper coins — he continued. — We're going to buy the mud from the streets and turn it into gold.
The cold, perfumed air of the Pavilion vanished, swallowed by the dusty heat and sour sweat of the street market.
Zhì Yuǎn led the march through the crowd. The heat that punished the commoners' napes clashed against the natural fever of his body and evaporated before touching his clothes. The walk stopped in front of a worn canvas stall that smelled of damp clay and cabbage.
The merchant pushed a rustic leather canteen and five small empty ceramic vials onto the counter.
— Purified water from the eastern well, outsider — the vendor stretched his lips into a gap-toothed smile. — Boiled three times with charcoal. Two pure silver flakes for everything.
Zhì Yuǎn pulled out the cork stopper and evaluated the thin transparency of the liquid.
— It improved a bit with the boiling, but there's still sand in it — the young man's rustic voice vibrated slowly.
The merchant's jaw locked. The false cordiality evaporated.
Zhì Yuǎn reached into his belt and tossed a single silver flake onto the rotting wood. The metal sank into the splinters with a heavy thud.
— One flake for the used firewood. The clay vials come as a bonus for forgetting to filter it.
The man's intimidating size left no room for negotiation. The merchant shrank back and pushed the containers forward with trembling hands.
Yù Méi and Yù Qíng watched in silence.
The youngest still didn't understand why they were buying dirty water after having left behind something so expensive inside the Pavilion, but she kept the question to herself. Yù Qíng, on the other hand, kept her eyes fixed on her husband's hands, curious to see what he intended to do with it.
Zhì Yuǎn stored the ceramic vials in his belt and turned on his heel, leaving the square and guiding the two women toward the darkest and narrowest alley on the limestone street.
The narrow shadow of the alley swallowed the noise and heat of the street. The tall, moss-covered walls trapped the oxygen, creating a cold and isolated dome.
Zhì Yuǎn came to a stop. His heavy boot crushed the mud on the ground.
The young man pulled the cork from the leather canteen. He tilted the neck and poured the mundane water into the five rustic ceramic vials. The liquid filled the containers to the brim.
Behind him, Yù Méi held her breath, her eyes fixed on her brother-in-law's hands. Yù Qíng smiled beneath the veil, eager to see what would come next.
Zhì Yuǎn positioned his index finger above the first vial.
The man ignored his flesh and drove his inner vision into the core beneath his own sternum. The Golden Primordial Qi rested there, massive and incandescent. Zhì Yuǎn's Will crushed the energy. A small thread rose and funneled with crushing pressure directly into the channel of his index finger.
At the tip of his finger, a tiny drop of golden sweat formed. The air around it heated so intensely that the moss on the wall dried and turned to ash.
The drop detached and fell.
Tssss.
The dirty water boiled violently. A cloud of white vapor burst from the neck, spreading a dense and suffocating smell. The boiling ceased with a dry jolt. The dirty liquid took on a milky, silvery glow, heavy like molten lead.
The thick aroma flooded the alley.
Yù Méi's knees gave out. The channels in her chest throbbed with pain and thirst. Saliva filled her mouth. She wanted to snatch the vial from his hands, but the weight emanating from Zhì Yuǎn's body kept her frozen in place.
Yù Qíng's dark fabric brushed against the stone wall. The young wife's face flushed violently beneath the veil. Her slender fingers trembled with pure tactical excitement at the sight of the ancient machinery of the metropolis being humiliated by the filth of that alley.
The extreme heat created micro-cracks in the cheap ceramic.
Zhì Yuǎn's thumb drove the cork stopper in with a dry thud, stabilizing the pressure and suffocating the leak. Repeating the process, he generated four more golden drops that fell in rhythm. The containers foamed, boiled with a hiss, and fell silent beneath the quick seals.
Zhì Yuǎn stored the last vial in his belt and turned on his heel on the damp earth of the alley.
— Now we have something to offer the lords of the city — he said with a half-smile.
Yù Qíng let out a low laugh. Yù Méi smiled as well.
They left the darkness and plunged back into the crowd. Two hunters who tried to follow them into the alley froze on the second step, suffocated by the aura overflowing from the man in the black hat, and staggered backward.
The trio's march cut straight through the sunny square. Their target was fixed and non-negotiable: the immense bronze doors of the Exchange Pavilion.