The rain continued to hammer the Capital, washing the filth from the cobblestones but doing nothing to cleanse the rot beneath.
In the West Ward, Han Jing stood shivering inside a dim, cramped counting house. Across the table, a fat, balding merchant named Liu was biting the edge of a silver ingot, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"Fifty taels," Merchant Liu muttered, his gaze darting to the broken scholar. "You are paying fifty taels for the lease on my warehouse and the salt inside? The market rate is thirty. Have you gone mad from the beatings, Han Jing?"
Han Jing's hand trembled slightly as he pushed the official deed across the table. "My Master does not haggle, Merchant Liu. He only requires your signature. And your silence."
Liu laughed, a wet, wheezing sound. "Your Master is a fool with too much money. Once the Wang Family brings their next shipment down the river, this salt won't be worth twenty taels! But fine. A fool and his silver are easily parted."
Liu stamped the deed with his wax seal.
Han Jing rolled up the parchment and bowed stiffly. As he walked back out into the freezing rain, he didn't feel like a disgraced scholar anymore. He clutched three deeds to his chest. He had just spent every copper of the mysterious Su Chen's money to buy the three smallest, most pathetic salt reserves in the ward.
We are ruined before we even begin, Han Jing thought, his logical mind screaming at the terrible investment. Unless...
He remembered Su Chen's cold, predatory smile.
Unless the largest warehouse burns.
Across the city, in a smoky, illicit gambling den run by the Black Tiger gang, Su Chen was sitting at a private table. He was still wearing his beggar's rags, but the way he sat—lounging back, one arm draped over the chair, eyes scanning the room with absolute authority—made the thugs keep their distance.
Iron Dog stood before him, sweating profusely despite the chill in the air.
"I told the Boss the debt was settled," Iron Dog whispered, glancing nervously at the door. "I covered it from my own stash. He doesn't know about the skimmed ledgers. Are we clear?"
Su Chen slowly poured himself a cup of cheap tea. He didn't drink it.
"We are clear on the past, Iron Dog," Su Chen said softly. "Now, we discuss the future."
"I ain't working for a bankrupt brat!" Iron Dog hissed, stepping forward. "I paid you off! The deal is done!"
Su Chen didn't blink. He tapped his finger against the wooden table. Once. Twice.
[System Skill: 'Market Appraisal' Active] [Target: Iron Dog] [Weakness Identified: Heavy gambling debts to the rival Red Serpent Gang. Life expectancy: 4 days if debts remain unpaid.]
"The Red Serpents are going to break your legs by Friday," Su Chen stated. It wasn't a question. It was a fact.
Iron Dog froze, the blood draining from his face. "How... how do you know that?"
"I know everything, Dog. I know you owe them eighty taels. I know the Black Tiger will execute you if he finds out you gamble in enemy territory. You are a dead man walking." Su Chen finally picked up the teacup, his eyes locking onto the terrified thug. "I am the only man in this city who can keep you alive."
Iron Dog swallowed hard, his bravado entirely shattered. "What do you want?"
"The Wang Family Salt Reserve," Su Chen said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Tomorrow at noon, the shift changes. The guards will be eating. I want it reduced to ashes."
Iron Dog recoiled as if slapped. "Are you insane?! The Wang Family is backed by the Minister of Revenue! If I'm caught—"
"If you're caught, you die. If you do nothing, the Serpents kill you on Friday," Su Chen interrupted, placing a small, heavy pouch on the table. It clinked with the sound of ten silver taels—the advance Han Jing had held back from the buyouts. "Ten taels now to keep the Serpents quiet for a week. Another hundred when the warehouse burns. And a permanent place in my Syndicate."
Su Chen stood up, adjusting his tattered sleeves.
"I don't hire muscle, Iron Dog. I hire professionals. Show me you can be a professional."
Noon. The Next Day.
The sun had finally broken through the clouds, casting a brilliant light over the Capital. Su Chen stood on a hill overlooking the West Ward, a fresh green apple in his hand. Han Jing stood a pace behind him, clutching the three deeds, his knuckles white.
"Master Su..." Han Jing started, his voice strained. "The Wang Family has lowered their prices today. Our salt is officially worthless."
Su Chen took a bite of the apple. It was crisp. Sweet.
"Patience, Han Jing. The market is about to correct itself."
Down in the valley, a single plume of black smoke began to curl into the sky. Within seconds, it was followed by a massive, booming explosion. Someone had mixed flour dust into the air before striking the flint—a classic, untraceable underworld sabotage technique.
A pillar of raging fire consumed the colossal Wang Family warehouse. The screams of panic echoed up the hill as the city's primary supply of salt turned to smoke and cinders.
Han Jing dropped to his knees, his breath catching in his throat. He looked from the inferno to the calm, chewing teenager beside him. He finally understood. It wasn't just a threat. Su Chen had actually done it.
The System interface violently flared to life in Su Chen's vision.
[Emergency Market Fluctuation Detected!] [Commodity: Salt (West Ward)] [Supply: Decreased by 94%] [Demand: Critical]
[Host Ownership of Remaining Supply: 100%]
[Ding! Hostile Takeover Successful.] [Influence Level Increased: Level 2 (Local Monopolist)] [Reward: 500 System Points] [Reward: Skill 'Price Dictation' Unlocked]
Su Chen tossed the apple core onto the grass and wiped his hands.
"Han Jing," Su Chen said, turning to his trembling accountant with a true mob boss's grin. "Go back to our warehouses. When the merchants come begging, tell them the price of salt just went up five hundred percent."