Cha Ming raised an eyebrow. “Have you been spying on me?”
Shao Qiang shrugged. “It’s not like you keep it a secret. Once a week, you always go to that same place in the 64th District. Care for some company? A drink, maybe?”
Cha Ming hesitated. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to introduce him to some customers. He’s always hurting for business.”
“Great!” Shao Qiang said. They packed up their things, logged their progress on the Breaker, and headed out. On their way out, they saw He Yin racking his brains for a breakthrough. He refused their invitation. Pan Su, on the other hand, accepted. As a pure earth cultivator and the group’s only geomancer, she always had time to spare.
A half hour later, they were seated at a table in the small restaurant with a view of the outside. Most of the shops were closed, though one just opposite the restaurant still had its lights on. They could see a few customers haggling with the shop manager—a pretty young girl with a slight bulge on her stomach.
“You weren’t kidding when you said he needs customers,” Shao Qiang said, shaking his head. He tossed down the menu. “You order.”
“So many interesting dishes I’ve never seen before.” Pan Su giggled. “I’ll try whatever you’re having.”
Cha Ming ordered, and soon, a half dozen sizzling hot vegetable plates were served. The restaurant was a vegetarian one, a rarity in Southern lands, though not unheard of.
“Who would have thought that the merchant of death, the one who supplied all those blood masters a new line of weapons, the one who most relishes destruction in our research group, was a vegetarian.” Shao Qiang took a bite of a strange blue vegetable. It was a type of spiritually infused bamboo that was very beneficial to cultivators.
“I’ve just never liked eating meat,” Cha Ming said, shrugging. “I don’t have to eat it, so why should I?” It wasn’t the full truth, but it was a believable and acceptable answer in these lands. That was why, despite the total absence of Buddhism in the South, vegetarian cuisine still persisted.
“Odd people like odd things,” Pan Su said, slurping noodles coated in a tangy red sauce. “I’d rather have this than the same old thing little Qiang eats every day.”
“Beef stew reminds me of home,” Shao Qiang said. “It’s not very nutritious—mortals eat it all the time—but who cares about that at our level? Well, maybe Pai Xiao cares, with him being a middle-core cultivator and all. My mother made me beef stew every day when I was young, and I miss it. I miss her.”
Silence. Everyone at their level was usually over a hundred years old. No one ever mentioned their age, as it was just a reminder of loved ones lost and cultivation friends who hadn’t made it.
Their conversation fell mostly on deaf ears as Cha Ming, who ate mechanically, was spying on Mo Ling. After serving the last of her customers, she went back upstairs to do her business’s accounts, draft material orders, and take stock of her inventory. She also went over her smiths’ numbers. The smiths, as most high-level cultivators were prone to doing, didn’t sleep. Instead, they either cultivated at night or studied. The city’s regulations prohibited loud noises in the evening, and their workshop didn’t have the necessary soundproofing to do otherwise.
Whatever she could do herself, she did herself. Mo Ling was driven, someone who ignored the unfairness of life and struggled with everything she had. It was clear to Cha Ming from a cursory investigation of her documents that she wasn’t planning on staying in that little shop forever. She was planning something bigger, something greater. All the while carrying the growing burden in her bulging abdomen.
He rejoined the conversation, but only half-heartedly. They ordered wine, and he drank with them. Then, well into the night, they returned to the Blackthorn Conglomerate, going straight to their residences instead of their workshop.
Cha Ming slept that night, but it was restless sleep filled with struggle and possibilities. His dreams were haunted by the betrayal he’d soon need to commit and all the people he would hurt in the process. The world was far from perfect, but what could he do about it? He was only one man; he couldn’t save everyone.
He woke to a harsh knocking on the door the next morning. Bleary eyed, Cha Ming swiftly cleansed himself with qi and opened his door. He was surprised to see a less-than-impressed Tian Zhi. “Boss Tian? Is something wrong?” he asked uncertainly.
“There is an issue we need to defuse with an angry customer,” Tian Zhi said, scratching the back of his head. “Since you are involved, it would be best if you were there.”
“Customer?” Cha Ming said. Then it dawned on him. “Don’t tell me. I think I already know.”
“It’s the blood masters,” Tian Zhi confirmed. “Come, they’re a short-tempered lot, but it’s not like we haven’t dealt with them before. Don’t worry, we’ve got your back.”
Cha Ming nodded and followed the older man. It was about time they realized the damage he’d caused. The blood masters’ reaction, and the Blackthorn Conglomerate’s response, would dictate the next part of his plan. He only prayed they weren’t so upset they’d try to kill him, ruining his carefully crafted disguise.
Xue Xiao’s bloody glare was the first thing Cha Ming saw when he entered the room. Tian Zhi cleared his throat uncomfortably, leading Cha Ming to the back of the room. Director Yong, surprisingly, was seated not at the head of the table, but just off to the side. Another man sat where he usually did. He wore yellow robes—a royal color in the Ji Kingdom—with black trim. His clothes were peak-core treasures, and the weapon at his waist was a half-step-transcendent sword.
“Please take a seat,” the man said, motioning to two empty chairs in the boardroom. Cha Ming and Tian Zhi obeyed and took a seat at
