Chapter 101: Deals In The Night

As the afternoon hours drifted by, the three of them remained under the pavilion, happily gisting and reflecting on their journey so far. They began talking about how much had changed since they first set foot in Crimson Vale just over a week ago.

Back then, they were merely newcomers looking for a proper foothold, but now, they possessed a grand estate, a fully functioning household, and connections that reached into the highest corridors of power within the city.

"It really feels like we’ve built a solid ground for ourselves here," Han Lin said, resting her chin in her hands as she looked around the lush garden. "Think about it. We have Big Sister Su Rong, who happens to be the sister of the City Lord himself, looking out for us. And now we have Lin Laifu, who holds an enormous network within the entire merchant guild, handling our business. Who in Crimson Vale would dare look down on us now?"

Ye Chenxue nodded slowly in agreement, her gaze steady. "Having both political backing and commercial reach gives us total stability. Few factions can touch us without facing severe repercussions."

Lu Feng took a slow sip of his tea, a faint, meaningful smile gracing his lips as he listened to them.

"It is a good start," Lu Feng said calmly, setting his cup down on the marble table. "But remember, we are just getting started. These connections are tools, not our final destination."

Han Lin tilted her head, curious. "What do you mean, Young Master?"

Lu Feng leaned back against the pavilion pillar, looking up at the vast blue sky stretching beyond the estate walls. "Crimson Vale is merely a stepping stone. We will only be staying in this city for a year at most. The world outside is vast, and our true goals lie far beyond the normal standards of ordinary people. To reach those heights, we cannot stay comfortable in one place for too long. We have to go further, push deeper into greater territories, and become far stronger than we are right now."

Ye Chenxue’s eyes glinted with sharp understanding, while Han Lin felt a rush of excitement at his words. The thought of exploring greater horizons alongside Lu Feng filled them both with a quiet sense of ambition.

"A year..." Han Lin murmured with a bright smile. "Then we had better make the absolute most of our time here!"

The conversation continued smoothly as the sun began its slow descent, painting the sky in vibrant hues of orange and deep purple. They shared stories, laughed over the absurd moments of the morning, and outlined subtle plans for the coming months.

When dusk finally fell, Auntie Gao brought out a light evening meal, which they enjoyed together in the cozy warmth of the main dining hall. After dinner, the tiredness of the eventful day finally caught up with them.

Standing in the main corridor, Lu Feng looked at both ladies. "Tomorrow, I will begin my private cultivation training. It is time I focus on raising my own strength."

Ye Chenxue offered a rare, warm nod of approval. "A wise decision. I will ensure the courtyard remains completely quiet during your sessions."

"Goodnight, Young Master! Goodnight, Sister Chenxue!" Han Lin called out happily as she retired to her room.

One by one, they retreated to their respective chambers to rest. Outside in the cool night air, the estate was bathed in pale moonlight. Down at the front entrance, Song Heng and Bai Bao stood vigilant, taking turns walking the perimeter walls and watching over the gates through the peaceful night, ensuring their master could sleep without disturbance.

However, the peace that wrapped around Lu Feng’s estate did not extend to every corner of Crimson Vale. Miles away, near the ragged, shadowed edge of the lower district, the city sang a much darker tune.

Deep within the twisting, unlit alleyways where the lanterns rarely burned, a solitary figure slipped through the darkness.

Wrapped tightly in a thick, heavy robe of coarse black fabric, the traveler moved like a ghost against the cracked stone walls. His face was completely buried beneath the dark folds of his deep hood, leaving only his jawline shrouded in shadow.

Every few paces, he paused, hugging the damp masonry to avoid the sight of late-night patrols, drunken thugs, and the occasional lingering rogue thieves stumbling down the dirt paths.

He moved with a quiet, deliberate haste, his eyes constantly darting back and forth beneath his hood until he reached a narrow, dilapidated structure tucked away between two crumbling stone warehouses.

A tarnished iron sign hung crookedly above the door, creaking softly in the night breeze. It was a low-end tavern, the kind of place that thrived on secrecy, bad booze, and desperate men.

The robed figure pushed open the heavy wooden door, stepping into a room thick with the stench of stale ale, pipe smoke, and cheap roasting meat. The interior was dimly lit by a few flickering tallow candles stuck into empty clay bottles. Scattered across the sticky floorboards were a handful of rough-looking mercenary types, sleeping off their drinks or muttering in quiet, suspicious tones.

The newcomer ignored them all. His gaze swept directly toward a secluded corner booth at the very back of the room.

Sitting alone at a broad oak table was a broad-shouldered, imposing figure. The man was completely bald, his bare head and thick neck covered in intricate, dark blue tattoos that twisted down beneath his leather vest. A broad, notched saber rested against the bench beside him, and a half-empty mug of harsh liquor sat beneath his heavy, calloused hand. He exuded a raw, dangerous aura that kept every other patron in the tavern at a wide distance.

The robed figure crossed the creaking floorboards and slid onto the bench directly across from the tattooed man without asking for permission.

The bald man didn’t move a muscle, though his sharp, predatory eyes narrowed as he looked at the intruder. "You’ve got a lot of nerve sitting at my table," he rumbled, his voice like grinding stones. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t slit your throat and throw you into the alley."

Without uttering a single word, the robed figure reached into his sleeve. He pulled out a folded piece of coarse parchment along with a small, heavy pouch tied tightly with a leather thong, placing both items onto the stained wooden table between them.

The tattooed mercenary eyed the items suspiciously before reaching out with a hand scarred from decades of violence. He unfolded the parchment, holding it closer to the dim candle flame.

On the paper was a detailed ink sketch depicting a handsome, composed young man with calm, sharp eyes.

The bald man took one look at the face, scoffed loudly, and tossed the drawing back onto the table with utter disdain.

"You’re wasting my time," the mercenary spat, leaning back against his seat and picking up his mug. "I don’t waste my energy on mortal humans. I hunt rogue cultivators and collect bounties on martial artists. If you want some rich, soft-skinned noble kid murdered, go hire a common street thug."

The robed figure leaned forward slightly, his voice raspy and muffled beneath the thick hood. "You misunderstand. He is not a target for a common thug. Furthermore, you do not have to kill him. You only need to ensure he is crippled. Destroy his every chance he has of being whole, shatter his limbs, and leave him as a helpless invalid for the rest of his miserable life."

The bald man let out a dry, mocking laugh, raising his hand to wave the robed stranger away. "Cripple a mortal? Sounds like boring work. The answer is no. Get out of my face before I—"

He cut himself off mid-sentence as his fingers brushed against the small pouch sitting on the oak wood. The sheer weight and subtle, thrumming warmth radiating through the leather made his eyes twitch.

Curiosity overruling his annoyance, the tattooed mercenary pulled the leather thong loose and tilted the pouch open just enough for his eyes to peer inside.

His breath hitched instantly.

Resting at the bottom of the pouch were four roughly cut, glowing crystals, no larger than the tip of a thumb. They emitted a faint, pulsing azure light that cast soft shadows across his tattooed face. A faint wave of pure, concentrated spiritual energy seeped out of the bag’s neck, instantly clearing the heavy stench of ale and tobacco surrounding their table.

Spirit stones.

Even though these were merely the lowest-grade, unrefined spirit stones, they were extraordinarily rare and sought-after commodities within the entire territory of Crimson Vale. In a regional city dominated by mortal gold and low-tier copper and silver trades, a single spirit stone was worth at least five hundred gold coins on the open market—and far more to a rogue cultivator desperate to break through a bottleneck. Four of them represented a staggering fortune of two thousand gold coins, enough to live like a king in the lower districts for years.

The mercenary’s eyes gleamed with intense, unadulterated greed. The mocking sneer faded completely from his face, replaced by a dark, hungry smirk. He snapped the leather pouch shut with a sharp tug, pulling it off the table and stashing it deep inside his leather vest in one fluid motion.

"Four spirit stones just to break a kid’s legs and ruin his meridians," the tattooed man whispered, his tone suddenly polite, albeit dripping with malice. "You must really hate this boy."

"His identity and my reasons do not concern you," the robed figure replied coldly, standing up from the booth and smoothing down his dark garments. "Just ensure the job is done cleanly. I want him broken beyond recovery."

"Consider it done," the bald mercenary grinned, leaning over to snatch the parchment sketch back up. He memorized the features of the young man on the paper before tossing the drawing directly into the flame of the candle, watching the ink face burn away into black ash. "He won’t walk or hold a sword ever again."

With the deal finalized, the robed man turned on his heel without another word, melting back into the smoky shadows of the tavern and slipping out into the cold night.

The tattooed mercenary remained in his booth, taking a long, satisfying gulp of his drink as his hand patted the heavy pouch hidden inside his vest. A cruel smile stretched across his scarred face as he stared into the flickering candlelight, already plotting his move.