Chapter 808 --808

Chapter 808: Chapter-808

"Wow, that is nice," Heena said, genuinely pleased by the unexpected asset. "Then let’s draw up the contract."

They cleared a space on a wooden table away from the flying sparks of the anvil. The setup was simple: they would draft two identical copies simultaneously. The soft-spoken husband knelt at one side with a cheap bamboo brush and an inkstone, while Heena took the other side. They agreed to speak the terms out loud as they wrote to ensure both documents matched perfectly.

Heena dipped her brush into the dark ink, her posture straightening into the rigid, flawless calligraphy forms drilled into the original host’s muscle memory.

"Let it be recorded," Heena spoke clearly, the brush gliding effortlessly across the coarse paper. "In this contract, my percentage of the profits shall be thirty, and yours shall be seventy. I will be responsible for providing the designs and making the products famous in the market..."

SMACK.

The massive female blacksmith violently slammed her calloused hand down onto the wooden table, rattling the inkstone.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait!" the blacksmith shouted, her eyes bulging. "What?!"

Heena paused, the tip of her brush hovering just a millimeter above the paper. She looked up, slightly confused by the sudden outburst. "Yes?"

The entire forge family stared at her as if she had just spoken in tongues.

"You mean..." the blacksmith swallowed hard, pointing a trembling, soot-stained finger at the wet ink on the parchment. "You mean that the seventy percent is ours?"

Heena blinked, looking from the shocked blacksmith to the husband, whose jaw was practically touching the floor.

"Yes," Heena answered, her raspy voice completely matter-of-fact. She set the brush down on the inkstone. "You are the ones working the forge. You are paying for the raw ore, you are burning the coal, and you are doing all the backbreaking physical labor. Of course the majority cut is yours. Why would I take seventy percent for a drawing?"

"But it is your design," the massive blacksmith stammered, genuinely struggling to comprehend this level of honest business. In the lower rings, every copper coin was usually fought over tooth and nail. "And you are the one putting your name on it to advertise! How about fifty-fifty? Isn’t thirty percent entirely too low for a noble’s backing?"

Heena shook her head, a dry, cynical edge to her voice. "When I say advertising, I do not mean I am going to stand in the middle of the street corner and shout for people to buy your ironwork. I am simply going to place the furniture in my shop where people can see it. That requires zero physical effort on my part."

She picked up the bamboo brush again, twirling it smoothly between her pale fingers. "Secondly, my reputation is currently doing all the heavy lifting. The moment the gossips find out that the disgraced, exiled daughter of the Lu family commissioned a metal wardrobe, the sheer scandalous curiosity will bring them to your forge. The product will sell itself. I think thirty percent is more than enough for passive income."

The blacksmith stared at her, completely taken aback. In her experience, the highborn nobility fell into two distinct categories: either they were sickeningly, artificially generous just to look good in public while bleeding you dry in private, or they were ruthlessly, unapologetically selfish to the core. To meet an aristocrat who bluntly laid out her own passive laziness, yet insisted on a mathematically fair split for the laborers, was entirely unheard of.

Behind the blacksmith, the older husband—whose spirit had practically left his body a few minutes prior—was now beaming so hard he looked like he might actually jump up and dance around the anvil.

"We stand upon that, then," Heena said, turning her attention back to the quiet son-in-law kneeling at the table. "Write it down exactly as we agreed."

They spent the next few minutes dictating the rest of the terms. Most of it was standard, verbose legal nonsense to appease the district magistrates—clauses about delivery times, liability, and material sourcing—but eventually, both identical copies were finished.

The forge husband brought out a small ceramic tin of red cinnabar paste. The blacksmith pressed her massive, calloused thumb into the ink and stamped the bottom of the parchment. Heena did the same, pressing her pale thumbprint right next to the soot-stained mark. They exchanged the copies, each taking one for their own records, and the deal was officially sealed.

As Heena finally stepped out of the suffocating, sulfur-choked heat of the forge and back into the bustling street, a high-pitched digital voice nearly ruptured her eardrums.

"What the heck, Host?!"

Heena winced, her hand flying to her temple as the System materialized directly in front of her face. "Keep your voice down," she hissed irritably.

Between the booming market vendors, the screaming neighborhood aunties, and the clanging anvils, the sheer volume of this ancient world was giving her a permanent migraine. She was getting incredibly tired of everyone shouting. "What is your problem now?"

The digital lion cub crossed its front paws, looking entirely bewildered. "My problem? Host, you just spent a fortune ordering six solid iron doors! Did you forget that just yesterday afternoon, you paid Master Shen five silver ingots to build you a brand-new, heavy oak front door? Why do you need both wood and iron doors? What are you even going to do with all of them?!"

Heena rolled her eyes, pulling her black cloak tighter around her shoulders as she navigated the crowded dirt road.

"I am not getting the wooden doors," Heena answered plainly. "I am going to walk over to Carpenters’ Alley right now and change the order."

"Change the order?"

"Yes. Master Shen has my timber deposit. Instead of wasting that premium elm on a front door that a battering ram could easily splinter, I am going to have her use the wood to build a proper dining table, some heavy-duty seating sofas, and the interior display counters." Heena gave a dismissive shrug. "Wooden doors are a security hazard. If I want a fortress, the entrances have to be metal."

The System froze in mid-air, entirely shocked. "A... a security hazard?"

"Yes," Heena said, her pitch-black eyes locking onto the glowing cub with a sharp, calculating gaze. "Because according to a certain someone, emergency transporters are being handed out, and this dimension is apparently a ticking time bomb. A wooden door isn’t going to stop a fire arrow, is it?"

The System’s audio processors let out a faint, strangled squeak. It immediately averted its digital eyes, staring intensely at a passing vegetable cart.

The golden cub began sweating digital bullets. It had thought it was being so clever yesterday, using the Headquarters’ Red Signal as a way to prove its loyalty. But it had severely underestimated Heena’s paranoid, veteran instincts. She hadn’t just accepted the escape button; she had weaponized the context clues to completely overhaul her architectural defenses.

Oh no, the System panicked internally, its golden tail tucking firmly between its legs. She knows something catastrophic is coming. Did I say too much? Do I talk in my sleep mode?!

Heena had spent a considerable amount of time examining her house over the past few days.