Chapter 7: Respect Your Elders! Let the Trapped Prime Minister Think He's Winning
[West City · Prime Minister's Residence · 9-11 PM]
Prime Minister Zhou Yanling's palm slammed against the desk, rattling the teacup so violently it nearly toppled.
"Good! How very good, Regent!"
His eyes gleamed with cunning satisfaction as he stroked his long beard. The letter before him had arrived from his confidant in the Ministry of Revenue, detailing every moment of today's court session.
"So the Regent is finally making his move." Zhou Yanling let out a cold laugh. "Currency reform? What ambition. Let's see how this old minister turns your own stones into weapons against you."
He picked up his brush and penned a letter with swift, decisive strokes. When the butler arrived, Zhou Yanling handed it over with crisp instructions:
"Have this delivered to Prince Huai's residence in the south city tonight. And notify all our merchant contacts—starting tomorrow, begin purchasing old currency at prices ten percent above market rate."
The butler bowed and withdrew.
Zhou Yanling rose from his seat and walked to the window, gazing at the bright moon hanging in the night sky. His brow furrowed slightly as his mind raced through the possibilities.
The Regent wanted to recall the old currency? Then he would simply buy up every last coin on the market first. When the reform officially launched, the Regent would have no choice but to come begging.
And when that day comes... Zhou Yanling's lips curved into a satisfied smile. Whether to sell or not, at what price, with what conditions—all of it will rest entirely in my hands. The Regent will kneel before me, and all his grand reforms will amount to nothing but a joke.
He could already picture it: the young Regent, face pale with frustration, forced to negotiate with him for scraps. The thought was almost intoxicating.
But...
That brat Xie Lan has always been cunning. Could this be a trap?
Zhou Yanling's fingers paused mid-stroke through his beard, a flicker of doubt crossing his eyes.
He had weathered forty years of court politics. What schemes hadn't he witnessed? What traps hadn't he navigated? For the Regent to leave so many obvious flaws in his proposal—it simply wasn't his style. Xie Lan was young, yes, but he'd never been careless. Every move he'd made since becoming Regent had been calculated to the finest detail.
So why would he suddenly present such a half-baked plan?
And yet...
His mind drifted back to today's court session. Duke Yin Lie had publicly denounced Xie Lan as an "armchair strategist" spouting "empty rhetoric." The Regent's expression had soured visibly—Zhou Yanling had watched it happen with his own eyes. That flash of anger, that momentary loss of composure. And then the hasty retreat, the reluctant compromise.
Hmph. Xie Lan is still young after all. Zhou Yanling's lips curled into a sneer. One provocation from that military brute and he lost his composure entirely. He threw out this half-baked currency reform without thinking through the consequences, just to save face.
The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became. Everyone had weaknesses. The Regent's weakness was pride—that unshakeable arrogance of youth that couldn't tolerate public humiliation. Duke Yin Lie had struck precisely at that weakness, and the Regent had crumbled.
This is a heaven-sent opportunity.
The doubt in his eyes gradually faded, replaced by gleaming avarice.
"Xie Lan, oh Xie Lan," he murmured, a sinister smile spreading across his weathered face. "Did you really think this old minister would simply lie down and let you slaughter him? Forty years I've survived in this court. I've buried three emperors and countless officials who thought themselves clever. You're just a boy playing at politics."
[South City · Prince Huai's Residence · Same Time]
Prince Huai sat in his wheelchair, carefully reading Zhou Yanling's letter by candlelight.
The advisor at his side bowed respectfully. "Your Highness, the Prime Minister invites you to jointly stockpile old currency. Your thoughts?"
Prince Huai remained silent for a long moment, his eyes scanning the letter once, twice, three times. Then, without a word, he tossed it into the brazier beside him. The flames consumed the paper eagerly, reducing Zhou Yanling's careful calligraphy to ash.
"There's no rush."
His voice emerged low and hoarse, carrying the weight of a man who had spent years cultivating patience.
"That old fox Zhou Yanling wants to drag this prince into the water. I'm not so foolish."
The advisor blinked in confusion. "Your Highness means...?"
"Regent Xie Lan is no simple character." Prince Huai's eyes narrowed to slits. "He deliberately left all those openings during court. Do you truly believe that's incompetence?"
Understanding dawned on the advisor's face. "Your Highness suspects the Regent is fishing?"
"Perhaps he is. Perhaps he isn't." Prince Huai tapped his fingers against the wheelchair's armrest in a slow, measured rhythm. "Either way, this prince will not act rashly. Let Zhou Yanling test the waters first. If it's safe, we profit. If it's a trap, he takes the fall. I'll watch the show from behind."
He paused, his tapping fingers falling still.
"There's something else that troubles me. During today's session, Duke Yin Lie's opposition to the Regent seemed... excessively deliberate."
The advisor frowned. "Deliberate? But Your Highness, everyone knows the Duke and the Regent are bitter enemies. Their feud dates back years."
"Precisely." Prince Huai's voice dropped lower. "Everyone knows they're enemies. So when the Duke publicly attacks the Regent, no one questions it. But think carefully—the Duke's words today were harsh, yes, but they were also... convenient. He gave the Regent a perfect excuse to appear weak, to seem like he'd been forced into a hasty decision."
The advisor's eyes widened. "Your Highness suspects they're working together?"
"I suspect nothing. I merely observe." Prince Huai's smile was cold. "Assign men to monitor the Duke of Zhenguo's residence. Watch who visits, watch who leaves, watch where his messages go. If those two are secretly allied... this game becomes far more interesting."
The advisor bowed and withdrew.
Prince Huai sat alone in the darkness, a cold, predatory light flickering in his eyes.
Xie Lan, Yin Lie... which one of you is the fisherman, and which is the bait?
[East City · Duke of Zhenguo's Residence · 7-9 PM]
Yin Wuwang sat in his study, a detailed map of the capital spread before him. Red ink marked several key locations across the city.
"Here—the Prime Minister's merchant operations. Fourteen shops, all suddenly buying old currency like their lives depend on it." He added another annotation. "Greedy old fool."
"Here—Prince Huai's hidden informants. Three in the Ministry, two in the city guard, one suspiciously close to the palace kitchens." Another mark. "Paranoid cripple."
"Here—the black market that Ministry officials frequent. They think they're being subtle. They're not." A final mark. "Corrupt idiots, the lot of them."
He leaned back, surveying his handiwork with satisfaction.
"Fuguang's fishing scheme has already lured them all into the open. Like moths to a flame. Predictable, really."
Ding!
Little Deer Assistant 9527's voice chimed in his mind: "Suggestion: Immediate action. Bring down the Prime Minister in one stroke. Eliminate the root. Fast-track completion."
Yin Wuwang didn't even bother looking up.
Fast-track completion? I think not.
Such a delightful hunting ground. If I don't toy with the prey until they're completely broken, how could I possibly justify all this excellent acting?
Besides—fatten them up first, then slaughter. Much more satisfying that way. Let them think they're winning. Let them get comfortable. And then...
He smiled, and it wasn't a nice smile.
As expected of Fuguang. The smile softened almost imperceptibly. Three thousand years, and he's still just as formidable. This kind of patient, methodical trap... only he could weave it so perfectly.
He penned a coded message and summoned his trusted guard. "Deliver this to the Regent's residence."
The guard bowed and departed.
Half a shichen later, the reply arrived.
Yin Wuwang unfolded the paper. Three characters in that familiar, elegant hand:
"Let them feed a few more days."
He couldn't help but laugh aloud. This person's words were always so economical—three characters where anyone else would use thirty. And somehow, he found himself loving that about him. That cold efficiency, that absolute confidence. Every stroke of ink spoke of a mind that wasted nothing, not words, not time, not effort.
I have always watched you from across battlefields, and I never got to appreciate your handwriting up close. His thumb traced the edge of the paper. Now I have letters. It's not enough, but it's something.
Just wait, Fuguang. I'll help you fatten all these fish nicely.
[Throughout the Capital · Several Days Later]
Over the following days, undercurrents churned beneath the capital's surface.
The Prime Minister's merchant network began aggressive purchases of old currency, offering prices that climbed higher each day. Opportunistic merchants caught wind and rushed to sell their holdings, exchanging old coins for silver or newly minted copper.
The Ministry of Revenue proved equally restless. Minister Liu secretly coordinated with several provincial officials to divert disaster relief funds toward currency purchases. He believed his movements were hidden—unaware that his every action had already fallen under Xie Qingyan's watchful eye.
Prince Huai's residence, meanwhile, remained perfectly still. His men gathered intelligence from every corner, observing coldly from the shadows.
Each day, Yin Wuwang dispatched agents to monitor these developments, then reported everything to Xie Qingyan through coded letters.
One evening, as he sorted through intelligence in his study, a new letter arrived from the Regent's residence.
He unfolded it to find six characters:
"The fish have entered the net. Three more days to feed."
Yin Wuwang gazed at that cool, composed handwriting, a smile tugging at his lips.
Three days? Very well. I'll accompany you for three more days.
He picked up his brush to reply: "Respectfully following your honored command."
After writing, he stared at the four characters for a long moment. Something felt wrong. Respectfully following your honored command? Too formal. Too stiff. That sounded like something a real subordinate would write. Since when was he anyone's subordinate?
He crumpled the paper and started fresh: "Understood. Don't worry."
He stared at it. Still wrong. Would "don't worry" seem too familiar? Too presumptuous? Would Fuguang think he was trying to get closer than appropriate?
Yin Wuwang rubbed his temples in frustration and crumpled that paper too.
Third attempt: "This sovereign understands."
He stared at the three characters for a long moment.
Finally. Concise. Calm. No problems.
He sealed the letter and handed it to his guard for delivery.
[Regent's Residence · Study · Same Time]
Xie Qingyan received the reply and unfolded it. Three characters:
"This sovereign understands."
He raised an eyebrow slightly.
The Demon Lord has learned to be concise. Surprising, given how much he likes to talk.
Setting the letter aside, he returned to the intelligence reports spread across his desk. The Prime Minister's movements over these past days had exceeded even his expectations. That old fox truly believed he held the winning hand.
Three more days. Xie Qingyan calculated silently. In three days, the net closes.
He rose and walked to the window, gazing at the stars scattered across the night sky.
This game had been set with an inescapable web. Prime Minister Zhou Yanling, Minister Liu of Revenue, and every official who'd joined their scheme—not one would escape.
As for Prince Huai...
Xie Qingyan's eyes darkened. That man who'd spent ten years pretending to be an invalid in his wheelchair—he was the true opponent. Zhou Yanling was greedy and arrogant, easy to bait. But Prince Huai was patient, suspicious, willing to sacrifice pawns. This upcoming catch was merely an appetizer. The real performance had yet to begin.
According to Yin Wuwang's surveillance reports, Prince Huai still hasn't made a move. His thoughts churned. He let Zhou Yanling charge ahead while he watched from the shadows. Clever. He suspects something, but he's not certain what. That makes him dangerous.
Ten years in a wheelchair, pretending to be a cripple while building his network in secret. Ten years of watching, waiting, calculating. A man with that kind of patience doesn't fall for obvious bait.
Dealing with him will require different methods entirely.
The night wind drifted through the window, stirring his robes.
Just then, a shadow guard's voice came from beyond the window: "Your Highness, unusual activity at the west city black market. Ministry personnel are conducting a currency exchange tonight."
Xie Qingyan closed the intelligence report in his hand and gently blew out the candle on his desk.
"Prepare the horses." He rose, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips. "The moonlight is excellent tonight. Perfect for casting nets."
He paused, then added: "First, send a message to the Duke of Zhenguo's residence—'There's a transaction at the west city black market tonight. I'm going to observe personally.'"
[End of Chapter 7]
Next Chapter Preview:
"Personally observe?" Yin Wuwang read the message three times. Was Fuguang inviting him, or just informing him, or—wait, was this a date? No, definitely not a date. Probably not. ...Right?
Two apex predators descend upon a black market full of small fry. The fish don't stand a chance.
Chapter 8: Warning! Do Not Trigger the "Late Night Date" Side Quest in the Black Market Instance!