The land was ruled by an empire.
Not a loose confederation of states, nor a fragile alliance of powers, but a single authority that had endured long enough for its borders to feel permanent. Its laws extended across mountains, plains, rivers, and forests, enforced not only by soldiers and officials, but by cultivators whose strength placed them above ordinary men.
The empire governed through structure rather than proximity. Power did not flow outward evenly from the capital. Instead, it was divided, layered, and delegated, each tier responsible for maintaining order within its own boundaries.
At the highest level stood the imperial court.
Below it, the empire was divided into eight prefectures.
Each prefecture functioned as a semi-autonomous region, vast enough to contain multiple cities, mountain ranges, trade routes, and cultivation sects.
A prefecture was governed by an appointed authority whose responsibility was not merely taxation or administration, but stability. Cultivators were common in the empire, and where strength gathered, conflict followed. A prefecture existed to ensure that such conflict never escalated beyond control.
The eight prefectures were unequal in temperament.
Some were martial, dominated by sects and military families.
Others were mercantile, their influence built on trade rather than force.
A few were known for their academies, producing scholars and cultivators in steady numbers.
But all eight answered to the same empire.
And none were small.
Within each prefecture lay countless cities, towns, and settlements, organized by importance rather than size.
At the top were major cities, often political or economic centers. Beneath them were secondary cities, then minor cities, then towns, villages, and unregulated frontier regions.
A city's standing was measured by three things: The strength of its governing authority.
The number and quality of cultivators residing within it. Its importance to trade, transport, or resource flow
A city that lacked all three would never rise, no matter how large its population.
Yunhe City was a mid-tier city within Henglu prefecture.
It was not insignificant, but neither was it dominant. It did not command entire trade routes, nor did it host ancient sects whose names carried weight across the empire. What it did possess was balance.
Yunhe City sat at the junction of several mountain roads and merchant routes. Caravans passed through it regularly, carrying goods from deeper regions toward larger trade hubs. Because of this, it had grown steadily over the years, expanding its walls, its markets, and its influence without drawing unnecessary attention.
The city was governed by a City Lord's Office, which handled law enforcement, taxation, and arbitration. The City Lord was not the strongest cultivator in the city, but he did not need to be. Authority in Yunhe City came from structure, not personal might.
What truly defined Yunhe City, however, was commerce.
Yunhe City housed branches of multiple merchant organizations, but one stood above the rest.
The Heaven Merchant Pavilion maintained a permanent presence within the city.
It was not merely a marketplace, but an institution. Its reach extended far beyond Yunhe City, spanning multiple prefectures and even crossing imperial borders. Where rare resources appeared, Heaven Merchant Pavilion followed. Where information held value, it was traded quietly behind closed doors.
Its presence elevated the city's status.
With it came higher-quality goods, better cultivation resources, and a steady influx of travelers—cultivators, mercenaries, scholars, and merchants alike.
Around it, the city grew.
Yunhe City was dense but orderly.
Wide roads cut through commercial districts where restaurants, inns, auction halls, and shops clustered tightly together. Some catered to ordinary travelers. Others dealt exclusively with cultivators, selling pills, talismans, weapons, and techniques at prices beyond the reach of common folk.
Residential areas spread outward from the city's center, layered by wealth rather than rank. Ordinary citizens lived closest to the outer walls, while influential families and organizations claimed space nearer to the core.
Law was enforced consistently, if not always fairly.
Within the city walls, open slaughter was forbidden. Disputes between cultivators were expected to be settled discreetly or taken beyond the gates. The City Lord's Office did not care who was right—only whether the city's stability was threatened.
This was not a place of peace.
But it was a place where order endured.
For most people, Yunhe City was a destination. For merchants, it was a node in a larger network. For mercenaries, a place to find work. For cultivators, a temporary foothold—rich enough to offer opportunity, restrained enough to survive in.
And for someone like Chen Ming, it was neither an end nor a beginning.
It was a point along the path.
***
The caravan entered Yunhe City.
Stone streets stretched wide beneath the wheels, worn smooth by years of traffic. Buildings rose on either side in close succession, tiled roofs overlapping in uneven layers, banners and signboards hanging from beams above shopfronts. Voices carried through the open air, merchants calling out prices, porters shouting warnings, the low, constant hum of people moving with purpose.
Some of those who had traveled with the caravan slowed their steps, heads turning despite themselves.
"So this is Yunhe City…"
"Bigger than I thought."
"Look at that street—how many shops are there?"
Chen Ming was among those seeing it for the first time.
He did not stop or turn openly, but his eyes moved, taking in the width of the roads, the density of people, the way cultivators and ordinary citizens mixed without friction. The city felt contained, regulated, its movement guided by rules that did not need to be spoken aloud.
After a short while, the caravan turned off a main road and came to a stop before an ordinary-looking building. Its exterior was unadorned, stone walls clean but plain, the sign above the entrance simple and unremarkable. Only the steady flow of goods being moved through its side entrance hinted at its purpose.
Tian Qiao stepped down from his carriage.
Drivers climbed from their seats. Guards dismounted, stretching stiff limbs, laughter breaking out now that the journey had truly ended. Members of the Iron Fang Gang slid from their horses as well, rolling shoulders and shaking out arms.
"Finally," Wu Zhen said, exhaling as he leaned back. "My bones were starting to creak."
Li Sen laughed. "That's what you get for sleeping in the saddle."
Tian Qiao raised his voice just enough to carry. "Everyone," he said, "thank you for your hard work. The Tian Merchant Company will remember this favor."
He gestured, and several pouches were brought out.
He stepped up to Gu Han and placed one into his hand. Gu Han weighed it briefly, fingers tightening around the cord. His brows furrowed.
"This is only enough for five," he said.
The others looked over at once.
Tian Qiao laughed lightly. "Sharp as always," he said. "I have some matters to discuss with younger brother Chen Ming. I'll give his share to him personally."
Gu Han considered this for a moment, then nodded. "As you wish."
Tian Qiao turned.
"Younger brother Chen Ming," he said, smiling, "why don't you come inside with me? It won't take long."
Chen Ming paused.
He glanced once at the building, then at the street beyond where the others were already beginning to talk over plans.
"Let's find a proper restaurant."
"Something hot. With meat."
"And after that…" someone said with a grin, lowering his voice, "we should celebrate properly in a brothel."
Laughter followed.
Chen Ming looked back at Tian Qiao and nodded once.
The two entered the carriage.
The curtain fell closed, muting the noise outside. As the wheels began to turn again, the voices of the others faded into the background, replaced by the steady rhythm of movement through the city streets.
The carriage bearing the horizontal strip curtains followed close behind.
Together, they moved deeper into Yunhe City.
The carriage moved smoothly through the city streets.
Inside, neither of them spoke at first.
Tian Qiao sat opposite Chen Ming, hands resting loosely on his knees, posture relaxed. His gaze drifted now and then, never lingering too long, as if he were simply appreciating the passing view beyond the curtain. Chen Ming sat upright, eyes forward, attention steady but unreadable.
After a time, Tian Qiao spoke.
"You're sharp," he said, his tone lighter than before, without calculation. "Quick-witted. You see things most people don't notice until it's too late."
Chen Ming did not respond.
Tian Qiao continued, unbothered by the silence. "My earlier proposal was made on a whim," he said. "Merchants do that sometimes. We test waters." He smiled faintly. "But I'm sincere now, you should consider working for us. The Tian Merchant Company can offer you far more than a small gang ever will."
Still, Chen Ming said nothing.
The carriage slowed.
Then it stopped.
Tian Qiao's smile widened slightly. He reached forward and pushed aside the curtain. Light flooded in, bright and clear.
He stepped down and gestured. "Come."
Chen Ming followed.
They stood before a towering structure that rose above the surrounding buildings, its presence unmistakable even among the dense streets of Yunhe City. Multiple floors stacked upward in clean lines, stone and lacquer polished to a subdued sheen. Wide stairways led to massive golden doors, their surfaces etched with restrained patterns rather than ornamentation for show.
Above them hung a broad banner, its characters bold and unadorned.
HEAVEN MERCHANT PAVILION
Chen Ming's gaze lifted slowly, tracing the height of the building.
So this is what Liu Zheng meant.
Tian Qiao laughed softly. "Now you understand why I said what I did."
He led the way forward.
The doors opened without delay. Guards stationed at the entrance straightened at once, hands moving to their chests as they bowed deeply toward Tian Qiao. Their expressions were respectful, practiced, and unquestioning.
Inside, the space opened wide.
The interior was vast but orderly, the air carrying a faint scent of incense and old wood. Counters and stairways extended into the distance, attendants moving quietly between them. Every step, every exchange, flowed with a precision born of long habit.
Tian Qiao did not slow.
He guided Chen Ming through the hall and down a side corridor, away from the open floor, until they reached a small private room. The furnishings were simple—table, chairs, a single shelf—nothing wasted, nothing excessive.
Chen Ming sat.
Tian Qiao had just turned to speak when Chen Ming interrupted him.
"I need a higher-grade cultivation technique," he said evenly. "For the Blood Refinement realm."
The words settled into the room.
Tian Qiao stopped.
For a brief moment, his expression froze, then his eyes lit up, sharp and bright, the look of a man who had found exactly what he was searching for.
He laughed once, low and pleased.
"Wait here for a moment," he said.
He turned and left the room, the door closing softly behind him.
***
The highest floor of the Heaven Merchant Pavilion was quiet.
Curtains filtered the daylight into thin, pale bands that drifted across polished wood and lacquered screens. Incense burned low in a bronze brazier, its smoke curling lazily upward before thinning and disappearing into the open air.
An old man reclined on a low palanquin near the window.
He lay on his side, one arm draped loosely along the edge, a long pipe resting between his fingers. Each slow draw sent embers glowing faintly before dimming again. His eyes were half-lidded, gaze unfocused, as if the city below were little more than background noise.
Across from him, a woman sat upright.
Her posture was composed, unyielding, hands resting neatly on her lap. Dark blue eyes reflected the dim light without warmth, deep and still like the night sky. Between her brows rested a faint flower-shaped mark, pale against her skin, neither hidden nor emphasized.
The old man exhaled.
"It's good you weren't caught," he said.
The woman gave a quiet scoff. "Hmph. As if they would have dared."
The pipe shifted as the old man adjusted his grip. "It would have given them a slight edge in negotiations," he replied, tone unhurried. "Nothing more. Still inconvenient."
Before she answered, a knock sounded at the door.
Tian Qiao entered and bowed deeply, his movements precise and practiced. He did not lift his head until permitted.
The woman's gaze shifted to him.
"There was nothing to be inferred," Tian Qiao said. "No background information. No clear origin."
She nodded once. "Mm."
"He asked for a higher-grade cultivation technique," Tian Qiao continued. "For the Blood Refinement stage."
Her eyes changed.
Without reaching into her sleeves or turning aside, a manual appeared in her hand. Its cover was plain, the pages bound tightly, unmarked by title or ornament. She extended it toward Tian Qiao.
"Give this to him."
Tian Qiao accepted it with both hands and bowed again. He did not linger.
The door closed softly behind him.
The room returned to stillness.
The old man drew from his pipe once more, then spoke without looking at her.
"Do you hold a grudge against that boy?"
The woman lifted her teacup and took a slow sip.
"Not worth it," she said. "He's just an 'idiot'."
She set the cup down carefully. "I gave him a chance. What comes of it is his own luck."
***
The restaurant's doors swung open, releasing a rush of noise and heat into the street.
Five figures stepped out together.
Their movements were loose now, shoulders lowered, faces carrying the unmistakable ease of people who had eaten well. The scent of roasted meat and wine clung to their clothes, laughter still lingering in the way they breathed and shifted.
Qiao Wen stretched his arms once and exhaled.
"Let's leave before it gets dark," he said. "Without the caravan, we should make it back pretty quickly."
Li Sen nodded. "No reason to linger."
Wu Zhen took two steps, then slowed. His expression changed slightly as something occurred to him.
"Don't we have to wait for Chen Ming?"
The street noise seemed to thin around them.
Gu Han did not answer at once. He looked ahead, then nodded once, slowly.
Zhou Kang stepped forward.
"No need," he said.
The others turned toward him at the same time.
Wu Zhen frowned. "What do you mean?"
Zhou Kang did not raise his voice. "Before we left," he said, "the boss told me this would be Chen Ming's last job with the Iron Fang Gang."
The words settled unevenly.
Li Sen blinked. Qiao Wen's brows drew together. Wu Zhen stared, the ease from his face draining away as he processed it.
"He's not coming back with us," Zhou Kang finished.
No one spoke.
For a moment, all of them stood there, facing the flow of the city without seeing it—vendors calling out, carts passing, strangers moving past without slowing.
Then, one by one, their gazes drifted inward, toward the deeper streets of Yunhe City.
Toward where Chen Ming had gone.