Feng clan didn’t wait for sunset.
Xu Tianlong was still in the training hall, rolling the scroll between his fingers, when the guard burst through the door a second time. The man’s face was pale, his breathing ragged.
"Young Master, they’re here. Feng Zhao and Feng something, the one with the scar. Ten guards. They’re demanding to see the Patriarch."
’Already. They didn’t even give us until sundown.’
"Where’s my father?"
"In his chambers, Young Master. The poison’s damage, he hasn’t fully recovered. The physician says he shouldn’t—"
"I’ll handle it."
The guard stared at him. "Young Master... with respect... these are Feng clan elders. Not messengers. If we refuse them—"
"I’m not going to refuse them." Xu Tianlong tucked the scroll into his sleeve and walked past the guard. "I’m going to negotiate."
Qing’er hurried after him, her wooden sandals clacking against the stone. "Young Master, wait. You can’t just...they have swords. Ten of them. What if they—"
"Qing’er."
She stopped, breathless.
"Trust me."
She stared at him, her round eyes still red from earlier tears. Then, slowly, she nodded.
Xu Tianlong strode across the courtyard toward the main hall. The compound was quiet, too quiet. Servants had vanished. Guards had found reasons to be elsewhere. Even the blacksmith’s hammer had stopped. The Xu clan had been beaten down for so long that its members had learned to hide at the first sign of trouble.
’That ends today.’
He pushed open the main hall doors.
Ten Feng guards stood in formation in the courtyard, their armor lacquered in crimson and black. They were professional soldiers, not the kind of hired muscle that bullied merchants, but actual cultivators. Body Tempering, Layers 4 through 6. The Xu clan had perhaps three guards of comparable strength, and all of them were conveniently absent.
At the head of the delegation stood two men. The first was round and sweating, his expensive silk robes straining against a belly that spoke to years of taxing peasants. The second was lean and sharp, with a scar cutting through his left eyebrow and a sword at his hip that had seen actual combat.
Feng Zhao. The body’s memory supplied the name reluctantly, a third uncle of the Feng clan, notorious for his greed. The scarred one was Feng Liang, a cousin who’d earned his position through violence rather than birth.
"Young Master Xu." Feng Zhao’s voice was oily, performative. "We expected the Patriarch."
"The Patriarch is indisposed." Xu Tianlong stopped at the center of the hall, directly facing the delegation. He didn’t bow. Didn’t offer tea. Didn’t pretend at hospitality. "You’ll deal with me."
Feng Liang’s scarred eyebrow twitched. "You. The cripple."
"I was poisoned. There’s a difference." Xu Tianlong met the man’s eyes without flinching. "I’m told the effects are temporary. Unfortunate for whoever arranged it."
Silence.
Feng Zhao cleared his throat. "We’re here about the eastern mining rights. Your clan’s debts to the Feng family have remained unpaid for six months."
"I’m aware." Xu Tianlong produced the scroll from his sleeve. "I’ve reviewed your terms. The interest rate is 40 percent. The Merchant Guild caps usury at 15. Your contract is illegal."
Feng Zhao’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"That’s not..the terms were agreed upon by the previous—"
"The previous Patriarch was desperate. You took advantage." Xu Tianlong unrolled the scroll and began reading aloud. "~In the event of default, the debtor shall surrender all mining rights in perpetuity, regardless of original debt value.~ That’s not a loan. That’s a seizure."
"We’re not here to debate contract law," Feng Liang cut in. His hand moved toward his sword. "We’re here to collect. Sign the transfer, or—"
"Or what?" Xu Tianlong looked up from the scroll. "You’ll attack me? Here? In the main hall of the Xu compound, with the City Lord’s patrols passing our gates every hour? You’ll cut down an unarmed man in front of witnesses?"
Feng Liang’s grip tightened on his sword. But he didn’t draw.
"Let me explain what happens if you try," Xu Tianlong continued. His voice was calm. Conversational. The tone of a man discussing weather patterns. "First, you kill me. That’s easy enough, ten against one, I’m sure you’d manage. Then you force my father to sign the transfer at sword point. The mining rights become yours."
He paused.
"Then the City Lord’s investigators arrive. They find a murdered young master and a coerced contract. They find a debt with illegal interest rates. They find a clan that’s been systematically dismantling its rivals through assassination and extortion. And they find witnesses, servants, guards, merchants, who saw everything."
"There are no witnesses," Feng Zhao said. "Your servants have all fled."
"They’ve fled the hall. They haven’t fled the compound." Xu Tianlong gestured at the windows. "You think they’re not watching? You think they’re not listening? Every one of them is a witness. Every one of them has family in this city. And every one of them will talk."
The ten guards shifted uneasily. One of them glanced at the windows.
"Now let me explain what happens if you leave," Xu Tianlong said. "You go back to your Patriarch. You tell him the Xu clan requests one week to review the contracts. One week to verify the debts. One week to determine whether any of your terms are actually enforceable. And during that week—" He smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile. "I’ll be investigating the attempt on my life. Quietly. Privately. If I find nothing, we negotiate. If I find evidence linking your clan to the poison..."
He let the sentence hang.
Feng Zhao’s face had gone from red to pale. The sweat on his forehead was no longer from the summer heat.
Feng Liang’s jaw was tight. "You’re bluffing."
"Am I?" Xu Tianlong took a step closer to the scarred man. Close enough to see the pulse jumping in his throat. "You’re the enforcer. You solve problems with steel. But this isn’t a problem you can cut. Kill me, and you create a martyr. Threaten me, and you create a witness. Walk away, and you create time. Time I’ll use to dismantle your clan piece by piece."
He leaned in. Lowered his voice.
"Take the week."
A long silence.
Then Feng Zhao grabbed Feng Liang’s arm. "We’ll convey your request to the Patriarch."
"It’s not a request."
Feng Zhao’s mouth worked soundlessly. Then he turned and fled, his rotund body moving faster than seemed possible. Feng Liang lingered a moment longer, his scarred face unreadable, his hand still on his sword, before following. The ten guards filed out behind them, their earlier swagger replaced by something tighter. Something that looked almost like fear.
The gates slammed shut.
Xu Tianlong stood alone in the main hall. His heart was pounding. His palms were damp. But none of it had shown. The old Xu Tianlong would have collapsed under that pressure. Would have stammered and begged and signed whatever they put in front of him.
’Not anymore.’
He looked up.
And saw her.
Lin Yueyao stood on the upper balcony, half-hidden behind a wooden pillar. She must have come down from her pavilion when she heard the commotion. Her dark amber eyes were fixed on him, unblinking. The white streak at her temple gleamed in the dusty light.
She’d seen everything.
He met her gaze. The old Xu Tianlong would have looked away. He didn’t. Neither did she.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Then her lips, those cold, precise lips that had called his survival a pity, parted slightly. Her teeth caught her lower lip. Pressed down. A tiny gesture. Almost unconscious. The kind of gesture a woman made when she was thinking about something she didn’t want to think about.
She released it. The flesh was redder where she’d bitten.
Then she turned and vanished behind the pillar.
Xu Tianlong stared at the empty balcony long after her footsteps had faded.
’Interesting.’
He’d faced down ten armed men and two Feng elders without flinching. But it was Lin Yueyao’s bitten lip that stayed with him. That image, the ice beauty, the woman who’d rather see him dead, pressing her own lip between her teeth while she watched him, was worth more than any contract.
She wasn’t just curious anymore.
She was starting to want him.
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