Muchen woke with the sun the next morning. His first day in the capital was destined to be a busy one. He needed to start digging up the information Xinyi needed, but before that he needed to manage his own affairs. His cultivation the evening before had been plagued with the empty feeling that came from neglecting his business affairs. It was a frustrating experience that only amplified the existing irritation that came from wasting a day without earning any money. Muchen had no intention of allowing the problem to linger for any longer than absolutely necessary.

Thus, his first stop for the day was at a workshop that came highly recommended by Uncle Haoyu. Muchen eventually needed to find somebody capable of making equipment for his future factory. He intended to start by testing the waters with a less technically ambitious project. The lukewarm tea he'd been served the previous day had given him the idea for a business he'd be able to carry out while he stayed in the capital.

The craftsman he spoke with had never heard of a samovar. Even when Muchen described the concept in broad outline of a large pot built around a pipe that served as a combustion chamber, there was no spark of recognition in the man's eyes. Muchen had noticed before that the Qianzhan Empire didn't show any signs of outside cultural influence. He'd never heard of any overseas trade being carried out and it was common knowledge that venturing outside of the Empire's borders was courting death. Thus, he wasn't completely surprised that this would be the first invention that he'd introduce to the Qianzhan Continent.

He would have liked to start with something more impressive, but for the moment he had to focus on what was practical.

To operate a highly regarded workshop in the capital, naturally the man Muchen was dealing with was no fool. He took but a moment to translate Muchen's vague specifications into a blueprint that looked quite similar to the device Muchen remembered from back on Earth.

He promised that it would be ready the next day, so long as Muchen was ready with five taels of silver. Not a wen less. Muchen would have liked to shop around, but he'd come to this workshop based on Uncle Haoyu's recommendation. He was hardly going to go back and trouble Uncle Haoyu again merely to gain a bit of negotiating leverage. Besides, the quicker he got his business up and running the quicker he'd become profitable and the quicker his cultivation would improve.

He took some solace from the fact that he was able to convince him to throw in a tea kettle for only a hundred wen more.

After leaving the workshop his next stop was at a nearby kiln. There he placed an order for a few dozen mugs according to their cheapest available design. The only matter that took a bit of negotiation was getting them to include his quickly sketched logo on each mug. He got them down to two wen extra per unit for the decoration, which he felt was a fair price. It was still going to be tricky to find a price that consumers would accept that would leave him with any profit, but any new business venture came with a certain amount of risk.

He was happy to take a hit to the immediate bottom line in pursuit of brand recognition. Not that it would necessarily be that important when he was only planning to be in business for a few weeks, but plans could change. Besides, it was always a good idea to follow best practices and develop good habits, even when it wasn't obvious whether it would pay off.

All in all, Muchen felt that he had spent a productive half-morning as he made his way back out to his cart. His mood was further improved when the rain stopped as he was taking his seat. It was enough to have him whistling as he drove the cart down the street, if not for the fact that he couldn't carry a tune.

“I don’t see how you’re going to serve tea properly by the side of the road,” Xinyi said, her voice sounding in his ear.

Muchen glanced from side to side to confirm that nobody was within earshot before replying. “I’ll be selling to people who want the tea but not the ceremony.”

The Qianzhan Empire was prosperous. It didn’t have what Muchen would call a prosperous middle class, but the capital at least had plenty of busy urban professionals. In his opinion, the place was ripe for a fast food revolution. Unfortunately, he’d never been much of a cook.

That was why he had decided to try to break into the less technically demanding market of caffeinated beverages. The local tea houses weren’t really designed to serve people who just wanted a cup of tea. Instead, they were set up more like the sports bars of Muchen’s previous life, as places to enjoy entertainment and perhaps some food while consuming your chosen beverage in leisurely fashion.

Setting up a stall by the side of the road involved a lot less overhead cost than running a store, but naturally precluded Muchen from offering any of the other amenities usually associated with teahouses. That was why he had decided to strip the business down to its essence and focus on providing a reasonably priced cup of tea as quickly and easily as possible.

“Leaving the ceremony aside,” Xinyi said, sounding affronted by the idea, “even just brewing tea for each customer will be difficult.”

“That’s why I started by going to the workshop,” Muchen replied. “When it’s time to do business, I’ll brew up heavily concentrated tea in a kettle that I’ll keep warm on top of the samovar. Customers will get a dollop of the concentrate and can use the hot water to dilute it down according to their tastes.”

It was a time tested method of tea service, albeit a method Muchen had brought with him from an era that was much more focused on convenience than craftsmanship. Muchen would also have liked to add a heavy dose of sweeteners in order to ensure mass appeal, but unfortunately the cost of sugar ruled that out as a viable strategy.

“That will destroy the delicate flavor of the tea,” Xinyi said.

Muchen nodded. “I can use cheaper tea leaves without sacrificing any quality.”

Xinyi grumbled something inaudible as her voice faded away. Muchen glanced to the side to confirm that her shell was still there. Ever since they’d entered the capital he hadn’t seen her move, let alone take on a human form. Whatever she was doing when she wasn’t talking to him, he got the impression that evading notice in the capital city wasn’t quite as easy as she’d made it sound. At least whatever she was doing seemed to be working. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of any of the sect forces stationed in the capital.

The sun was still rising in the sky when Muchen arrived at his next destination.

The Golden Mountain Pavillion was the largest pawn shop in the city. Muchen had decided to stop by to see if he could pick up any bargains for resale in the countryside. He’d found himself stuck when trying to figure out what cargo to take with him when he left the capital. After all, the underlying formula for his business was to buy low and sell high. The problem was that the capital was an enormous consumer, driving prices through the roof. Lacking any better ideas, Muchen had decided to try his luck.

The pawn shop wasn’t quite what he was expecting from his experiences back on Earth. The most obvious change was that there were no electric guitars on display. More subtly, the entire shop was much more high end than he’d been expecting. Tasteful decoration combined with the managing clerk’s elegant clothing to create an atmosphere that he would have associated more with a jewelry store than a pawn shop.

On reflection, he shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, the pawn shop only dealt in items that were reasonably portable and also reasonably valuable. Most peasant families wouldn’t have anything worth the pawn shop’s time. The primary clientele would be more in the nature of wealthy people having cash flow problems rather than the truly desperate.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Which was nice as far as just taking a stroll around the shop went, but it left Muchen with a business dilemma. There was plenty of high quality jewelry on display, but they carried correspondingly hefty price tags. The same went for the book collection stored against the far wall as well as the elegantly carved furniture that had been marked as for sale. There were plenty of things worth owning, but nothing that he could load onto his cart with any expectation of selling it for a profit.

He was struck by an idea when he turned a corner and saw several bolts of high-quality fabric set out on display. In theory he could have the fabric made into clothing and try to profit from the added value, but if it was possible he’d prefer to cut out the middleman. He turned to the store clerk who had been following attentively at a polite distance.

“Do you have any clothing for sale?”

“Most of our clients prefer not to consider second hand clothing,” the clerk said, before gesturing to the back of the store, “but if you would like to take a look, we do have a few items in storage.”

Muchen nodded, then followed the clerk as he led the way to a storeroom. The upper class of the Qianzhan Empire observed a taboo against wearing used clothing. The wealthy who wanted to be part of the upper class observed the same prohibition. Once you slid down the social scale a bit and moved away from the capital city, though, practicality often outweighed fussy social expectations.

The back room was surprisingly well laid out.

A selection of clothing was arranged along a rack that carried on down the length of the far wall. Islands of shelves dotted the room, all neatly organized. The whole thing felt more like an extension of the display area rather than a storage area. Only the less opulent decorations made it clear that he had left the main area of the store. Muchen supposed that this was a place for merchandise targeted at less high end clientele.

That was fine. He was happy to accept a less luxurious shopping experience if it would let him knock a few wen off the price. As he browsed through the clothing on display, though, he did notice a problem. Everything was too ordinary. After seeing the bolts of silk and lace for sale in the main area of the shop, he’d been expecting to see similar finery in the finished clothing that was for sale. Instead, he found himself presented with perfectly serviceable clothing for ordinary people. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but Muchen didn’t think there would be much profit to be had on such things.

The clerk must have noticed the disappointment in his expression. “Wealthy families generally burn their clothing when it can’t be used any more.”

Muchen nodded. Of course. Just as it was taboo to wear clothing that had been worn by someone else, it was embarrassing to have others wear clothes that you once wore. Big families naturally valued their pride more than a few taels of silver.

Muchen kept working his way down the display rack, unwilling to let go of the possibility of a bargain. He hit the jackpot when he reached the far corner of the room: over a dozen dresses, made of fine materials with excellent craftsmanship that was obvious even to Muchen’s eye. Muchen didn’t understand how something like this hadn’t been sold yet, not to mention how odd it was that they had come into the pawn shop’s possession in the first place. He looked at the clerk for an explanation.

“These dresses belonged to the personal maids of the young lady of the Long family,” the clerk explained. “They were sold to us by a family servant several days before the Emperor’s troops sealed the family compound and arrested everyone inside.”

Muchen looked at the dresses again. Nobody would want to buy clothing that came attached to such an inauspicious story. The dresses themselves were innocent, though. If he could take them to somewhere that had no idea of the tragic story behind them, he ought to be able to sell them for a pretty penny.

Assuming he wouldn’t get in trouble with the Emperor for buying them in the first place, of course.

“What happened with the Long family, exactly?” Muchen asked. He’d heard the name before, and vaguely recognized it as one of the highest noble houses in the Qianzhan Empire. He hadn’t heard anything about this mass arrest, though.

“The Long family had long been in decline,” the clerk said. “Their great hope was the young master, a core disciple at the Clear Lake sect. He died on the battlefield two months ago.”

Muchen nodded to show that he was following along and waited for the clerk to continue his story. For his part, the clerk seemed to be done speaking. Muchen just waited, maintaining eye contact and keeping a placid but slightly vacant smile on his face.

The clerk cleared his throat. “It was only a few days later that rumors began to circulate. A few more days after that, the entire family was arrested for treason.”

Muchen frowned, looking at the dresses with new eyes. Buying them would be more dangerous than he had expected. Still, as long as he made sure to keep them tucked away deep in his cart until he had traveled far away from the capital, he thought it was an acceptable level of risk.

As for the Long family, he felt some sympathy for their plight, but that was it. If he had the power, he would have liked to put in place a more equitable set of political institutions, but unfortunately whatever entity had transported him to the Qianzhan Continent hadn’t seen fit to reincarnate him into the role of god-king. As a simple merchant, there wasn’t much he could do about the political battles between the big families other than keeping himself out of the way.

Besides, he was sure that the Long family had accumulated plenty of blood on their hands over the years. Every major family in the Empire had built its foundation on the basis of power, power that was demonstrated in the creation of piles of corpses. It was unfortunate for the current generation that the bill had come due during their lifetimes, but for all Muchen knew, the family’s downfall was the natural result of their accumulation of bad karma.

“How much for the lot?” Muchen asked.

An honest grin flitted across the clerk’s face, there and gone in an instant as he settled into the mien of an impersonal negotiator. “Each dress would have cost dozens of taels to create in material cost alone, not to mention the skilled labor. For fifteen dresses of this quality, a hundred taels is a more than reasonable price.”

Muchen chuckled, shaking his head. “Fabric that can’t be reused now that it has been turned into clothing for a traitorous family. Giving you ten taels for the lot would be generous.”

No doubt the dresses were expensive when they were new. Their price now, though, was based on the market for secondhand clothes. That was already anemic even before you took into account the fact that the clothes had belonged to a bunch of traitors.

“It’s a pleasure to discuss matters with a capable businessman,” the clerk said, “but the store still has to turn a profit. I could perhaps see clear to part with the collection in exchange for fifty taels.”

He was getting close to a price that Muchen could accept. The key to making a profit on a transaction involving goods from the capital was to buy something that could be sold as an entirely different good outside of the capital. That is, in the capital these were servant’s dresses. Fit for high end servants, yes, but no more than that. Out in a second or third tier city, though, these dresses were high fashion. Muchen figured he could probably sell each individual piece for around five taels provided that he found the right social climbing merchant to sell them to.

Of course, that was only an estimate. And finding the right customer for each dress would involve a lot of legwork on his part. Muchen had to leave himself a reasonable profit as well as a bit of a margin for error.

“Fifteen taels,” Muchen said. “I’ll not insult you by asking how much you paid, but I’m confident you’ll still make a profit.”

He could picture the scene when the servant of a condemned family walked in the door of a pawn shop with whatever valuable property they could get their hands on, eager to get ready cash before the government closed in. There was no way that the shopkeeper had given them anything like a tael of silver per dress.

“Twenty,” the clerk said, before sighing. “It wouldn’t have been enough to buy even one of these dresses new.”

“Yes, but they aren’t new,” Muchen said, cocking his head as he did the mental math. He’d make back his money so long as he sold four of the dresses at his target price, leaving the rest as pure profit. It was the biggest opportunity he’d come across since the spirit rice. “Twenty taels, then.”

The clerk wasted no time fetching out a scale and weighing Muchen’s silver. The dresses he’d bought were packed up and loaded on his cart in less time than it would take for a stick of incense to burn down. Muchen was a little rueful at the clerk’s obvious joy—clearly he should have squeezed a few more taels off the price—but comforted himself with thoughts of the profit to come in the future.

He’d done what he could to set up the business he’d carry out while he was in the capital. He’d arranged the cargo he’d carry on his way out of the capital. It was time to start digging for information.

The capital was an amazing city, boasting all of the amenities the Qianzhan Empire had to offer. Unfortunately, that didn’t include a public library. Muchen would have to get a little creative to find the information he was after. His first stop was the Thousand Treasures Hall.