There was an absolutely ridiculous amount of ribbons. Qian Shanyi had never seen that many. It was, frankly, obscene.

“This is jiuweihu fashion?” she said, running her hand over the outcome of Linghui Mei’s work. Her long hair, one she took more than a little pride in, was now entirely woven into a hundred thin braids, with a decorative ribbon every five centimeters, cut from all sorts of fabric scraps and bits of canvas they had lying around. Mostly the canvas, the same one they used to cover the windows, rough and thick. There were so many that she actually felt their weight, pulling gently on her hair. “I don’t want to be insensitive, but…”

“You look great,” Wang Yonghao said with a grin. “Like one of the trees they decorate for the ghost festivals.”

Qian Shanyi made a rude gesture in his direction, even if he was absolutely correct. At least it made him laugh.

“Her hair is too long,” Linghui Mei grumbled. Her own was braided as well, but only extended down to her mid-back. “Of course it looks silly when it’s this long, and without the dress, and this canvas is too rough and thick…” She sighed. “Ribbons are for children, but that’s all I have to work with right now.”

With some prodding, Linghui Mei admitted that the ribbons she braided into Qian Shanyi’s hair were a part of traditional jiuweihu attire - and apparently, the dress was supposed to have even more ribbons on it. Qian Shanyi really wasn’t sure if that would make it any better. Linghui Mei didn’t have time to sew the dress - but she did tie some to the sleeves of both of their robes.

“Then what do the adults wear, if not ribbons?” Qian Shanyi asked curiously.

“Namestones,” Linghui Mei said curtly. “I don’t carry any of mine and you weren’t granted any. Stop moving around, I have to tie all the braids together.”

“With another ribbon?”

“No, a living snake.”

“I think I would prefer the snake.”

“Then catch it yourself.” Linghui Mei flicked Qian Shanyi on the forehead. “Now stop moving.”

Qian Shanyi did as instructed. Linghui Mei had promised them she would dance and sing some traditional jiuweihu songs - and Qian Shanyi let herself be convinced to try dressing the part. She was more than grateful for the offer, and for the openness it signified, even if the fashion itself was definitely not her style.

Linghui Mei tied the braids together into one ponytail with a complex bow, and stepped away, giving Qian Shanyi a critical look. ”This is as good as it’s going to get,” she said, pursing her lips.

“How do I look?” Qian Shanyi said, twirling around. The speed of it made all the long braids spread out in an enormous cone, and Wang Yonghao burst out laughing again. She’d definitely have to unbraid her hair before she went out, or the whole town would be laughing like that.

“If you were my child, I’d sooner eat my own heart than show you to the others,” Linghui Mei said. “These ribbons are terrible. But since you are not jiuweihu, it would do.” She sighed, rubbing her face in exhaustion. Simply braiding the hair took her a good hour of work. “It’s not like you would be dancing, either.”

“You sound worried,” Qian Shanyi said, picking up her beaker of spirit wine again, now that she was free to move.

“I’ve never danced for an audience before,” Linghui Mei said tersely. “With children, I hold them in my hands. With adults, we all dance together. This is new.”

“You could hold me up with your tails, if you’d like?” Qian Shanyi suggested. “You are clearly strong enough.”

Linghui Mei blushed slightly. “I would unbalance and fall on my face,” she said after a brief pause.

Qian Shanyi arched an eyebrow at that curious reaction. “Perhaps a bit of wine, to help with your courage?” she said, coming closer, and gesturing with her beaker. Wang Yonghao bought three bottles, and they were already on their second. “You can drink wine, right?”

Linghui Mei gave the beaker a wary look. “I can drink normal wine. Not whatever you cultivators drink.”

“Oh,” Wang Yonghao said, looking a bit guilty. “I should have asked…”

“Mhhm,” Qian Shanyi hummed. “It should be safe enough. Most of the ingredients are very similar, and it’s generally made to bypass species barriers. Here, take a sip.”

Qian Shanyi stepped over to Linghui Mei and put a hand on her shoulder, bringing the beaker to Linghui Mei’s lips. The jiuweihu made a strangled, surprised noise, but didn’t back away, only grasping the beaker with one hand for stability. When the wine touched her lips, her eyes widened, and she gulped it greedily, like water from the freshest spring after a week out in a desert.

“That’s enough for today.” Qian Shanyi smirked, suddenly pulling the beaker away.

For a moment, Linghui Mei tried to lean after it, but stopped herself, and jerked back. “It’s -” She coughed, wiping her lips. Her cheeks flushed brightly, and she closed her eyes for a moment, steadying herself. “Oh Heavens, that’s very strong. But - the taste -”

“That’s the infused spiritual energy,” Qian Shanyi said, taking a sip herself. “At least partly. Seeing as how you already feed on it, I figured you would have liked it. Best not overdo it, while you are new to it.”

Qian Shanyi frankly suspected that Linghui Mei was malnutritioned, at least in terms of her soul. Unsurprising, really, if she had to stretch every feeding as far as she could manage. The signs of it were subtle enough, but Qian Shanyi felt she was slowly improving, just from being in Wang Yonghao’s inner world and eating much more regularly.

Qian Shanyi sat down, leaning against the small hill of raised earth around their bath. Wang Yonghao sat down next to her. “Are you good to dance?” she asked Linghui Mei. “Or did I already give you too much?”

“No - it’s fine.” Linghui Mei coughed again. Her blush wasn’t fading, and she grimaced slightly. “How do you two drink this straight?”

“Ample experience,” Qian Shanyi and Wang Yonghao said at the same time.

Linghui Mei rolled her eyes at them, smiled, and started to stretch her arms and legs, humming a little tune. “Do cultivators ever dance?” she asked suddenly with casual mirth, “or are you truly barbarians with no culture, unlike us great jiuweihu?”

“I know the Seven Flowers Bloom, of course,” Qian Shanyi said, with just a hint of frustration in her voice. “It’s the dance my first cultivation law was named after. But dancing has never been my forte.”

“Oh, I know that one!” Wang Yonghao said in surprise. “Or at least, I heard of it several times,” he clarified, when Qian Shanyi gave him an incredulous look at his admission of knowing a dance made for women. “It’s pretty popular among the women, isn’t it? But if you don’t like dancing - why didn’t you just choose another law?”

“What other law?” Qian Shanyi sighed. “You think everyone has a choice of what law to pick, like you? You heard of it because it is simply one of the most widespread. It was developed by the empire back in the day, and is licensed to the sects, for a hefty price.” Qian Shanyi gestured with her beaker dismissively. “The only reason most of them pay at all is that now, a sect is required to have some law for all their disciples - and so if they want to recruit women, they have to pay. Some other sects have their own, more advanced laws, and the imperial institutions do as well - but for most women in the empire, it’s either that, or Fundamental Recirculation, which is even worse.”

“Oh,” Wang Yonghao trailed off awkwardly. “Sorry.”

“It is what it is,” Qian Shanyi said neutrally. “Not much I could do about it on my own.”

Quick movement pulled Qian Shanyi’s attention back to Linghui Mei. She honestly couldn’t tell when the jiuweihu stopped stretching and started dancing - there was no transition, no warning, she simply kept moving faster and faster, twirling her tails around, until she was dancing in full. Her tune transformed as well, words of an unknown language slipping into it, the tempo growing, changing, evolving, and soon it was a true song that spread all across the whole world fragment.

Even if Qian Shanyi could not understand the words, she could still feel the raw emotion in them. Tragic, at first, with Linghui Mei just on the edge of crying - but then it changed, the sun coming out after a long storm, the glint of teeth like rays of sunshine. A song of triumph, or restoration.

The words of it were sharp, guttural - yet in the song, they flowed together like a mountain river, powerful and unstoppable. Qian Shanyi felt herself drawn into their vortex, dragged under the waves and carried along, as Linghui Mei spun and spun and the ribbons twisted through the air. Their flow was so hypnotic she simply couldn’t tear her eyes away.

But then, they were past it - and Linghui Mei started to slow down, her song petering out, and vanishing into nothing, leaving behind only an aching silence.

“That was beautiful,” Qian Shanyi admitted, giving a little applause. Wang Yonghao joined her as well, though his eyes looked distant.

Even the ribbons looked much better with the spinning style of dance. Perhaps she judged them too harshly.

“Thank you,” Linghui Mei preened, giving the two of them a short bow. Her blush from the wine started to fade after the exertion of the dance, and she still seemed to be solid on her feet, despite all that spinning.

“What was the song about?” Qian Shanyi asked.

“It’s the tale of how the goddess Nuwa created the first jiuweihu to help her repair the Heavens after the despi - um.” Linghui Mei stopped herself, and coughed guiltily. “After the cultivators broke them and caused all manners of catastrophe. The jiuweihu helped her find and smelt the five-colored stones to fix the world.”

“Despicable cultivators, you mean?” Qian Shanyi snorted. “You don’t need to be shy. We have similar legends as well - the catastrophe you refer to was likely Gu Lingtian’s rebellion, though we tell them differently. Nuwa may be a fairly peaceful celestial, but she is still, ultimately, a celestial.”

“It’s a karmist legend, isn’t it?” Wang Yonghao said, frowning slightly, then made a gesture in the air. “Not the jiuweihu part, the repair. Or at least, I think they have a very similar one. I heard it before, and - hm.” He scratched his head. “I think I’ve also heard this song before?”

“You liar!” Linghui Mei blanched. “This - you couldn’t have.”

“I mean, I can’t be sure,” he said uncertainly. “But yeah, I think I have. It was - uh. Not far from the Five Sealed Hills region. I think it was… Crimson Cliff Catacombs? They had a small celebration I got invited to, and there was some dancing.”

Qian Shanyi raised an eyebrow at Wang Yonghao. “I don’t recall you mentioning that sect.”

Wang Yonghao sighed. “I forgot, okay? But the song reminded me.”

Of course you did.

“A cultivator sect?” Linghui Mei’s tone rose again. She clutched the side of her robes, fingers growing white. Her voice cracked a bit. “You liar! How could they know our songs?”

Qian Shanyi gave Linghui Mei a long look. She seemed so vulnerable. If the last of her culture - carefully preserved through the centuries - would be taken, what else would she even have left? “Mei, I know this is painful, but please think this through carefully,” Qian Shanyi said patiently. “The jiuweihu lords lived a long time ago, but it’s not ancient history. It would be completely natural for some sect to come into possession of their books, or other records. Perhaps they simply learned the dance from there.”

Linghui Mei looked away. Her lips trembled a bit. “Thieves and graverobbers. Of course.”

“Yes, thieves, but that doesn’t make Yonghao a liar.”

Linghui Mei was silent for a while. Finally, she sniffed, and wiped a small tear from the corner of her eye. “Fine. I am sorry.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Wang Yonghao said, waving her off. He looked more shocked at Linghui Mei’s reaction than at the accusation, really.

Still, this revelation worried Qian Shanyi a bit. Did it mean that there was more to the link between Wang Yonghao and the jiuweihu, or was it simply down to him having been all over the empire, and having seen almost everything there was to see? Was this a sneaky trap built just for them, or was it a statistical inevitability that Wang Yonghao would happen to know at least some obscure fact relevant to pretty much any species?

“We could visit them, see if they have something we can learn,” Qian Shanyi continued, deciding to give a bit of a positive spin to the topic. She’d think of wherever it was a true trap later. “Play at being scholars of the jiuweihu ourselves. Stolen or not, if I am right, they would have some information that you lack, Mei.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Wang Yonghao grimace as if she just made him swallow an entire lemon. “I’d rather we didn’t,” he said, “I didn’t - uh. We didn’t part on good terms.”

Oh sweet mercy, what now?

Qian Shanyi met his eyes calmly. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” Wang Yonghao burst out, guilt written plain on his face.

Qian Shanyi just kept her gaze steady, slowly arching one eyebrow, higher and higher, until finally Wang Yonghao just couldn’t take it anymore. “Look,” he began, “I think they tried to get me to join, and one thing led to another, I thought they were too creepy and decided to leave. On the way out I must have taken the wrong turn and ended up in this underground complex - lots of tunnels - ran through it, and I guess they thought I was a thief. We got into a fight, I won, and then fled for my life - but when I checked my pockets later, there was this really creepy black book, black-red fog coming off it and everything. Must have slipped in during all the fighting in their library, so maybe they weren’t completely wrong in the end.”

Qian Shanyi stared at Wang Yonghao incredulously. She wasn’t even sure where to begin. He squirmed under her gaze, but stayed silent.

She decided to start simple. “There was no such book in your inner world,” she said, “What happened to it?”

“I threw it in a lake, I think.”

Nevermind, nothing that involved this man could ever be simple. “A lake.”

Wang Yonghao shrugged guiltily. “Yes? I wasn’t going to keep it around.”

“Which lake?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember.” Qian Shanyi rubbed her nose in frustration. “You threw a no doubt priceless manual. Into a lake. And you don’t even remember which?”

“Look, I guess you just had to be there,” Wang Yonghao said, and turned away. “It was probably full of demonic techniques in the first place.”

“Faultless logic,” Qian Shanyi deadpanned.

Though perhaps he wasn’t entirely wrong. Qian Shanyi was still puzzled by the fact that despite some of Wang Yonghao’s escapades, he remained largely unknown throughout the empire. If the manual was legitimate, the theft would have been a serious matter - the sect should have reported it to the spirit hunters, at the very least. But if the “stolen” manual itself was illegal - well, that was a different matter entirely.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Whatever the case may be, it seems we really can’t have you showing up in their city,” Qian Shanyi finally admitted. “Perhaps me and Mei could still take a short detour there - Five Sealed Hills should be close enough to where we would be heading, as soon as we leave this town.”

“And where is that?” Linghui Mei asked curiously. Wang Yonghao’s explanation gave her some time to calm down, especially since she didn’t have the context to truly feel the absurdity of what he just said.

“Right, we never told you,” Qian Shanyi said, snapping her fingers. “Jade Heavenly Peak, out in the lands of the Solar Whirligig. Unless you would mind? We planned this before you really entered the picture.”

“No, it’s fine,” Linghui Mei said, coming over to sit next to them. “I don’t… have to be anywhere in particular for a good while.”

“Excellent.” Qian Shanyi grinned. “Then Jade Heavenly Peak it is.” She turned to Wang Yonghao. “Remind me, how do you know the name? You said the entire compound was in ruins.”

“I called it that because it’s in ruins,” Wang Yonghao responded. “All the ancient mountaintop ruins are called that in the empire, followed by a number. If it’s in the plains, it’s Lush Valley, forests are Gardens, and so on.”

“Interesting.” Qian Shanyi said. “I didn’t know this.”

She had read a fair share of history, but applied archaeology always felt a bit too… backwards-looking for her tastes.

Wang Yonghao shrugged. “It’s not really relevant to anyone except the archaeologists working on those ruins. I run into them a fair amount, so the names come up, and I guess the idea got stuck in my head, even if this one is outside the empire.”

“Solar Whirligig used to be outside the empire,” Qian Shanyi corrected Wang Yonghao automatically. “They joined… A couple years ago, I think. I remember hearing about it - another decade, and they’d be a full province.”

Wang Yonghao shrugged, completely indifferent to all the weight of what that represented. Perhaps she’d talk his ears off later, if she ever found the time. “In any case,” he continued, “it’s this ancient sect compound up in the mountains, with all sorts of Heavenly iconography. I was there only briefly because of another teleportation mishap, but I remember seeing a lot of lu symbols, and a fair amount of bats.”

Qian Shanyi nodded. “Symbol of divination and luck,” she explained to Linghui Mei, “Bats are also associated with it. And even if the compound itself does not hold a lot of secrets, the towns around it might. Old books, secrets passed down from father to son. As good a place to start as any, if we are to find the source of Wang Yonghao’s luck. That they have only recently joined the empire should even give us a bit of cover - all sorts of other scholars and builders would be flocking to the region.”

She took another sip of the wine, and offered the beaker to Linghui Mei, who refused it. Jiuweihu’s forehead was creased with a puzzled frown. “I don’t…” Linghui Mei sighed. “I don’t understand. Why do the two of you even want cover from the empire?”

Qian Shanyi raised her eyebrows in surprise. “I wouldn’t have expected you of all people to ask this.”

Frankly, even just a short while ago, she wouldn’t have expected Linghui Mei to ask anything at all. Encouraging, that she was finally starting to do so more regularly.

Linghui Mei scowled at her, ignorant of the compliments Qian Shanyi was making within the safety of her own mind. “I want nothing to do with that gang of butchers!” she growled, before sighing, her expression relaxing. “But you are not me. I know you still trust your empire… So why don’t you go to them for help?”

Wang Yonghao laughed. “Because I don’t want to be cut up, like a frog in anatomy class?”

Qian Shanyi rolled her eyes at him. “You are exaggerating, Yonghao,” she said, “The empire would want to study you, yes, but forcing you is plain inefficient. No, I’d expect them to offer you a handsome salary instead, keep you on their side through gifts.”

“Yeah right.” Wang Yonghao laughed. “As if I’d believe they would be that gracious. Plenty of horrors in their coffers.”

“That’s just conjecture. Unless you have been to an imperial research facility?”

Wang Yonghao shook his head. “Not a running one. A half-collapsed one though, yeah, I’ve seen that. Gruesome stuff.”

“From which era?” Qian Shanyi asked, growing more and more irritated by the second.

“How should I know from which era? And what does it matter, anyways?”

“Because the empire changes, you idiot,” Qian Shanyi snapped. “Back at the start of Zhang’s reign, a Shui Gui couldn’t even walk into town without being slaughtered. What matters is what the empire would do to you today, not what it would have done two centuries ago.”

“And how do you even know it changed in this respect?” Wang Yonghao said, crossing his arms on his chest. “Been to those secret facilities yourself?”

Qian Shanyi pursed her lips. “There’d be signs, if it didn’t.” she said, but even she herself didn’t feel that that argument was all that convincing.

“Alright, sure, say it changed,” Wang Yonghao continued, nodding along. “Is the empire just going to forget all the shit I’ve been involved in for the past two decades?”

Qian Shanyi opened her mouth to respond, then immediately closed it, running over what she knew of Wang Yonghao’s life, with big error margins for his terrible memory. “You would probably get amnesty for… most of it?” she said slowly. “At least, as long as they get to look at your luck and figure out how it ticks.”

“And what if it doesn’t tick?” Wang Yonghao immediately asked. “It’s not like I can snap my fingers and call it to action. It just happens. What if it stops happening, because the Heavens turn the luck faucet off as soon as I go to the empire? Do I just lie down and quietly accept my death then?” He shook his head. “You are hiding from a spirit hunter yourself, but you still trust them to be good?”

“My sect sent him, not the empire.”

“Sure. But the empire will still let him drag you away, won't it?”

Qian Shanyi’s thoughts turned back to Lan Yu, the postmaster of Xiaohongshan, and the help she got in the end. “The empire and the sects are not as friendly as you imagine,” Qian Shanyi said tersely, “and this is a complex situation.”

Wang Yonghao shook his head. “Yeah, I’d rather stick it out on our own.”

Qian Shanyi sighed. Best to drop this line of argument. “I agree that you should, even if our reasons for it are different.”

Wang Yonghao gave her an incredulous look. “You sounded so sure that I should do it a minute ago. What changed?”

“Nothing.” Qian Shanyi snorted, finding her footing again. “I am just saying the empire isn’t necessarily the one you should be concerned about.” She paused, thinking over how to phrase her vague instincts. “I am worried you might be bait.”

“Bait?” Another, equally incredulous look. “For who?”

“The empire.” Qian Shanyi said, “Look, take those research facilities again, reinforced against all manner of threats. Suppose you were the Heavens, and you wanted to blow such a facility up. How would you go about it?”

Wang Yonghao swallowed. He looked down on his chest, and patted around with one hand, making sure that everything was still in place. “You are saying I am… A bomb, or something?” he said cautiously, “As soon as I am inside, my soul will detonate, or even worse?”

Qian Shanyi shrugged. “I am saying I don’t know, but it’s possible. The empire is built to do the obvious thing first and foremost, without deviation. It’s consistent, but also rigid, predictable.” She sipped her wine again. “Think of it like this: if you knew that your opponent in shatranj would always choose a move that captured your piece when given the chance, could you set a trap for them?”

Wang Yonghao nodded immediately. “Yeah. Pretty easily, actually.”

“That’s what I mean,” Qian Shanyi said, gesturing towards him. “Your luck, your inner world - either of those are perfect, irresistible bait. This doesn’t mean they are - but it means there is a chance, and I would advise you not to risk it, at least until we know better.”

Wang Yonghao nodded, though she could tell that the possibility he was some kind of weapon unnerved him greatly. Not so much that he couldn’t get over it, with any hope.

“I see,” Linghui Mei said neutrally, once no further clarifications seemed to be coming. But her frown did not go away.

“You look like you have another question.”

Linghui Mei nodded again. “You said we would be leaving. How soon?”

“Within a week at most. Staying here any longer is too dangerous, with the spirit hunter on my trail.”

Linghui Mei nodded grimly. Perhaps that was what she wanted to ask all along. “So why not leave now?”

“Because he’d catch us,” Qian Shanyi explained. “We first need to create an opportunity - some distance between us, a distraction, something I could use to slip through his grip. But we are on the clock. For now, he can’t accuse me directly, because I am under Jian Wei’s protection. He needs evidence - and ultimately, there is one form of evidence I could not argue against.”

Qian Shanyi considered going to get her map of the region, but she felt too lazy. Instead, she waved her hand in the air, and circulated the Crushing Glance of the Netherworld Eyes, making a crude approximation of the map appear in mid air.

“We are about twelve days away from Golden Rabbit Bay by ship,” she said, gesturing to it. “If he sent a letter to my sect, informing them of where I am, then in perhaps fifteen days or so one of my Elders might fly over here, and could personally testify that I am indeed their disciple. Before they arrive, I need to be already gone. That’s our hard limit. To be on the safe side, we have at most a week to guarantee we can get away, even with Fang Jiugui and Wang Yonghao’s luck working against us.”

Linghui Mei nodded in understanding. She didn’t seem to relax so much as settle in a different state of worry - one of background concentration instead of acute anxiety. A familiar transformation to Qian Shanyi, to be sure.

Qian Shanyi slid further down on the grass, laying down instead of sitting, and raised her beaker upwards, letting the light pass through the wine. She stared at it with mute curiosity, as if this bit of glass with her greasy fingerprints could grant her some revelation, into Fang Jiugui, how to escape from him, or at least into how he found her.

“It’s ironic, you know?” Qian Shanyi continued, some thought stirring in the back of her mind, but still too vague to really parse it. “That which keeps me safe for now is the very thing Fang Jiugui can use to prove my identity, if only he dared.”

“What is it?” Wang Yonghao asked, disrupting her thoughts. Probably nothing important.

“I wrote a letter to Jian Wei, to ask him for a meeting,” Qian Shanyi said. “It’s no doubt still stored somewhere in their archives, and a careful look would reveal that it’s in the same handwriting as my letter back to my sect. But Fang Jiugui cannot be certain that such a letter even exists - at most, he can suspect it. If he were to ask to see the sect records - it might as well be an accusation, one that would put him into a very aggressive - and thus vulnerable - position. I think he is too careful of a pursuer to take that gamble, at least until he runs out of other options. That was probably why he was in the postal office - but thankfully my report about the tribulation had already been sent out.“

Determination appeared in Linghui Mei’s eyes, displacing some of her earlier worry. “So we’d have to destroy that letter?” she said.

Qian Shanyi shrugged lazily. “Perhaps,” she said, “But I cannot simply go sneaking through the sect like a thief, I would get caught. Nor can you, for that matter. I need an excuse to talk to Liu Yufei again, to sound her out. I still don’t have a good read on that woman, but ideally, I could just bribe her, make that letter vanish. If not that - then at least I might catch a glimpse of where they keep such low-importance documents, and perhaps swipe it myself. And I think I have just such an excuse.”

Qian Shanyi turned over onto her side, facing the other two. “Jian Wei wanted me to make a bank account,” she said, a slight grin playing on her lips. “Once it is established - it would be completely natural for me to bring the confirmation to them in person, no?”

----------------------------------------

The office of the Thrifty Bat Bank was a squat building, only two stories tall. Its twin doors were made out of redwood, with the eponymous bat painted on them in thin lines of gold, framed by bright red lanterns hanging off the walls, and windows blocked by decorative grates. A short staircase led up to it from the street, welcoming all incomers - though by the time Qian Shanyi arrived, it was so early in the morning that it was still closed, and she had to wait.

It stood not far from the center of Glaze Ridge, just a couple streets away from the compound of the Northern Scarlet Stream sect - but the building was merely the facade. The true bank was the reinforced bunker of stone and metal beneath it, going deep down into the ground, full of narrow hallways and clerks deciding hundreds of fates with a single stroke of their brush.

It was, in truth, a fortress. A sect compound was a place of work and study, and could not survive without a constant influx of goods and people - but a bank was built around its vault, and its primary purpose was to stop any and all outsiders from getting in. Only gold might flow through it - and even that, only as far as the bank allowed it.

Once Qian Shanyi presented her letter of introductions from Jian Wei, she was welcomed into a plain negotiation room, with a table, a couple chairs, a ready tea set, as well as some writing supplies, and left to wait for the head of the branch. She was also told in no uncertain terms that she should not open the door on her own, or to use any cultivation technique, even a minor one.

An understandable precaution, though she was mildly surprised they decided to leave her alone in the first place. There was probably an alarm: the walls of the room were absolutely plastered with an enormously complicated ink formation, covering every square centimeter of space. It felt inactive, but Qian Shanyi wouldn’t bet on it herself.

She spent some time trying to puzzle its structure apart in the dim glint of an oil lamp, and, best as she could tell, one small part of it was intended to muffle noise, and another to block out spiritual energy - but frankly, it was far beyond her. So much so, that she didn’t even have the prerequisite knowledge to understand how far beyond.

Thankfully, she wasn’t given enough time to grow frustrated with her own ignorance. Fifteen minutes after she was left in the room, the door flew open, and in strolled a tall, incredibly muscular man, wearing a skin-tight suit and a long cape held up by a single clasp around his throat. A skin-tight suit that left very little to the imagination: his legs and arms were entirely bare, each as large around as Qian Shanyi’s head.

“Fellow cultivator Qian!” the man boomed, spreading his arms as if he was going to give her a bear hug. Qian Shanyi dearly hoped he wouldn’t, or else she might not survive to see the sunset. “Welcome!”

Qian Shanyi had heard some people describe the tanned skin of sailors as golden, but this man’s skin literally glistened like the surface of a coin, and his completely bald head only further cemented the image of a metallic statue. A body fundamentalist with a great reinforcement technique, and in building foundation stage at that.

There was only one person this could be.

“Honorable manager Li, I presume?” she said, rising out of her seat with a smile, and gave him a formal bow.

“The very same! Li Zhong, at your service,” Li Zhong said, bowing deeply as well. He reached behind him, and closed the door. “I am always pleased to greet another valued customer.”

Qian Shanyi waited until Li Zhong was seated, and then sat down herself. “I would hardly call myself valuable before I brought your bank any value,” she said deferentially, reaching over to pour both of them some tea.

A glint of amused recognition reflected back at her from Li Zhong’s eyes. For all that the manager seemed simple and brash on the surface, she doubted that was the whole of it. Jian Wei would not have cooperated with someone like that.

“My disciple told me about your tribulation,” Li Zhong said, accepting the cup she offered him. “A zodiac - really blood-boiling stuff! I’ve only seen it once before, myself. And you passed through it with barely an injury!”

“I had great allies,” Qian Shanyi said politely. “Or else, I would not have survived it at all.”

“Ha!” Li Zhong burst out again, slapping his leg with his free hand. “But you did survive! And was your duel against Jian Shizhe a group effort as well?”

“It was, in part.”

“Hah. Humble to the end, I see,” Li Zhong said, shaking his head. He leaned forwards, conspiratorially. “You know, Jian Wei is my close friend. He already told me you weren’t really working for him - you don’t have to pretend here. You can tell this here cultivator what really happened.”

Qian Shanyi raised one eyebrow at him. It was plausible for Jian Wei to do that, of course - but just as plausible for this to be a test, or a little fishing expedition. In either case, the answer was all the same. “I would of course be happy to tell you whatever you would like to hear, honorable cultivator Li,” she said neutrally, “but I am afraid that in this case, it would be merely fiction. After all, I really have been working for Jian Wei.”

Li Zhong grin widened a fraction before he leaned back. “What admirable loyalty!” He laughed again, and took out a folded-up stack of papers from a pocket within his cloak. “You know, if you really are such a group worker, my disciples train every day at the central square. Why not share some pointers with them? Maybe you’d even decide to become a body fundamentalist like us!”

Qian Shanyi nodded. “I have seen them there, I believe,” she said seriously, “I’ve considered it, if I ever get enough free time in my day.”

In reality, she doubted she would get much more time for training in this town.

Li Zhong grinned again, and slapped his stack of papers on the table, smoothing out the creases. “Well, I’ve wasted enough of your time,” he said, “let’s talk business. The letter said you’d want an account for dealing with the Northern Scarlet Stream sect? If so, I am thinking a small line of credit wouldn’t hurt either.”

Qian Shanyi’s heart skipped a beat. A line of credit would be frankly incredible, given her and Wang Yonghao’s current money problems. An infusion of cash whenever they needed it, to be paid off with a windfall later? It would fit his luck perfectly. Even if it would surely be a small line of credit, it would still be invaluable.

Qian Shanyi smiled politely, keeping her true excitement off her face. “Honorable cultivator Li, I do not wish to take up your valuable time either,” she said, leaning forwards. “The credit line would be appreciated, of course, but I am not here to haggle over chump change. I am here for my entire sect - we are trying to get back on our own two feet, and we cannot do so without help. But I have been told that the Thrifty Bat Bank is the best friend any sect can ask for. So let us talk about what really matters.”

By the golden glint of his eyes, she could tell that he understood her meaning completely.

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After everything had been signed, Li Zhong led Qian Shanyi to the entrance, and wished her all the best, saying to come back in the evening for the finished documents. That woman clearly had a good head on her shoulders - he was starting to regret letting Jian Wei so easily snap her up into his circle of influence.

Once the door had closed behind her, he returned to the counter, to talk to Lin Mei and Zhao, who were serving clients today. He’d need at least two people to deal with the new account - Lin Mei would be good, and someone new, to give them some experience. Books had to be amended, ledgers extended, and even the vault would need a look. If Qian Shanyi wanted the account for her entire sect, then they’d need artifact storage eventually. Best to make sure they paid the Thrifty Bat Bank, and not someone else.

A new golden cloud had come over the horizon, raining coins. Now he just had to steer it so it rained over his fields, and not his neighbors.

The bell on the door rang only a minute later, and Li Zhong raised his eyebrows in surprise, turning around to face the newcomer. He sensed him long before he came to the door - but he expected the man to pass by, and not enter without an invitation.

Tired eyes beneath a head of messy hair met Li Zhong’s, the long leather coat almost getting caught in the door. “Honorable manager Li,” Fang Jiugui drawled, grinning from ear to ear, just as the smell of strong, acrid alcohol hit Li Zhong’s nose. “Could you spare a minute?”