The walk to the Inner Sanctum felt like a mile-long trip to the gallows. Li Feng kept his chin tilted up, his eyes fixed on the back of the eunuch's head.
His robes were so heavy they made his shoulders ache, the stiff gold embroidery scratching against his neck.
'Stay in character,' he told himself. 'Don't look at the floor. Don't trip. If you look like a student, you're dead.'
The massive vermillion doors swung open with a slow, heavy groan. The air inside the Emperor's private study was cold—biting, dry, and smelling of old incense and sour wine.
At the end of the hall, a man sat behind a desk piled with scrolls. He didn't look like a father. He looked like a mountain of rotting silk. This was the Emperor, a man who had survived three rebellions by killing everyone he ever loved.
"You're late," the Emperor said. The voice was a low, gravelly rasp that made the hair on Li Feng's arms stand up.
Li Feng's "Identification" surged. His knees hit the black jade floor before he could even think about it. The impact sent a jolt of pain through his shins.
"I was... I was reviewing the grain taxes," Li Feng said. The ancient dialect felt like marbles in his mouth, clumsy and thick. "I lost track of the hour."
The Emperor stood up. He didn't walk; he glided, his shadow stretching across the floor like a dark stain.
He stopped inches from Li Feng. The smell of the man was overwhelming—like a tomb that had just been opened.
"You lie like a common thief, Feng'er," the Emperor whispered. He reached out, his fingers—bony and cold—grabbing Li Feng's chin and forcing his head up. "Your eyes are darting. Your hands are shaking. Where is the son I raised to be a wolf?"
Li Feng stared into the Emperor's eyes. They were yellowed, bloodshot, and completely void of any human warmth. For a second, Li Feng's mask slipped.
"I... I had an accident," Li Feng blurted out in modern Mandarin, his panic breaking through the "Identification." "I don't remember... everything is blurry."
The Emperor's grip tightened, his fingernails digging into Li Feng's jaw. "What language is that? What gibberish are you spitting at me?"
Li Feng winced, the pain grounding him. He had to pivot. Now. He leaned into the "Prince" persona, letting a sneer curl his lip even as his heart hammered against his ribs.
"It is a dialect from the border," Li Feng hissed, switching back to the stiff, formal speech of the court.
"A code. To keep your 'rats' from understanding my business. Is the Emperor so old that he fears a tongue he hasn't conquered?"
The silence that followed was terrifying. The eunuchs in the corners stopped breathing.
Then, the Emperor laughed. It was a dry, hacking sound. He let go of Li Feng's chin and stepped back.
"There he is," the Emperor chuckled. "The arrogant little tyrant. Good. I thought for a moment you had grown a soul. That would have been... inconvenient."
He turned back to his desk, tossing a heavy, iron-bound scroll onto the floor. It rolled to Li Feng's feet.
"The Northern General—the one they call the 'God of Death'—has been captured. He's being held in secret by the Shadow Merchant. I want him dead, Feng'er. I want his head on a pike by the Spring Festival. If you fail to deliver it... I'll start wondering if I need a new heir."
Li Feng stared at the scroll. 'The God of Death? The Shadow Merchant?' He had no idea who these people were. He just knew he was being told to commit murder.
"I will... handle it," Li Feng said, his voice sounding hollow.
"See that you do. Now get out. You smell of fear. It's disgusting."
Meanwhile, in a windowless room that smelled of brine, damp earth, and expensive lamp oil, Han Jue sat counting silver taels.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
He was trying to ignore the sound of the man groaning in the iron cage behind him. The "Identification" was screaming at him that he was a man of profit, a man who didn't care about the meat he traded.
But Han Jue was terrified. He was a 12th grader in a silk robe, and there was a giant covered in blood five feet away from him.
"Master Han," his assistant, the Vulture, whispered. "The God of Death is awake. He's... he's making strange noises. He keeps asking for 'HP' and 'potions'."
Han Jue froze. He dropped a silver tael, watching it roll toward the cage. He stood up, his indigo silks rustling, and grabbed a torch.
He stepped toward the bars.
The light flickered over a massive man chained to the wall. The prisoner's armor was shattered, his face a mask of dried blood.
"Zhou Yan?" Han Jue asked, his voice shaking.
The prisoner looked up. His eyes were bloodshot, but through the grime, Han Jue saw a familiar, wide-eyed look of panic.
"Jue? Han Jue?" The prisoner's voice was a jagged rasp. "Is that you, bro? Why do you look like a rich uncle at a funeral?"
Han Jue's heart stopped. He nearly dropped the torch. "Yan? Big Cat?"
"I'm... I'm so hungry, Jue," Big Cat (Zhou Yan) whimpered, his head thumping against the stone. "I killed people. My horse wouldn't stop. I think... I think I'm glitching out. Everything hurts."
Han Jue let out a choked sound, reaching through the bars to grab Big Cat's bruised arm.
"Shut up, you big idiot! Don't talk! If my guys hear you talking like that, they'll think you're possessed. I'm a Merchant now. I'm... I'm supposed to be selling you to the Palace."
"The Palace?" Big Cat coughed, a spray of blood hitting the straw. "The Prince is going to kill me, Jue. They said the Prince wants my head."
Han Jue gripped the bars until his rings dug into his palms. He knew the Crown Prince was the one coming for the "God of Death."
He didn't know the Prince was Li Feng. He only knew he had to protect his friend from a tyrant.
"Nobody is taking your head," Han Jue hissed, his "Merchant" persona hardening into something much darker. "I don't care who the Prince is. He doesn't have enough silver in his entire treasury to buy you from me."
He turned back to the Vulture, his eyes cold and sharp.
"Prepare the carriage. And find me a doctor who knows how to keep his mouth shut. If a single word of this leaks... I'll sell your children to the salt mines."
Han Jue looked back at Big Cat, who had fainted again. He realized he was playing a game with the highest stakes possible.
He was the Banker. And he was about to go all-in against the Crown Prince.
"Let the Prince come," Han Jue whispered, his hand clenching around a silver tael. "Let's see if he can afford my price."