The hours leading up to the dinner were a calculated performance of power and preparation. The Zhao family had sent over a carriage, a gesture that was half courtesy, half summons. It was lacquered in severe black and gold, pulled by four jet-black stallions, and bore their sword-and-tree sigil like a royal crest. It was designed to intimidate, to remind any guest of the family's wealth and established might.
In our suite, a different kind of power was on display. Mengue stood before a full-length mirror, a vision in crimson silk. The dress was a masterpiece of suggestive elegance. It hugged every curve of her mature figure, the fabric shimmering like liquid fire in the lamplight. A slit that ran from ankle to upper thigh parted teasingly when she moved, and the back was a daring expanse of smooth, flawless skin, plunging almost to the small of her back. She looked less like a maid and more like a queen consort, a stunning, confident woman in the prime of her life.
"Nervous?" I asked, coming to stand behind her. I wasn't touching, just letting our reflections interact in the mirror.
She took a deep breath, her eyes meeting mine in the reflection. "A little. I have never been to a place like the Zhao estate. And… to be dressed like this…"
"This dress is your armor, Mengue," I said softly. "It is a statement. It says you are not a servant to be overlooked, but a prize to be admired. It says the man you are with is powerful enough to have such a magnificent woman at his side. Tonight, you are not just my companion. You are my weapon. A weapon of beauty and confidence. Wield it well."
A slow, genuine smile bloomed on her face, chasing away the last of her anxiety. She turned, stood on her toes, and gave me a quick, firm kiss. "Yes, Master." It was no longer the whisper of a submissive, but the affirmation of a partner ready for battle.
In the corner, Chixi was a study in contrasts. She was dressed in a simple, dark blue tunic and trousers, her sword strapped to her back. She appeared to be meditating, but I knew better. I had spent the afternoon writing down the initial principles of my 'Scientific Cultivation' theory, focusing on the concept of resonant breathing. I had given her a simple mantra and a rhythmic breathing pattern designed to harmonize with the natural frequency of wind-attributed Qi. I had told her it might improve her sensory acuity. Now, as she sat perfectly still, I could sense a subtle change in the air around her. The ambient Qi was flowing towards her not in a rush, but in a gentle, orderly current, as if being drawn into a perfectly tuned vortex. My half-baked theory, born of a world without magic, was already having an effect. When her eyes opened as we prepared to leave, they seemed sharper, clearer, as if she were seeing the world in a higher resolution. She gave me a brief, almost imperceptible nod. The experiment was a success.
Our arrival at the Zhao estate was an exercise in controlled theatre. The estate was a fortress, all high walls, severe lines, and dark, polished wood. Guards in immaculate black and gold armor stood like statues, their faces grim. We were led through a series of courtyards, each more opulent and imposing than the last, until we reached the main hall.
The dining hall was vast, the ceiling supported by massive pillars of petrified Ironwood. A long table, polished to a mirror shine, was set for five. At the head of the table sat the Iron Widow, Zhao Lihua. In person, she was even more formidable. She was not a classic beauty in the delicate sense; her features were too sharp, too intelligent for that. Her beauty was that of a perfectly forged sword: elegant, dangerous, and honed to a razor's edge. Her dark eyes missed nothing.
To her right sat her son, Zhao Wei. He was handsome, but his face was spoiled by a petulant scowl. He practically vibrated with a barely contained rage, his eyes locking onto me with pure hatred the moment I entered. He was a cliché, the arrogant young master, and my system had correctly identified him as a minor protagonist. He was a stepping stone, not a true rival.
And to his right… the first unforeseen variable.
Fengue.
The daughter of Mengue, the former lover of the dead protagonist Yang Kai. She was beautiful, yes, but her face was a pale, tragic mask. She looked trapped, a canary in a gilded cage, and her eyes widened in a mixture of terror and shock when she saw not just me, but her own mother, dressed like a courtesan and standing confidently at my side.
"Mother?" she whispered, the sound lost in the cavernous hall.
Mengue flinched, her composure faltering for a fraction of a second. I placed a hand on the small of her back, a silent, steadying pressure. She straightened, her chin lifting defiantly.
Zhao Lihua rose, a cool, polite smile on her face that didn't reach her eyes. "Master Lu Bing, welcome to my home. I am Zhao Lihua. This is my son, Wei."
"A pleasure, Matriarch Zhao," I said, giving a slight bow. "Thank you for your hospitality. Allow me to introduce my companions. This is my personal bodyguard, Chixi." Chixi gave a curt, professional nod. "And this is my esteemed companion and business advisor, Mengue."
The title, 'business advisor', was a deliberate choice. It elevated Mengue from a mere pretty face to a person of substance. Zhao Wei let out a derisive snort.
"Business advisor? I hear she's just a common widow you picked up from your clan's gutter," he sneered, his eyes filled with contempt as he looked at Mengue's daring dress.
Before I could respond, Zhao Lihua's voice cut through the air, as cold and sharp as breaking ice. "Wei. Mind your manners. Our guest is a man who has single-handedly turned our city on its head. He and his… advisor… deserve our respect." The emphasis was a subtle jab, a reminder that she knew exactly who Mengue was.
"Please, sit," she said, gesturing to the seats opposite her son and Fengue.
The dinner began, a silent, tense affair. Servants brought out dish after dish of exquisite, spirit-energy-infused cuisine. The food was a weapon, another display of the Zhao family's wealth.
Zhao Wei, unable to contain his rage, made the first move. "So, 'Master Lu'," he began, practically spitting the title. "You come to my city, steal from my family's mountain, and incite the common rabble. Do you have a death wish?"
I calmly took a sip of wine, savoring the taste before replying. I didn't look at him. I looked at his mother. "Matriarch Zhao, your son seems to be under a few misapprehensions. The land I prospected on is public, owned by the empire. The ore I found is, by law, mine to claim. And the 'rabble' I incited were your own starving citizens, whom you cast aside. I didn't come here to steal. I came here to engage in free enterprise. It's a novel concept, I know, but I find it quite stimulating."
Zhao Lihua's expression remained unreadable, but I saw a flicker of interest in her eyes. My vocabulary, my framing of the situation, was not what she was used to.
"Free enterprise," she mused, testing the words. "An interesting term for what my son would call 'economic warfare'."
"Warfare is destructive," I countered smoothly. "I haven't destroyed anything. I have created opportunity. I have created jobs. I have introduced competition into a stagnant market. In my homeland, we call this 'progress'. It can be… disruptive for those who have grown comfortable in their monopolies."
"And your homeland is where, exactly?" she pressed, her sharp eyes trying to pin me down.
"A place very far away," I said with a vague, mysterious smile. "A place where knowledge is valued more than brute strength, and strategy is prized above bloodline."
This was the core of my approach. To present myself as an alien, an outside context problem. I wasn't just another clan's young master; I was something new, something they couldn't easily categorize or counter.
Zhao Wei, however, was not interested in intellectual sparring. "Knowledge? Strategy? You're a Qi Crystallization Realm weakling! Don't think I don't know. You hide behind your women! First this old widow, and now a Golden Core guard dog. You're nothing but a parasite!"
He flared his aura, the power of a Third Stage Qi Foundation Realm cultivator pressing down on me. It was a clumsy, brutish attempt at intimidation. Chixi's hand instinctively went to her sword, but I gave her a subtle shake of my head.
I ignored the pressure, took another calm bite of my food, and then looked directly at Fengue.
"Miss Fengue," I said, my voice gentle. "I was saddened to hear of Yang Kai's passing. He was a man of great passion. It is a tragedy when such passion leads to a reckless end."
Fengue flinched as if struck. Zhao Wei's aura sputtered as his rage spiked. "You dare speak his name, you murderer!"
"Murderer?" I raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "I recall a man attacking my clan's gates in a blind rage. I recall him being caught in a battle between Heavenly Realm masters that he had no business being a part of. His death was a consequence of his own poor decisions. I merely… tidied up afterwards. One must be responsible for the consequences of one's actions, wouldn't you agree, Young Master Wei?"
I had turned his insult back on him, reframing the narrative from one of murder to one of consequence. I was no longer the villain; Yang Kai was the fool, and I was the pragmatist.
I then leaned forward slightly, my eyes still on Fengue. "A woman of your beauty and spirit deserves a man who can offer her stability and protection, not one who throws his life away in a fit of pique. I am glad to see you have found… safer company."
The barb was multi-layered. I had complimented Fengue, dismissed her dead lover as a fool, and subtly insulted Zhao Wei's ability to protect her all in one breath. The seeds of cuckoldry were not about to be planted; they were being scattered like salt in a wound. I wasn't trying to steal his woman. I was trying to make him feel unworthy of her. A far more insidious and effective attack.
Zhao Wei shot to his feet, his chair screeching against the floor. "You bastard! I challenge you to a deathmatch!"
"Wei! Sit down!" Zhao Lihua's voice was like a whip crack. He froze, his face a mottled red and white. With a snarl, he slumped back into his chair, defeated. He had lost his composure completely, proving my point about his immaturity. His mother now looked at him with a clear, undisguised disappointment. My first objective was complete: I had driven a wedge between mother and son.
Zhao Lihua turned her cool gaze back to me. "You are a dangerous man, Master Lu. You wield words like a duelist wields a sword."
"Words are merely tools, Matriarch," I replied. "Like shovels, or pickaxes. It all depends on how you use them. Now, shall we discuss the reason you invited me here? I believe you wanted to talk about the future of the Ironwood Ore market in this city."
The power dynamic in the room had shifted completely. I was no longer the supplicant, the upstart who had been summoned for judgment. I was the one dictating the terms of the conversation.
She studied me for a long moment, her sharp mind processing the events of the evening. She had invited me here to test me, to intimidate me, to find my price. Instead, I had effortlessly humiliated her son, unsettled his new prize, and seized control of the negotiation before it had even begun.
A slow, cold smile touched her lips. It was the first genuine expression I had seen from her, and it was terrifying. It was the smile of a predator who has finally met a worthy opponent.
"Indeed," she said, her voice smooth as silk. "Let us speak of the future. But first, a toast." She raised her glass. "To new ventures… and the unexpected chaos they bring."
We all raised our glasses. As I brought the fine, crystal goblet to my lips, Chixi, who had been silent the entire time, suddenly spoke, her voice sharp and urgent.
"Master, don't!"
Simultaneously, the System flashed a single, blood-red line of text in my vision.
[Warning! High-Potency Neurotoxin Detected: 'Silent Soul-Rot Poison'.]
I froze, the rim of the glass a hair's breadth from my lips. I looked at Chixi. Her enhanced senses, a result of my breathing techniques, had detected something her normal cultivation would have missed. Then I looked at Zhao Lihua.
The Iron Widow's cold smile had not wavered. Her eyes were chips of ice.
"It seems your bodyguard is as sharp as they say," she murmured, taking a slow, deliberate sip from her own, untainted glass. "A shame. I had hoped we could settle this matter simply."
The servants who had poured the wine were already drawing hidden daggers. The guards at the doors were leveling crossbows. The dinner wasn't a negotiation. It was an execution. And my brilliant plan, my psychological warfare, had led me straight into a primitive, deadly trap.
The tiger had just shown her teeth.