The moment stretched, thin and brittle as spun glass. The air, once filled with the rich aroma of roasted spirit-boar and spiced wine, now tasted of ozone and imminent violence. The crossbows leveled at us were not the crude weapons of city guards; they were compact, powerful artifacts, their bolts tipped with a faint, green luminescence that spoke of poison. The servants were no longer servants; their stances had shifted, their hands gripping hidden daggers, their eyes cold and empty. This was not a negotiation. It was an abattoir, and we were the fattened livestock.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a primal drumbeat of fear. But my mind, my greatest asset, remained a sanctuary of cold, clear logic. Panic was a luxury I could not afford. I analyzed the variables: a Golden Core matriarch, a dozen Qi Foundation guards, one enraged minor protagonist, one terrified girl, my loyal maid, one hyper-aware bodyguard, and me. The odds were, to put it mildly, unfavorable.
'Well, shit,' the Author's voice commented from the peanut gallery of my consciousness, sounding more amused than concerned. 'Looks like the 'master strategist' walked his whole party onto a red square. Who could've guessed the ruthless matriarch known as the Iron Widow would be, you know, ruthless? Shocking development. Let's see if his big brain can talk its way out of a crossbow bolt to the face.'
Ignoring the internal heckling, I slowly, deliberately, placed the poisoned wine glass back on the table. The small click was like a thunderclap in the oppressive silence. I did not look at the guards. I did not look at the snarling Zhao Wei. I looked only at the woman in charge.
"A simple solution, Matriarch?" I said, my voice calm, betraying none of the adrenaline coursing through my veins. "There is nothing simple about this. This is, if you'll forgive my bluntness, a remarkably stupid and short-sighted move."
Zhao Wei bristled. "Watch your tongue, you condemned piece of filth! Mother, give the order!"
Zhao Lihua silenced him with a glance, her icy gaze remaining locked on me. "Stupid?" she repeated, a dangerous curiosity in her tone. "I have you trapped, outnumbered, and moments from death. My son will have his vengeance, the threat to my family's business will be eliminated, and your clever little mining consortium will die before it is even born. Explain to me where my logic is flawed."
"Your logic isn't flawed, Matriarch. Your data is," I stated, leaning back in my chair, a deliberate projection of nonchalant confidence. I had to seize control of the narrative. "You are making a permanent decision based on incomplete information. You think I am the threat. You think the ore I found is the prize. You are like a child who finds a pretty seashell on the beach and thinks she owns the ocean. You have absolutely no idea what you're sitting on."
I let the words hang in the air. I had her attention. The guards remained ready, but the order to fire was not given. She was a businesswoman, a pragmatist. The possibility of "incomplete data" was a hook she couldn't ignore.
"You speak in riddles," she said, her voice laced with suspicion. "You have one chance to explain what 'data' I am missing before my patience expires."
This was my opening. I shifted my gaze from her to the massive Ironwood pillars that held up the roof of her hall. "These pillars. They are magnificent. Centuries old, imbued with the Qi of this mountain. A testament to your family's legacy. They are also, forgive me, a perfect example of your ignorance."
"You came into my home to insult my architecture?"
"I came into your home to offer you an empire," I countered, my voice resonating with absolute certainty. "And you offered me poisoned wine. You see this pillar? It's Ironwood. But it's dead. It's just wood and metal. What if I told you that the mountain your estate is built on is not just a mountain of ore, but a living, breathing entity? What if I told you that you haven't been running a mine, Matriarch? You've been running a quarry. You've been chipping off dead scales from a sleeping dragon."
I stood up slowly, my hands open and away from my body to show I was no physical threat. "The 'motherlode' I found is not just a rich deposit. It is a nexus, a focal point. The ore there is different because it is alive, directly nourished by an Earth Spirit Vein of a size and purity that is almost unheard of. It is a geological and spiritual anomaly. It is the heart of the dragon."
I began to walk slowly around the table, forcing the guards' aim to shift. Chixi mirrored my movement on the other side, a dark shadow ready to strike.
"You've been scraping the surface for two hundred years," I continued, my voice taking on the cadence of a lecturer. "You follow a vein until it 'runs out'. It doesn't run out. It merely goes deeper, following the flow of the spirit vein. You complain of 'difficult mining conditions' because your methods are primitive. You use brute force. You dig where it's easiest. You have no concept of sustainable resource management. You are draining the surface pools of a vast underground lake, and you think you're running out of water."
I stopped directly behind Zhao Wei and placed a hand on his shoulder. He flinched violently, but didn't dare move under his mother's watchful eye. "Your son, here, thinks in terms of killing his rivals. A short-term, emotional solution. You, Matriarch, think in terms of market control and profit margins. A better, but still limited, perspective. I think in terms of logistics, infrastructure, and long-term yield optimization."
I leaned down, my mouth close to Zhao Lihua's ear, though I was still several feet away. "I can map the entire spirit vein. I can predict where the richest, purest ore will form decades in advance. I can design a mining process that doesn't just extract the ore, but works in harmony with the spirit vein, nurturing it, ensuring that the mountain's bounty never, ever runs out. I can teach you how to cultivate the ore itself, to create living spirit-metal that can be shaped into artifacts of unimaginable power. I can give you a monopoly that isn't based on artificial scarcity, but on a level of quality that no one else on this continent can ever hope to match."
I straightened up and returned to my seat. "Kill me, and that knowledge dies with me. You can kill my miners, seize my claim, but you will be back to chipping scales off the dragon, blissfully unaware of the beating heart just beneath your feet. You will have your short-term victory, and you will spend the rest of your life wondering what incredible fortune you threw away."
I picked up my wine glass, swirling the poisoned liquid. "Or… you can put down your crossbows, and we can discuss a partnership. A partnership that will make the Zhao family not just the rulers of this city, but a powerhouse that could rival the largest sects in the empire."
The hall was utterly silent. I had laid my cards on the table. It was a high-stakes gamble, a bet that her greed and ambition would outweigh her pride and paranoia.
Zhao Lihua stared at me, her face a mask of stone. Her mind, I knew, was a battlefield. Everything I had said was alien to her, yet it resonated with a strange, compelling logic. She had lived her whole life on this mountain, and I, an outsider of a few days, was claiming to understand it better than she ever had. It was an incredible insult, but it was also an irresistible proposition.
The weak link, as always, was the son.
"Lies!" Zhao Wei roared, finally breaking. He could not stand the shift in the narrative, the idea that I, his hated rival, could be his family's savior. His rage and humiliation were too much. "He's a charlatan, a snake-oil salesman! He's trying to trick you, Mother! He killed Yang Kai! He insulted Fengue! He must die!"
He didn't draw a sword. In his blind rage, he did something far more stupid. He lunged across the table, his hands outstretched, not for me, but for Fengue, who was sitting beside me. "You bitch! You're with him, aren't you?!"
It was the catalyst. The moment the truce of tension was shattered by mindless violence.
But before his hands could even touch her, a blur of motion intercepted him. It was not Chixi. It was me.
I did not have the cultivation to fight him, but I had the reflexes of a modern man and a mind that processed angles and momentum. I didn't try to block him. I simply moved Fengue's chair back a few feet and kicked the leg of Zhao Wei's chair as he lunged.
His momentum, intended to carry him across the table, was suddenly without a stable launch point. He tumbled forward, not in a powerful attack, but in a clumsy, flailing heap, crashing onto the table amidst a clatter of fine china and spilled wine.
Simultaneously, I shouted a single word: "Now!"
Chixi exploded into motion. She was not a brawler; she was a scalpel. She did not charge the guards. In three impossibly fast steps, she was behind the first crossbowman, and the flat of her sword slapped against the back of his neck. He crumpled without a sound. She used his falling body as a springboard, kicking off his back to launch herself towards the second guard, her sheathed sword becoming a blur, striking pressure points on their wrists and elbows with pinpoint precision. Crossbows clattered to the floor, their owners groaning in pain, their arms temporarily paralyzed. It was over in less than five seconds. Twelve armed guards, neutralized without a single drop of blood being shed. It was a terrifying display of controlled, efficient violence.
While Chixi handled the guards, I handled the social dynamics. I stood up, calmly pulling both a terrified Fengue and a stunned Mengue behind me. I had placed myself between them and the chaos, a clear and visible protector.
Zhao Wei, sputtering and covered in sauce, pushed himself up from the table, his eyes blazing with humiliation. He saw me standing there, shielding the two women, and it broke the last of his sanity. He drew his sword, a fine-looking artifact that glowed with Qi.
"I'll kill you!" he screamed, and charged.
"Enough!"
Zhao Lihua's voice echoed through the hall, imbued with the crushing pressure of a Golden Core expert. The very air grew thick and heavy. Zhao Wei froze mid-stride, held in place by an invisible force, his face a mask of rage and helplessness.
The room was still once more. The guards were groaning on the floor, disarmed. The servants stood frozen, their daggers useless. Her son was pinned like an insect, his pathetic charge halted. Her ambush had failed utterly, and my counter-move had been executed with a terrifying, bloodless precision.
I calmly walked over to the table and picked up an apple. I began polishing it on my sleeve as I walked towards the pinned Zhao Wei.
"You see, Matriarch?" I said, my voice conversational. "This is the difference between us. Your son sees a problem, and his solution is to charge at it screaming. He is emotional, predictable, and frankly, an embarrassment." I took a crisp bite of the apple. "I see a problem, and I dismantle it, piece by piece, starting with its weakest link. I turn its own strengths against it. I win not by being stronger, but by being smarter."
I stopped in front of Zhao Wei and looked him in the eye. He struggled against his mother's power, his face contorted in a silent snarl. I then looked at Fengue, who was watching, her eyes wide with a dawning realization.
"A real man doesn't need to scream to prove his strength," I said, my voice carrying to every corner of the room. "A real man protects his women, provides for his people, and has the intelligence to recognize a golden opportunity when it's staring him in the face. Tell me, Fengue, which of us has shown you those qualities tonight?"
I didn't wait for an answer. I turned and walked back to Zhao Lihua, who had retaken her seat at the head of the table. Her face was pale, but her eyes were burning with an intense, calculating light. She had lost. She had lost control of the situation, she had lost face, and she had lost the tactical advantage. But a true queen doesn't mourn a loss; she calculates her next move.
She waved a hand, releasing her son. Zhao Wei stumbled, catching himself on the table, his chest heaving. He looked from me to his mother, his expression one of utter betrayal and humiliation.
"Leave us," Zhao Lihua said, her voice dangerously quiet.
Zhao Wei stared at her, disbelieving. "Mother, we can still—"
"I said. Leave. Us," she repeated, and this time, her voice was laced with the killing intent of a Golden Core master. "Take the girl and get out of my sight."
Defeated, Zhao Wei shot me a look of pure poison, grabbed a terrified Fengue by the arm, and stormed out of the hall. The remaining servants and guards scrambled to follow.
Soon, the vast hall was empty, save for the four of us: me, Mengue, Chixi, and the Iron Widow. The remains of the feast lay scattered on the table, a testament to the failed ambush.
Zhao Lihua gestured to the chair opposite her. "Sit, Master Lu," she said, her tone devoid of its earlier hostility, replaced by a cold, pragmatic respect. "It seems you were right. My data was incomplete."
She poured two fresh glasses of wine from a different, untainted bottle. "Let us begin this negotiation again. Tell me more about this… 'empire'… you wish to offer me."
The game had changed. I was no longer the guest, the target, or the upstart. I was the one holding all the cards.