I had planned the trader's death from the very beginning.
Wade was useful while the profits stayed small. The moment we started hitting real wealth, he would become a liability. Karma in this world was never kind to loose ends. A man who held transaction records and knew too much about secret looting routes was a man who would eventually sell those secrets to the highest bidder—or to the clan itself. I refused to die because of carelessness.
So I created openings on purpose.
I sent Wade on errands that had nothing to do with trading. Small deliveries. Messages to distant posts. Requests that forced him to walk the same paths we used when we visited the inheritance grounds. Each task was a deliberate crack in our security. Anyone watching closely enough would notice the pattern and decide to follow. That was the point. I wanted them to follow. I was not confident enough to face multiple Rank 1 cultivators alone in a clean fight. The Wealth Burning Smoke, however, turned the problem into something far simpler. One lungful of that sweet, addictive haze and even a Peak Tier cultivator would dance himself into suicide. The method was risky. If the smoke drifted the wrong way or if too many arrived at once, the entire plan could collapse. That was why Jack sometimes accompanied me only to the middle stretch of the route—never to the end. His job was to catch the small fish that slipped past my attention. So far we had only caught one kind of fish. Wade had been the largest.
I chose this particular day for a reason. The inheritance ghost had been urging me more and more urgently to enter. Today its voice carried real desperation. I was certain the heir would be chosen before nightfall. Once the inheritance locked onto its new master, the feeding grounds would quiet down and the easy corpses would stop appearing. Wade's usefulness ended on the same day the inheritance found its successor. His death was almost tidy.
The mind-realm visit from the succubus still sat heavier in my thoughts than Wade's corpse. That encounter had been far more dangerous. A true devil had looked at me, judged me, and left. The contract I had formed with her long ago—back when I was still a child mispronouncing words over a rare scroll—protected me from direct harm. The clauses were clear. She could not injure me. In return I needed her to remain sane and predictable. A mad succubus was more trouble than any Rank 6 remnant.
After we finished cleaning the site and disposing of Wade's body, only a few hours remained before the celebration. I had not attended a proper feast since leaving my old world. The thought felt strangely distant. First we had to erase every trace of our presence around the mortuary and the smoke pit. Jack and I worked in silence until the ground looked ordinary again.
We left through the west gate. The gate itself was a massive stone arch carved with a troll's leering face—someone's idea of a joke that had long since stopped being funny. Even so, we reached the main courtyard while preparations were still underway. The air already smelled of roasting meat and sweet spirit wine. Servants hurried in every direction. Colored banners snapped in the afternoon wind.
Jack was assigned to the kitchens. I was told to arrange seating for the chief guests, including the clan leader's elevated platform. It was almost pleasant to watch the ordinary disciples moving with lively faces, laughing as they worked. Not everyone shared that mood. I saw the tight mouths of cultivators who already considered the new heir a rival. I saw the cold eyes of those who had once offended him and now feared the consequences. I saw the poorly hidden jealousy of those whose luck and talent had been outstripped in a single day. And I saw the calculating glances of female cultivators—some of them genuine jade beauties—who clearly hoped to win his favor. None of them could simply kill him. The chosen one of a Rank 6 inheritance was too valuable. He was protection, political weight, and a banner the Wen clan could wave for years to come. Assassination would bring the entire clan down on the killer's head.
I managed to steal two hours of sleep in a quiet corner of the outer barracks. It was not enough, but it dulled the edges of exhaustion. When they woke me again, the real work began. I was assigned as supervisor over the servants preparing the chosen one's private rooms. The heir himself was already inside. His voice carried through the open screens—arrogant, sharp, the tone of a man who had decided that every servant was a slave the moment the inheritance acknowledged him. He barked orders, cursed delays, and spoke as if the entire clan existed only to polish his boots. I kept my eyes lowered and my mouth shut. A beginner who had walked out of a top-tier inheritance with intact limbs and a glowing future could afford that kind of attitude. I could not afford to correct him.
Later they sent me to hang lanterns along the high beams of the main hall. Shadow Jump made the work almost unfair. While other disciples struggled with ladders and swaying platforms, I simply stepped through darkness from beam to beam, fastening each lantern in seconds. A few of them stared. I pretended not to notice.
When the lanterns were finished, the entire outer group was ordered to capture pegive—those quick, pigeon-like spirit beasts used for sending messages to neighboring clans. Most of the disciples had no suitable techniques. They flapped nets and shouted and achieved almost nothing. My Illusion Hands, guided by brief flashes of Shadow Jump, made the task simple. The pegive never saw the translucent fingers that closed around their wings. I delivered my quota early and left the others to their frustration.
By the time night fully settled, fatigue hit me like a wave. The residual effects of the Wealth Burning Smoke still lingered in my blood—slight sluggishness, a faint drunken warmth behind the eyes. I slept as if I had not closed my eyes in a year.
The screech woke the entire courtyard.
It was a sound that scraped against the soul rather than the ears—high, thin, and wrong. Disciples poured out of their rooms, not in fear but in curious excitement. In the center of the eastern garden, illuminated by the newly hung lanterns, stood a plant that looked like an oversized radish. Its pale body was thick and fleshy. A human-like face twisted across its upper surface, mouth open in that endless baby-like scream. A mandrake.
I had heard of them. Excellent material for vitality potions. With the right skill and enough care, even a Rank 1 cultivator could refine something far above his normal level. Several disciples were already circling it with greedy eyes. I filed the information away and returned to bed. There would be time to deal with mandrakes later.
The next morning a neighboring clan arrived.
A young Wen guard at the main gate stepped forward and bowed politely.
"May I see your proof of invitation to the celebration?"
One of the Jin clan escorts puffed out his chest. "Do you fail to recognize this person? He is the mighty and kind ruler of the Jin clan!"
The guard's expression did not change. "Proof, please."
The escort's face darkened. "You—"
A second escort moved forward quickly, producing the formal invitation jade with a smug little smile directed at his companion. The Jin clan leader could only sigh at the small embarrassment. They were allocated rooms without further incident.
Two more groups arrived later in the morning, both offering the same excuse for their delay.
"A few of our members fell into pitfalls along the western approach. The traps were clearly made by human hands. We ask the Wen clan to repair the land and find the scoundrel responsible as soon as possible, so that the name of the Wen clan remains justified."
The Wen disciples around me muttered under their breath. Everyone understood the game. The guests were using the incident to demand favors and compensation. The unknown scoundrel who had set the traps had given them the perfect excuse.
I sneezed once, sharply.
Somewhere, someone was thinking of me.
I had been so focused on erasing every trace of Wade's death that I had completely forgotten to deactivate the pitfall array I had laid days earlier as a precautionary escape route. The land still carried my work. If the Wen clan investigated thoroughly, the spiritual signatures might still be readable.
I needed to restore that stretch of ground to normal as soon as possible—before some overeager elder decided to dig deeper.
The celebration had not even begun but it is still clear as water that it will be fun
I stood in the shadow of the troll gate, feeling the thin white thread of my luck pulse quietly inside my chest, and began planning the next quiet correction.