The morning of Liu's deadline dawned cold and grey.
Ren woke before sunrise, as he always did now. Mei was still asleep, curled into a tight ball on his blanket, her breathing slightly labored from the infection the Ledger had flagged. He'd need to find medicine for her soon. Another problem for the ever-growing list.
But first: Liu. Two hundred credits. Due today.
Today.
Ren left the shelter quietly, letting Mei sleep, and made his way through the awakening slums. The streets were empty except for the earliest risers-bakers heading to ovens, guards changing shifts, the desperate souls who'd slept in doorways stirring stiffly to face another day.
He found a spot near the market, tucked between two buildings, where he could watch without being watched. Then he began his morning ritual: observation.
---
The Ledger had shown him its power. Now Ren needed to build something the Ledger couldn't provide: a mental map of the city's rot, built from thousands of small observations, free of cost and free of detection.
He started with the faces.
Every person who passed, he noted. Not just what they looked like, but how they moved, who they glanced at, what they carried. The guard who lingered near the wine shop before dawn-hoping for an early drink, or meeting someone? The merchant who hurried past with his head down-avoiding someone, or ashamed of something? The woman who walked with too much confidence for these streets-new to the area, or dangerous?
Catalog. File. Remember.
The Ledger flickered at the edge of his vision, offering to help. One quick assessment per person would give him their secrets instantly. But the cost-hours per person, days for a dozen-was impossible. He needed another way.
Use the Ledger as a template, not a crutch. Let it show me what to look for, then find it myself.
He focused on the next person to pass-a middle-aged man in worn clothing, carrying an empty sack. Ren studied him: calloused hands, stooped shoulders, eyes that scanned the ground as if hoping to find dropped coins. A laborer, probably. Unemployed, given the hour and direction-heading away from work, not toward it.
ASSESS-no. Ren stopped the thought. Instead, he asked himself: What would the Ledger show?
Debts? Likely. Desires? Food, work, stability. Secrets? Probably none worth hiding-just the quiet desperation of a man who'd fallen through the cracks.
He filed the face away: Laborer, unemployed, middle-aged, non-threat.
The next person: a woman with a basket, walking quickly toward the market. Better dressed than most, but not wealthy. A shopkeeper's wife, maybe. Her eyes flickered nervously toward the wine shop as she passed.
Husband drinks? Or she's meeting someone?
He filed her away too.
---
Hours passed. The sun rose, the market filled, and Ren watched.
He cataloged the guards who worked the market's edge-which ones took bribes (three so far), which ones were honest (one, maybe two), which ones were cruel (the big one with the scar, definitely). He noted the merchants who cheated their customers (the fat one in the blue robe, always shaving measures) and the ones who were cheated in turn (the old woman who couldn't count change).
He watched the beggars work their territories, noting which spots produced the most coins, which times of day were most profitable, which beggars cooperated and which fought. He saw the hierarchies invisible to casual eyes-who deferred to whom, who collected tribute for the local gang lord (Geng's people, mostly), who was marked as vulnerable.
He watched the cultivators who passed through-rare, but memorable. A young man in sect robes, buying herbs at a premium, his posture screaming outer disciple with something to prove. An older woman in plain clothes but moving with the unconscious grace of power-hidden cultivation, probably, slumming for reasons of her own. A pair of youths, laughing too loud, spending too freely-newly promoted, celebrating, and marking themselves as targets for every con artist in the market.
Catalog. File. Remember.
By midday, Ren's head was spinning with faces, details, connections. He'd built the beginning of something-a mental map of the market's human terrain, its fault lines and pressure points, its hidden currents of power and desperation.
But he still hadn't solved Liu's problem.
---
He found Liu at the wine shop-the same one where the pill had died. The old beggar was alone, staring into a cup he wasn't drinking from.
"Liu."
"Ren." The voice was flat, defeated. "Deadline's today. Huang's people will come at sunset. I've made my peace with it."
Ren sat across from him. "Don't. Not yet."
"No ideas left, boy. I've thought of everything. Begged everyone I know. I'm two hundred credits short, and no one in this city lends to a dead man."
"What about the plan? Becoming an informant for the sect?"
Liu laughed bitterly. "Took it to Huang this morning. He laughed in my face. Said the sect doesn't need gutter rats sniffing around their business. Said if I had anything useful, I'd have sold it already instead of borrowing myself into oblivion." He shook his head. "He's not wrong."
Ren was silent, processing. The plan had failed. Liu had no other options.
Think. There has to be something.
"The pill," Ren said suddenly. "The one you destroyed. Who did you steal it from?"
Liu frowned. "Told you. A sect courier. Crimson Flame, I think. Why?"
"You said it was worth four hundred credits. That's more than your debt. Whoever lost it—they're out four hundred credits. That's someone's problem."
"It's not my problem anymore. The pill's gone."
"But the loss isn't gone. Someone, somewhere, is still missing that pill. Someone who might be desperate to find it." Ren leaned forward, pieces clicking together. "The pill was demonic, right? You felt the cold wrongness."
Liu nodded slowly. "Undeniable."
"So whoever lost it-they're not just Crimson Flame. They're Crimson Flame with demonic connections. That's a secret. A dangerous secret." Ren's voice dropped lower. "What if we don't try to pay Huang? What if we make him afraid not to forgive the debt?"
Liu stared. "Afraid? Of what?"
"Of what you might know. Of who you might be connected to." Ren met his eye. "Huang works for Crimson Flame. His boss is some outer elder. But there are other elders in that sect. Other factions. And one of those factions-the one that lost that pill-is dealing with demonic cultivators."
Liu's eye widened. "You want me to make Huang think I'm connected to a rival faction? Inside his own sect?"
"I want you to make him wonder. Let him calculate the risk. If you're just a beggar, killing you costs nothing. But if you're connected to someone else inside Crimson Flame-someone who's watching that demonic faction, someone who'd be very interested to learn that Huang was asking questions-then killing you is the last thing he wants."
"That's insane. Huang knows me. He knows I'm a nobody."
"He knows what you've shown him. What if we show him something different?" Ren leaned closer. "You don't need to prove anything. Just imply. Hint. Let his own paranoia do the rest. Huang's survived this long by seeing threats everywhere. Give him a threat he can't quite see, and he'll back off rather than risk stepping into something bigger than himself."
Liu was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his weathered face-the first genuine smile Ren had ever seen from him.
"It's insane," he said.
"Desperate times."
"It might work." Liu stood, pacing. "Huang's paranoid. Always has been. If I give him something to be paranoid about..."
"Give him just enough. A hint that you knew the pill was demonic before you stole it. That you had reasons for targeting that particular courier. That you have... associates... who are very interested in demonic activity within the sect."
Liu stared at Ren with something like awe. "You're not just smart, boy. You're dangerous. You know that?"
Ren shrugged. "I'm just a beggar who pays attention."
---
They spent the afternoon preparing.
Ren drilled Liu on the story: he'd heard rumors about the pill's origin before he stole it. He'd known it was demonic-that's why he'd targeted that particular courier. He had contacts, people who'd told him where to find it. Those contacts were... not his to name. But they were connected. They were watching.
Not threats. Just... implications. Hints. Enough to make a paranoid loan shark think twice about whose toes he might be stepping on.
As the sun began to set, Liu made his way to Huang's gambling den. Ren waited outside, heart pounding, ready to run if things went wrong.
---
An hour passed.
Then two.
Ren was starting to think the worst when Liu emerged from the den, walking slowly, his expression unreadable.
Ren hurried to meet him. "Well?"
Liu looked at him for a long moment. Then he laughed-that rusty, surprised sound, but with something new in it. Relief. Wonder.
"He bought it."
Ren's knees nearly buckled. "What?"
"Huang bought it. Every word." Liu shook his head in disbelief. "He asked questions-who were my contacts, how much did I know, was anyone else involved. I just smiled and said I couldn't reveal my sources. And I saw it in his eyes, Ren. Fear. He was afraid of me."
Ren stared. "Afraid?"
"Afraid I might be connected to someone he couldn't afford to cross. Afraid that killing me might bring down something worse than a debt collection." Liu grabbed Ren's shoulders, his grip iron-strong. "He said the debt was forgiven. As a gesture of goodwill. He said he hoped we could be... associates. In the future."
"Forgiven? Just like that?"
"Just like that." Liu pulled him into a rough embrace, then released him just as quickly. "I'm alive because of you. A gutter rat who should be dead a dozen times over. I'm alive."
They stood in the dark street, two beggars who'd just cheated death, and for a moment, the world seemed possible.
---
Ren returned to his shelter long after midnight.
Mei was awake, sitting by a small fire she'd managed to build herself-badly, but it was burning. She looked up when he entered, her too-wide eyes full of worry.
"You were gone long. I was scared."
"I'm sorry." Ren sat beside her, exhausted beyond words. "I had to help someone."
"Did you help them?"
"Yeah. I think I did."
Mei nodded solemnly, then reached into her rags and produced something-a small, slightly burnt piece of flatbread. "I saved you dinner. From the stall. They gave extra today."
Ren stared at the bread, then at her. She'd saved food for him. Again. A seven-year-old with nothing, and she'd saved food for him.
"Thank you, Mei."
She smiled that smile-the one that transformed her face, that made everything worth it.
They ate together in silence, the fire crackling between them, and Ren thought about the day's events.
He'd saved Liu with a bluff and a story. He'd used nothing but information-the knowledge of the pill's demonic nature, the understanding of factional politics within Crimson Flame, the ability to craft a narrative that changed a man's calculation of risk.
Information is leverage. Timely information is profit. But information shaped into story... that's power.
The Ledger glowed softly.
RELATIONSHIP UPDATE: ONE-EYED LIU
STATUS: INDEBTED (LIFETIME)
DEBT OWED: 200 CREDITS (FORGIVEN BY HUANG, TRANSFERRED TO YOU BY CHOICE)
NOTE: LIU CONSIDERS HIS LIFE YOUR PROPERTY. THIS IS NOT A TRANSACTION. THIS IS LOYALTY.
RELATIONSHIP UPDATE: KNIFE HUANG
STATUS: WARY, INTRIGUED
NOTE: YOU NOW EXIST ON HIS RADAR AS AN UNKNOWN FACTOR. THIS IS BOTH OPPORTUNITY AND DANGER.
LIFE EXPECTANCY: 8.2 DAYS (NUTRITION IMPROVED, STRESS REDUCED)
Ren stared at the words.
Liu considers his life my property. Not a transaction. Loyalty.
He didn't know what to do with that. In his first life, loyalty was a transaction—something bought and sold, calculated and optimized. This felt different.
"Ren?" Mei's voice broke through his thoughts.
"Yeah?"
"Can I stay with you forever?"
He looked at her small face, dirty and earnest, and felt that crack in his chest widen.
"Yeah," he said. "Forever."
---
The next morning, Ren began building his library in earnest.
He started with the market, systematically observing every regular. The baker who cheated on weights (noted). The fishmonger who paid protection to Geng (noted). The herb seller who secretly sold low-grade stimulants to desperate laborers (noted). The guard who looked the other way for a price (noted, and his price cataloged).
He expanded outward, into the residential alleys and side streets. The woman who ran a boarding house and knew everyone's business (potential information source). The man who collected debts for a minor loan shark (dangerous, avoid). The crippled veteran who begged near the temple and saw everything (potential ally).
He noted the children, too-the ones who ran in packs, the ones who worked alone, the ones who were clearly being exploited by someone. He noted which ones might be recruitable, which ones were already claimed, which ones were dying.
The library grows.
By afternoon, he had over a hundred faces cataloged, each with notes on their habits, connections, and secrets. It was crude compared to what the Ledger could provide, but it was his-built without cost, without detection, without anyone knowing what he was building.
And it was already paying dividends.
While observing near the temple, he noticed something: a young cultivator, clearly from a minor sect, meeting secretly with a woman who worked in a teahouse. Their body language screamed illicit affair-the stolen glances, the careful distance, the way they separated and left at different times.
Ren followed the cultivator afterward, learning where he stayed, what name he used, which sect's colors he wore. Then he followed the woman, learning where she lived, who she worked for, what her regulars paid.
Information. Leverage. Not needed now, but maybe later.
He filed it away.
---
Days passed. The library grew.
Ren learned which guards could be bribed and how much they cost. He learned which merchants were struggling and might be desperate enough to deal with a boy who knew things. He learned which beggars were loyal to Liu, which were loyal to Geng, and which were loyal only to themselves.
He learned the rhythms of the slums—the hours when the patrols changed, the days when the market was busiest, the seasons when the cultivators came down from their mountain to buy supplies. He learned the signs of trouble-the gathering of enforcers, the sudden silence in a busy street, the merchants who packed up early and fled.
He learned to read the city like a text, every face a word, every interaction a sentence, every secret a hidden meaning waiting to be decoded.
The Ledger helped, occasionally, when he needed confirmation. A quick assessment here, a targeted question there-costing hours of life, but worth it when the information was critical. He learned to use it like a scalpel, precise and sparing, rather than a sledgehammer.
And slowly, imperceptibly, he began to see the web.
---
It was Liu who gave him the name for it.
"The Library of Faces," the old beggar said one evening, when Ren was recounting his day's observations. "That's what you're building. A library of everyone in this city, filed away in that strange head of yours."
Ren considered it. "A library. I like that."
"It's more than that, and you know it." Liu leaned forward, his one eye gleaming. "A library is just books. What you're building is a map. A map of who owes what, who fears whom, who loves who in secret. A map of the city's rot."
"The rot?"
"Every city has rot. Corruption, desperation, secret sins. The things people hide. You're mapping all of it." Liu shook his head. "I've never seen anything like it. You're fifteen years old, and you're building something that could bring down half the power in this city."
Ren was silent for a moment. Then: "I'm not interested in bringing things down. I'm interested in... options. Leverage. Knowing things so that when trouble comes, I'm not helpless."
Liu laughed. "That's what every power builder says, right before they become the next power." He stood, stretching. "Just be careful, Ren. The rot you're mapping? It can infect the mapper too."
He walked away, leaving Ren alone with his thoughts and his growing library.
---
That night, Ren sat by the fire with Mei and thought about Liu's warning.
The rot can infect the mapper too.
He was learning secrets-secrets that could destroy people, if used wrongly. The guard who took bribes from a child prostitution ring. The merchant who beat his wife so badly she'd lost an eye. The cultivator who'd murdered a rival and hidden the body in the marshes. The temple priest who secretly worshipped a demon.
He knew these things now. Couldn't unknow them. The knowledge sat in his mind like a weight, pressing down, changing how he saw the world.
Is this who I want to become? Someone who carries everyone's darkness?
He looked at Mei, sleeping peacefully, her small face relaxed in a way it never was when awake. She was innocent. Pure. Untouched by the rot he was cataloging.
Maybe that's why I need to keep going. To build something that can protect her from all of this.
The Ledger flickered.
LIBRARY OF FACES: 347 ENTRIES
CLASSIFICATION SYSTEM: ACTIVE
CROSS-REFERENCES: 892 ESTABLISHED
POTENTIAL LEVERAGE POINTS: 47 IDENTIFIED
NOTE: YOU HAVE BUILT A FOUNDATION. THE REAL WORK BEGINS NOW.
Ren stared at the numbers. Three hundred forty-seven people. Eight hundred ninety-two connections between them. Forty-seven places where pressure could be applied to change outcomes.
The real work begins now.
He didn't know what that work would be. Didn't know where this path would lead. But for the first time since waking in that alley, he felt like he was building something. Something that mattered. Something that might, eventually, become a throne.
The Beggar King was still in the gutter.
But he was building his library.
And libraries, he knew, were the foundations of empires.
---
END OF CHAPTER 7