Xue Mu woke to the scent of sandalwood and the gentle sway of a carriage.
He kept his eyes closed, listening.
"Master, drink some tea. Don't worry so much," a crisp, youthful voice said. Great potential, Xue Mu's professional mind noted instantly. Clear, melodic. Voice acting material, at the very least.
"Thanks to that idiot Feng Lieyang, eighty percent of our southern operations are ruined," a mature, husky voice replied. "Forget the Grand Plan; if we don't find a solution, the Sect will starve. And with your Martial Aunt trapped in the Six Fan Gate prison awaiting rescue... that will cost a fortune in bribes. How can I not worry?"
Xue Mu opened his eyes a crack. A woman sat cross-legged nearby, reading a scroll. Even in profile, veiled in gauze, her beauty hit him like a physical blow. Was this the naked woman from the pool? A damn shame I missed the view.
A girl in white was punching the air furiously. "Next time I see Feng Lieyang, I'll castrate him myself!"
"Enough. If you have energy to burn, help me with the accounts."
The girl froze. "Uh... accounts?"
"Last month, the Capital's Hundred Flowers House lost 1,320 taels. The Rouge Workshop in Lingzhou lost 415. The Fragrance Pavilion in Wuzhou made 74. What is the total deficit?"
The girl began to inch backward. "I... uh... I forgot my morning meditation! I need to train!"
"Halt! Fetch the counting rods!"
"No need," Xue Mu rasped, his voice dry. "Total loss is 1,661 taels."
The girl stared at him, blinking her large eyes. "You wake up and start bragging? Bold." But her curiosity got the better of her. She ran out, not to train, but to check his math.
Xue Mu tried to sit up, pain flaring in his chest. He bowed slightly to the woman. "Thank you, Madam, for saving—"
The woman turned. Her eyes, previously like autumn water, suddenly hardened into ice. A terrifying pressure slammed into the carriage. Xue Mu felt his blood churn; he coughed up a mouthful of red.
What the hell? A look that can kill?
"Truly no cultivation?" she muttered, the pressure vanishing. "Who are you? Why did you fall from the sky? And what is with the poison in your blood?"
"Poison?"
"You carry a thousand toxins. You are a walking plague. Speak."
Xue Mu paused. Modern humanity, he realized. Processed food, pollution, vaccines, antibodies. To these ancients, I'm a biological weapon.
"Does Madam have a cure?" he asked.
She laughed, a cold sound. "You answer a question with a question?"
"Are you looking to replicate my condition to create a weapon?"
Her smile vanished. "You are smart."
"You will be disappointed. I am unique. You cannot replicate me."
"Then you are useless." She raised a hand, palm glowing with lethal energy. "Die."
"Wait!" Xue Mu shouted. "I alone am enough to spread the plague for you!"
The hand paused. She was actually considering it.
Just then, the girl burst back in. "Master! He was right! 1,661 taels exactly!"
The woman lowered her hand, looking at Xue Mu with new eyes—not as an ant, but as a potentially useful tool.
Xue Mu wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. Close. These women were psychopaths. But he had an opening. They used counting rods. They struggled with basic arithmetic. In this world of high martial arts, their math and management skills were primitive.
"If," Xue Mu said, stabilizing his voice, "the prosperity of your Sect is more important to you than creating a plague... then I might be of far more use to you than you can imagine."