As Zhao Ming stepped into Murong Trading House, the usual bustle of workers moving crates and clerks tallying shipments filled the air. The scent of parchment and ink mixed with the faint aroma of stored grains and spices, creating the familiar atmosphere of commerce in motion.

  Shopkeeper Wu, seated behind his sturdy wooden desk, looked up from a ledger. His keen eyes immediately noticed the shift in Zhao Ming’s demeanor.

  “You look troubled,” Wu remarked, setting aside his brush. “Something happened at the governor’s office?”

  Zhao Ming exhaled and took a seat across from him. “The situation in Beihai… and at court.”

  Wu gestured for him to continue, his fingers tapping lightly against the desk. Zhao Ming recounted everything—Luoyang’s worsening political strife, the eunuchs tightening their grip, He Jin’s precarious position, and most pressing of all, Langya’s fall to the rebels and the increasing uncertainty facing Beihai.

  Wu listened attentively, his expression unreadable, before finally speaking.

  “The Murong Trading House will assist Beihai,” he said calmly. “This city is our base, and chaos is bad for business.”

  Zhao Ming nodded, already expecting that much.

  “But,” Wu continued, his gaze sharp, “we won’t do so blindly. The governor might trust us, but trust alone does not feed or protect us. A merchant’s duty is to survive, and survival means making calculated decisions.”

  Zhao Ming smirked. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

  Wu chuckled. “I suppose you wouldn’t. You understand it well, don’t you? If Beihai falls, we must be ready to adapt—whether that means securing our own defenses, moving our assets, or even withdrawing before we get dragged down.”

  Zhao Ming leaned forward slightly, his fingers steepled. “Exactly. Even though Kong Rong trusts Murong and Yu Trading House, he never once mentioned any kind of reward or benefit for standing with him.”

  Wu scoffed. “That’s the problem with scholars and noblemen. They expect loyalty out of duty, but duty alone won’t keep our ledgers balanced. If we commit ourselves fully without securing our own interests, we’ll collapse alongside Beihai.”

  Zhao Ming’s expression grew serious. “Then, before we decide how much we’ll help, we need to prepare ourselves first. We must secure our trade routes, reinforce our escorts, and—most importantly—strengthen our relationship with Yu Trading House. Lady Yu is an astute woman. If we’re going to weather this storm, we need to work with her.”

  Wu rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Lady Yu… She’s smart and knows how to navigate dangerous situations. Her family isn’t as strong in martial matters as the Murong clan, but they have their own network of protection. If we work together, we can reinforce each other’s weaknesses.”

  Zhao Ming nodded. “Exactly. We need to establish clear terms—how we’ll support each other, what resources we’ll share, and most importantly, how we’ll handle the situation if things turn dire.”

  Wu sighed. “A partnership of necessity, then. I can reach out to her discreetly and set up a meeting.”

  “Good,” Zhao Ming said. “Because we don’t have much time. The rebels at Langya won’t stay put forever, and once the chaos in Luoyang spills over, Beihai could become a target for opportunists—bandits, deserters, or even ambitious nobles looking for an easy prize.”

  Wu tapped the desk with his knuckles. “Then we need to prepare our defenses as well. Not just our businesses, but the guards we employ, the supplies we stockpile, and even the people we trust to keep our trade running.”

  Zhao Ming’s expression darkened slightly. “If things get worse, we may need to start arming our own people.”

  Wu’s eyebrows rose. “Are you suggesting that Murong Trading House raise its own private force?”

  Zhao Ming met his gaze. “Not an army, but… enough to protect our interests.”

  Wu was silent for a moment before he let out a low chuckle. “You really do think like a merchant and a strategist.”

  Zhao Ming smirked. “We can’t afford to be just one or the other. This is only the beginning.”

  Wu leaned back, exhaling. “Fine. I’ll start making the necessary arrangements, and I’ll reach out to Lady Yu. You, in the meantime, should focus on the governor’s side of things. If he needs our help, let’s make sure he knows that nothing comes for free.”

  Zhao Ming stood up. “That was my plan from the start.”

  As he left the trading house, his mind was already racing ahead, piecing together the next steps. Beihai was standing at the edge of a storm, and only those who prepared wisely would survive what was coming.

  Zhao Ming stepped into the restaurant, his gaze sweeping over the quiet interior. The scent of sizzling meats and fragrant spices lingered in the air, a comforting aroma that reminded him he hadn’t had a proper meal all day. It was a quiet hour, well past the lunchtime crowd but not yet the evening rush—perfect for avoiding unnecessary company.

  The innkeeper, a round-bellied man with sharp, calculating eyes, greeted him with a knowing smile. “Young Master Zhao, it’s been a while. A private room today?”

  Zhao Ming gave a slight nod. “Preferably on the third floor.”

  The innkeeper chuckled. “You have good timing. The best seat is available—by the window, with a clear view of the city and the sea.”

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Good.” Zhao Ming handed over a few extra coins. “Make sure I’m not disturbed.”

  The innkeeper took the money with a pleased expression and motioned for a server to lead him upstairs.

  The wooden steps creaked softly under his boots as he ascended to the third floor. The private room was spacious but simple, furnished with a low table, a few cushioned seats, and a wide-open window that let in the crisp sea breeze. From here, one could see the bustling streets below, merchants hawking their wares, and the vast blue ocean stretching endlessly beyond the horizon.

  Zhao Ming took his seat, letting his fingers tap lightly against the polished wood of the table. He ordered the restaurant’s specialty—braised fish with ginger and scallions, accompanied by a pot of fine tea.

  As he waited, his mind drifted.

  The past few weeks had been a blur, filled with urgent discussions, delicate negotiations, and no shortage of difficult decisions. Now, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he had a moment to himself.

  He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling.

  His thoughts first turned to Xu Liang’s family and the refugee settlement. The people had come far since their days of desperation, working tirelessly to become self-sufficient. But even as they built homes and tilled the land, their place in Beihai was not yet secure. If trouble came knocking, what would happen to them? Would they fight? Would they flee? And more importantly—should he let them?

  Next was Murong Trading House.

  Unlike other merchants in Beihai, their interests aligned with his—not just because they had aided him, but because he was bound to them through Murong Xue. This was no longer just business; strengthening Murong Trading House meant securing his own future. Their success was his success, and if Beihai was to weather the coming storm, the Murong family needed to be prepared.

  He couldn’t allow them to remain passive observers. Murong Trading House had to grow stronger, to position itself not just as a merchant force, but as a power that could not be easily swept aside.

  His grip on the teacup tightened slightly as his thoughts drifted to Murong Xue.

  She had been on his mind more often lately, an ache of absence that he had pushed aside for more pressing matters. How long had it been since he last saw her? With everything happening in Beihai, he had neglected to visit or even send word. That wouldn’t do.

  Setting the cup down, Zhao Ming reached into his sleeve and pulled out a small slip of parchment. He would write to her tonight. It was the least he could do.

  Then there was Langya.

  The commandery had already fallen to the rebels months ago. Though Beihai had been keeping an eye on their movements, there was no telling what they would do next. With the Han court in chaos, no reinforcements would come. If the rebels decided to push north, Beihai would have to defend itself alone.

  His grip on the cup relaxed. War was not yet upon them, but it was close. Too close.

  Just as he lifted the teacup to his lips, a soft knock came at the door.

  “May I come in?” A clear, familiar voice carried through the wooden frame.

  Zhao Ming’s brows lifted slightly before recognition settled.

  Lu Qianyi.

  His lips curled into a faint smirk. Now, what was she doing here?

  Zhao Ming set his teacup down, his fingers lightly tapping against the rim as he glanced toward the door. “Come in,” he said, his voice steady.

  The wooden door slid open, revealing Lu Qianyi. She stepped inside with practiced grace, but there was something different about her tonight. The usual sharp confidence in her eyes was dulled, replaced by something more uncertain, something almost… hesitant.

  She closed the door behind her, taking measured steps toward the table. Zhao Ming noted the slight stiffness in her movements, the way her fingers twitched at the edges of her sleeves—small, almost imperceptible signs, but enough for him to know that something was weighing heavily on her mind.

  She took a seat across from him, exhaling softly as if gathering her thoughts.

  “I already placed an order,” she said, her tone light, too light—forced. “Another specialty dish from the chef. Consider it my treat for today.”

  Zhao Ming arched a brow, unimpressed by the attempt at casualness. Lu Qianyi was not the type to offer generosity without reason. He leaned back slightly, lacing his fingers together as he observed her.

  “You must want something,” he said plainly.

  She didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she reached for the teapot, pouring herself a cup with deliberate slowness. Stalling. Another sign of hesitation.

  Zhao Ming didn’t interrupt, simply watching as she lifted the cup to her lips, took a sip, then set it down carefully. Her fingers lingered against the porcelain, tracing idle patterns along the rim.

  Finally, she spoke.

  “I need your help, Zhao Ming.”

  His brows furrowed slightly. Help? He wasn’t sure what she meant, nor why she would ask him of all people.

  “You’re not making any sense,” he said. “Help you with what?”

  She took a deep breath, fingers tightening around the porcelain cup. “Not just me,” she corrected. “My father.”

  Zhao Ming’s expression remained unreadable, but inwardly, confusion stirred. Lu Zhi was one of the most respected scholars of their time. A man of integrity, wisdom, and deep political ties.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  Lu Qianyi’s gaze flickered downward for a brief moment—another rare show of uncertainty—before she met his eyes again.

  “Kong Rong won’t help him,” she said, her voice quieter now, tinged with frustration. “Neither will the other nobles. They all have their own interests, their own survival to consider. None of them will put themselves at risk for my father.”

  Zhao Ming remained silent, his mind processing her words. Lu Zhi was a pillar of righteousness, but that was precisely why he had enemies. In the capital, where greed and corruption dictated the tides of power, a man like him was an obstacle, not an ally.

  “The court is turning into a battlefield,” Lu Qianyi continued. “My father… he’s standing in the middle of it.”

  Zhao Ming narrowed his eyes. “What exactly is happening to him?”

  She hesitated again.

  Zhao Ming sighed. “Lu Qianyi, if you’re going to ask for my help, at least tell me everything.”

  She exhaled slowly, gripping the cup tighter before speaking.

  “My father is caught between the eunuchs and He Jin’s faction,” she said, her voice low. “He supports the restoration of proper governance, but that means he’s opposed to both sides—He Jin’s camp sees him as a threat to their influence, and the eunuchs see him as an enemy who won’t bow to them.”

  Zhao Ming’s expression darkened. It was worse than he thought.

  “So they’ll try to remove him,” he stated.

  Lu Qianyi nodded. “If he stays in Luoyang much longer, it’s only a matter of time before they do.”

  Zhao Ming tapped his fingers against the table, considering. Lu Zhi was a man of principle, but principles didn’t keep someone safe in a court full of wolves.

  “You think I can do something the nobles won’t?” Zhao Ming finally asked.

  Lu Qianyi let out a slow breath. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I know that you aren’t bound by their politics. You don’t have a noble house to answer to. You aren’t tied to the same interests that make them hesitate.”

  Zhao Ming tilted his head slightly, his fingers drumming against the wood. True. He was in a unique position—connected to power, yet not fully entangled in its web.

  Still… helping Lu Zhi? What did that even mean? Did she want him to pull him out of Luoyang? To send aid? Or was this something more?

  The restaurant door slid open slightly, and the server entered, carrying the dishes. The rich aroma of braised meat and fragrant herbs filled the room, momentarily cutting through the heavy conversation.

  Zhao Ming picked up his chopsticks, twirling them between his fingers as he studied the woman in front of him.

  This wasn’t just a simple request. Lu Qianyi was asking him to take a side.