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VOID SOVEREIGN
The Path of Absolute Negation
The Tranquil Lotus Inn sat on a quiet corner where the commercial district met the residential quarters, its position deliberate—close enough to the market to attract traveling merchants, far enough from the main thoroughfare to avoid the noise and chaos that drove up property costs.
The building itself was unremarkable in every way that mattered to Xu Jun's purposes. Its facade was well-maintained but showed the wear of decades of use: whitewashed walls that had faded to a soft cream, their paint developing the fine network of cracks that came from seasonal temperature changes. Dark wooden beams supported the structure, their grain visible where the varnish had worn away from years of weather and time. The roof tiles were mismatched in subtle ways that spoke of repairs over the years, replacements made when storms or age took their toll.
Above the entrance hung a sign depicting a lotus flower, the paint faded from what must have once been a vibrant pink to a dusty rose that blended with the evening sky. The lotus itself was rendered with enough skill to suggest the original artist had been competent, but time and weather had blurred the fine details into something more impressionistic than realistic.
It was exactly the kind of establishment that catered to traveling merchants who valued cleanliness and discretion over luxury, who needed a place to sleep and conduct quiet business away from the prying eyes and ears that haunted the more prestigious inns frequented by sect members and wealthy nobility.
Perfect. Utterly perfect for someone who wished to observe without being observed, who needed to blend into the middle tier of society where most people operated.
Xu Jun had identified it within fifteen minutes of entering the city proper, his gaze sweeping across the various inns and lodging houses with the methodical efficiency of someone conducting a military survey. The process was systematic, almost mathematical in its precision. Too expensive and you attracted attention from thieves looking for wealthy targets, from competitors wondering about your business, from authorities who might ask questions about the source of your wealth. Too cheap and you marked yourself as desperate or destitute, neither of which were useful facades when trying to establish legitimate business contacts.
The Tranquil Lotus occupied the exact middle ground that made it simultaneously respectable and forgettable. The kind of place where merchants stayed when conducting normal business, where cultivators of middling rank might rent a room between journeys, where families traveling between cities could find clean beds without bankrupting themselves.
Anonymous. Professional. Unmemorable.
Exactly what he needed.
The common room he entered was larger than the exterior might have suggested, clearly the result of renovations that had knocked down internal walls to create more space for guests. Perhaps a dozen tables were scattered throughout, most currently empty as the evening meal service had ended an hour ago. A few late diners sat finishing their food, speaking in low voices over cups of tea or rice wine. The air smelled of cooking oil, steamed rice, and the faint incense that someone had burned earlier to mask less pleasant odors.
Behind a desk near the entrance sat the innkeeper, a woman who appeared to be in her late forties, though Xu Jun knew that cultivation could preserve youth far beyond normal human limits, making age estimates unreliable. Her hair was pulled back in a practical bun that had long since gone grey at the temples, secured with a simple wooden pin that showed wear from years of use. Her robes were clean but showed signs of careful mending at the cuffs and hem—the clothing of someone who maintained standards but couldn't afford to replace items until they were truly beyond repair.
She looked up from the ledger she'd been reviewing as he entered, and Xu Jun observed her expression shift through a progression of responses he'd seen countless times in countless innkeepers across countless cities: initial alertness at the sound of the door, quick visual assessment of the newcomer to gauge their wealth and potential danger, recognition that he appeared to be a respectable merchant of moderate means, and finally the professional welcoming smile that innkeepers everywhere learned to produce on demand.
The entire sequence took perhaps two seconds. It was practiced, efficient, and entirely genuine within the parameters of professional hospitality.
"Good evening, traveler," she said, her voice carrying the careful neutrality of someone who had dealt with thousands of strangers over the years and learned to give each the same measured courtesy without revealing any personal reaction. "Seeking lodging for the night?"
Her accent marked her as local to this region, with the particular vowel sounds and tonal patterns that suggested several generations of family had lived here. Not that it mattered to Xu Jun, but information was information, and you never knew what details might prove useful later.
"Yes," Xu Jun replied, modulating his own voice to match the pleasant neutrality that people expected from normal social interactions. Neither warm enough to suggest he wanted conversation nor cold enough to give offense. Simply transactional, the voice of a man who knew what he wanted and had no need for unnecessary pleasantries. "A room. Quiet, if possible. First floor preferred, though I'm flexible if none are available."
First floor was optimal for quick exit if problems arose, though he phrased it as preference rather than requirement to avoid seeming overly paranoid or suspicious.
The innkeeper nodded, already reaching for the ledger on her desk with the automatic movement of someone who had performed this same action so many times it had become muscle memory. Her fingers, callused from years of work, flipped through pages with practiced efficiency.
"First floor, room three. Three silver per night, meals included—breakfast at dawn, dinner at dusk. How long will you be staying, Mr...?"
The trailing pause was an invitation to provide a name, her tone making it a polite question rather than a demand, though clearly the information was necessary for her records.
"Chen Wu," he supplied without hesitation, the name flowing from his lips as naturally as if he'd been born with it rather than inventing it mere hours ago. "Duration uncertain. A month initially, perhaps longer depending on how business develops. I prefer to pay weekly rather than daily, if that's acceptable."
Weekly payment suggested stability and moderate wealth—someone with enough resources to commit to a week at a time but not so wealthy as to pay for a month upfront without concern. It positioned him precisely where he wanted to be: respectable but not remarkable, comfortable but not extravagant.
"Very reasonable," the innkeeper said, making a notation in the ledger with practiced brush strokes that showed she'd been keeping records for many years. "Twenty-one silver for the week, then. Room three is down the hall, second door on the left. Breakfast is served in the common room at dawn—nothing fancy, but it's filling and fresh. Dinner at dusk, same principle. The bathhouse is in the rear courtyard, shared with other guests, though at this hour you'll likely have it to yourself. Hot water costs extra—two copper per bucket, collected by the attendant."
She continued describing the inn's services with the efficiency of someone who'd given this speech hundreds of times: chamber pots cleaned daily, laundry services available through arrangements with a woman in the neighborhood, stable facilities if he had a horse that needed boarding, storage available for goods that wouldn't fit in the room.
Xu Jun listened with half his attention while the other half catalogued details about the inn's layout, security, and the innkeeper herself. No cultivation base that he could detect, which meant she was either a pure mortal or so skilled at concealment that she far exceeded his ability to sense such things. The former was far more probable given the modest nature of her establishment—powerful cultivators rarely ran common inns.
The furniture was sturdy but old, maintained through regular repair rather than replacement. The floorboards showed wear patterns that suggested where guests most commonly walked. The walls were thick enough to muffle but not completely block sound from adjacent rooms, which could be useful for gathering information but also meant his own activities might be overheard if he wasn't careful.
Mental note: Conduct any sensitive business during hours when other guests are unlikely to be in their rooms, or take precautions to negate sound transmission through walls.
"That all sounds acceptable," Xu Jun said when she finished her recitation. He reached into his robe and produced a small purse he'd prepared earlier, counting out twenty-one silver coins with the careful precision of someone who tracked their money but wasn't miserly about it. The coins clinked softly as they hit the desk's wooden surface, each one created mere hours ago through the same negation technique he'd used at the city gate—common stones temporarily convinced they were currency.
The innkeeper swept them into a lockbox beneath the desk with practiced efficiency, her movements showing she'd handled thousands of such transactions without incident. Her fingers had the automatic counting motion of someone who could tally coins by touch and weight alone, a skill developed over decades of handling money.
"Thank you, Mr. Chen. Welcome to the Tranquil Lotus." She produced a key from a drawer beneath the desk, holding it out to him. The key was iron, worn smooth by years of use, its teeth simplified from countless insertions and removals from the lock. "If you need anything during your stay, my name is Mrs. Qin. I'm usually here at the desk during daytime hours. At night, just leave a note if something requires attention."
He took the key, its weight familiar despite having never held this specific key before—iron keys all felt similar, all served the same function. "Thank you, Mrs. Qin. I appreciate the thorough welcome."
She offered another professional smile and turned her attention back to her ledger, clearly having other work to attend to now that the transaction was complete. In her mind, he knew, he was already filed away in the same mental category as hundreds of other traveling merchants: 'Chen Wu, room three, paid through the week, no special requirements or concerns.' He'd given her absolutely nothing memorable, nothing that would make him stand out in her recollection beyond being another face among the many that passed through her establishment.
Perfect. Precisely what he'd intended.
Xu Jun walked down the hallway she'd indicated, his footsteps making soft sounds on the wooden floor despite his attempts at quiet movement—complete silence would actually be more suspicious in a building where sounds were normal and expected. The walls were decorated with simple paintings of landscapes and calligraphy scrolls with common proverbs about hospitality and fortune, the kind of generic decoration that appeared in inns throughout the region.
Room three was exactly where she'd said it would be, the number painted on the door in black characters that had been refreshed recently enough to still be clearly legible. He inserted the key, felt the mechanism turn with the slight resistance of a lock that needed oil but still functioned adequately, and pushed the door open.
The room was small but clean, containing exactly what he'd expected from his preliminary assessment of the inn's quality tier. A narrow bed occupied one wall, its frame wooden and simple but sturdy, supporting a thin mattress that had developed a permanent depression in the center from years of use by countless sleepers. The bedding was clean—he could smell the soap used in washing—but showed the slight discoloration that came from repeated use and sun-bleaching.
A simple wooden desk and chair stood against another wall, the desk's surface scarred from years of travelers using it to write letters, conduct business, or simply rest their belongings. The chair wobbled slightly when he tested it with one hand, one leg fractionally shorter than the others from wear or poor initial construction, but it would serve its function adequately.
A washbasin sat on a stand near the window, accompanied by a cracked mirror that had been repaired at some point with a thin line of some adhesive substance running through it. The crack had been stabilized but not eliminated, creating a subtle discontinuity in any reflection.
The window itself was covered with a paper screen rather than glass—glass windows were expensive and this inn operated at a tier where paper sufficed. Through the screen he could see the dim outline of the alley beyond, hear the faint sounds of the city settling into its evening rhythm.
The room smelled faintly of lye soap and old wood, with an undertone of lamp oil and the mustiness that accumulated in any space that saw frequent but brief occupation. Previous guests had left subtle traces of their presence: a faint water stain on one wall where someone had once spilled tea or wine, a small scratch on the windowsill that might have been made by a bag set down too carelessly, wear patterns on the floor showing where people had most commonly walked.
Human traces. Evidence of lives lived, however briefly, in this space. Fragments of strangers who had passed through, leaving these small marks of their temporary existence before moving on to wherever their journeys had taken them next.
Xu Jun felt nothing observing them. Not nostalgia for his own long-forgotten travels in other times and places, not curiosity about who these people had been or what stories they might have carried, not even the faint echo of recognition that might suggest some buried memory of similar rooms in his own distant past. The traces were simply data points, evidence of the inn's regular use and approximate level of maintenance. Nothing more.
After a moment of stillness that might have been reflection in anyone capable of such emotional responses, he moved to the window and looked out into the alley. The view was exactly as uninspiring as he'd anticipated: a narrow passage between buildings, barely wide enough for two people to pass each other without turning sideways, paved with irregular stones that had developed a permanent sheen of moisture from poor drainage and the accumulated runoff from roof gutters.
A cat prowled along the far wall, its movements displaying the peculiar combination of grace and predatory focus that characterized hunting felines. It paused occasionally, ears swiveling to track sounds too faint for human hearing, clearly searching for rats or other small prey in the shadows between stones.
Somewhere in the distance, muffled by the intervening buildings and the general ambient noise of urban life, he could hear voices—a man and woman arguing about something domestic, their words too distorted by distance and walls to make out clearly but their tones unmistakable. The angry emphasis of the man's voice, the defensive higher pitch of the woman's response, the rhythm of an argument that had probably been rehearsed many times before with only minor variations in the specific accusations and justifications.
The ambient sounds of urban life, continuing its endless rhythm regardless of who was listening, indifferent to any individual observer's presence or attention.
Observation protocol initiated. Phase one complete—lodging secured, base of operations established with appropriate cover story. Position optimal for future operations.
Phase two objectives: Establish routine behavioral patterns. Blend into local environment through consistent presence and unremarkable activity. Monitor local social dynamics and power structures through passive observation and casual conversation.
Duration: Seven days minimum for basic integration and pattern establishment. Fourteen days recommended for thorough assessment of local conditions and identification of potential contacts.
Priority targets for information gathering: Local power structure and political hierarchy, economic networks and trade relationships, information brokers and their areas of specialization, potential assets who might be recruited or leveraged for future operations.
Xu Jun turned from the window and moved to the desk, lowering himself into the chair despite its tendency to wobble. The discomfort was irrelevant—comfort was a concern for beings who experienced physical sensations as pleasant or unpleasant rather than mere data. The chair served its function as a place to sit, allowing him to adopt the posture most efficient for the mental processing he needed to conduct. That was sufficient.
For the next three hours, he remained motionless in that position, his body perfectly still while his mind processed the information he'd gathered during his infiltration of the city. An observer watching through the window would have seen only a man sitting at a desk, apparently meditating or deep in thought, nothing unusual or concerning about the scene.
Every conversation he'd overheard in passing as he'd moved through the streets. Every gesture he'd observed between people that revealed relationships and hierarchies. Every subtle interaction that provided clues about how this society functioned, what its rules were, where its pressure points and vulnerabilities lay. All of it was catalogued now, sorted and cross-referenced, analyzed for patterns and implications.
The city's economy appeared to center around three primary industries, each supporting and reinforcing the others in a stable triangular structure. First was the cultivation resource trade—the buying and selling of materials needed by those who practiced the arts of energy manipulation and physical enhancement. Spirit stones, rare herbs, formation materials, cultivation pills, weapons designed to channel energy, protective talismans, and a thousand other specialized items that formed the infrastructure of the cultivation world.
Second was textile manufacturing, with the region apparently known for producing a particular type of spirit-silk that was harvested from specially cultivated worms that fed on plants infused with cultivation energy. The resulting fabric was both beautiful and functional, capable of being woven with formation patterns that provided protection or enhancement to the wearer. Multiple large workshops operated in the city, employing hundreds of workers and producing goods shipped throughout the region.
Third was the city's role as a waypoint for larger merchant caravans traveling between the coastal regions where ships brought goods from overseas, and the interior provinces where agricultural production and mineral extraction dominated the economy. The city's position at the convergence of three major trade routes made it a natural stopping point where caravans could rest, resupply, trade with local merchants, and reorganize their cargo for the next leg of their journeys.
These three industries created a stable economic foundation, each one generating demand for the others, creating a self-reinforcing cycle that suggested the city's prosperity wasn't dependent on any single source of wealth that could be easily disrupted.
The merchant guilds held significant influence over day-to-day commercial operations, their rules and standards shaping how trade was conducted. But they operated under the nominal authority of a city lord whose actual power seemed largely ceremonial based on the casual disregard with which people had discussed his recent proclamations. Several conversations he'd overheard had mentioned recent edicts from the lord's manor with tones ranging from mild annoyance to outright mockery, suggesting that official authority held less weight than it theoretically should.
The true power, he'd noted during his initial observations and confirmed through additional data points gathered during his walk through the city, lay with the cultivation sects. Three major sects maintained permanent presences in the city, their compounds occupying prime real estate near the center where land values were highest and symbolic positioning mattered most.
The Flowing Cloud Sect specialized in wind and water techniques, their disciples known for producing skilled aerial combatants who could move across battlefields with remarkable speed and flexibility. Their compound was marked by tall towers that caught the wind, and their disciples wore robes in shades of blue and white that mimicked flowing water and drifting clouds.
The Crimson Path Sect focused on fire cultivation and close combat, drawing most of its recruits from warrior families who valued martial prowess and direct confrontation. Their compound was fortified like a military installation, and their disciples wore red and black, often carrying weapons openly even within city limits where such displays were technically discouraged.
The Jade Seal Sect dealt primarily in defensive formations and artifact refinement, serving as the city's de facto military engineers and the primary source of protective arrays for important buildings. Their compound was covered in formation patterns visible even to non-cultivators, a demonstration of their expertise, and their disciples wore green robes decorated with seal script characters.
Interesting. A tripartite balance of power maintained through mutual deterrence rather than unified authority. Each sect was strong enough to cause serious problems if they decided to act aggressively, but not strong enough to dominate the others without risking their own destruction in the process. Such arrangements were inherently unstable—all it would take was one sect growing significantly stronger than the others, or one growing desperate enough to risk open conflict, and the entire delicate structure could collapse into violence.
Instability meant opportunity. Chaos created gaps in social structure, and gaps could be exploited by those who understood how to turn disorder into advantage.
Mental note: Monitor inter-sect tensions closely. Identify pressure points where small interventions might create disproportionate effects. Position self to profit regardless of which faction emerges dominant in any future conflict.
A soft knock on the door interrupted his analysis, pulling his attention back to the immediate present. His head turned toward the door with mechanical precision. He hadn't sensed anyone approaching through the hallway—his attention had been focused inward during his review, a minor lapse in environmental awareness that he immediately noted for future correction. One should never become so absorbed in thought that situational awareness degraded to dangerous levels. That was how people died, however much time they'd spent carefully building their cover identities.
"Mr. Chen?" Mrs. Qin's voice came through the door, polite but carrying an undertone of mild concern that suggested she'd knocked more than once before he'd registered the sound. "Dinner is being served in the common room. Will you be joining us this evening?"
He considered briefly, running through a quick cost-benefit analysis of the options. Eating would serve multiple purposes beyond the immediate satisfaction of hunger that normal humans experienced but which was irrelevant to his physiology. It would help maintain his human facade—people who didn't eat regularly attracted attention and questions. It would provide opportunity to gather additional information through observation of other guests and casual conversation. It would establish his routine as a normal traveler conducting normal business, building the pattern of unremarkable behavior that would make him invisible through sheer ordinariness.
The actual consumption of food was unnecessary from a metabolic standpoint—his body could sustain itself indefinitely through ambient energy absorption, one of the few practical benefits of being more void than flesh. But the social ritual had strategic value that justified the time and minor effort involved.
"Yes," he called back, modulating his voice to sound neither eager nor reluctant, simply acknowledging her offer with the mild interest one might expect from someone who'd been working and hadn't realized dinner hour had arrived. "I'll be there shortly. Thank you for letting me know."
"Very good, sir. We have braised pork tonight, quite fresh from this morning's market."
Her footsteps retreated down the hallway, accompanied by the soft rustle of her robes against the walls in the narrow passage. The sound faded gradually as she moved back toward the common room, where he could hear the faint clatter of dishes being arranged and the low murmur of voices from other guests already gathering for the evening meal.
Xu Jun stood, made a minor adjustment to his robes through the simple expedient of negating any dust or wrinkles that might have accumulated during his stationary meditation, and opened the door. His appearance was now exactly as it should be: a merchant who'd been resting after a day of travel, presentable but not overly formal, ready to take a meal before retiring for the night.
The common room had become noticeably more active since he'd first passed through it, now holding perhaps a dozen people scattered across various tables in configurations that told their own stories about relationships and social dynamics. A group of merchants sat at a corner table, their voices low and serious as they discussed what were clearly business matters—he caught fragments about shipping costs and market prices as he passed. A pair of young cultivators played some kind of board game near the window, their casual posture and joking banter suggesting off-duty relaxation rather than serious competition.
An elderly scholar sat alone at a small table, reading a book by candlelight with his lips moving slightly as he mouthed the words, clearly either memorizing text or simply so accustomed to reading aloud that the habit persisted even in public. A young couple occupied another table near the kitchen entrance, their heads close together as they spoke in low, intimate tones, their body language suggesting either a new romance or a relationship renewed after separation.
Xu Jun selected a table near the wall that offered good sightlines to the entire room while keeping his back protected from surprise approach—old habits acquired over lifetimes of careful paranoia, habits that had kept him alive, or at least existing, when more careless beings had been destroyed by threats they hadn't seen coming. The position allowed him to observe without being obvious about it, to monitor all entrances and exits while appearing to simply be a solitary diner choosing a quiet corner.
Mrs. Qin appeared almost immediately, moving with the practiced efficiency of someone who could navigate the common room blindfolded if necessary. She carried a tray laden with dishes that released steam and savory aromas into the air: a bowl of rice still steaming from the pot, braised vegetables glistening with sauce that caught the candlelight, a moderate portion of pork that had been cooked with five-spice and rice wine based on the scents, and a cup of hot tea that sent delicate tendrils of steam curling upward in the air currents.
Simple fare by the standards of expensive restaurants or noble houses, but competently prepared and generous in portion size. The kind of honest food that working people ate, substantial and flavorful without pretension.
She set the tray before him with movements that spoke of decades of practice, each dish placed precisely where it needed to be, the arrangement both practical and aesthetically pleasing in a simple way.
"Thank you," Xu Jun said, the words automatic, a social script executed without thought or meaning but necessary for maintaining normal human interaction patterns.
She smiled—a professional expression that reached her mouth but didn't quite extend to her eyes, the smile of someone who'd learned to be pleasant without expending genuine emotional energy on every guest—and moved on to attend to other diners, leaving him to his meal.
Xu Jun picked up his chopsticks and began eating with mechanical regularity, each movement precise and economical, bringing food to his mouth at intervals that would appear normal to any observer. The food had taste—his sensory apparatus still functioned perfectly, capable of registering every nuance of flavor and texture—but the tastes arrived as pure data rather than experience. Sweet from the braising sauce. Salty from the soy and seasoning. Savory from the meat and its cooking method. Slightly bitter from some vegetable whose name he didn't know but whose chemical composition his senses could analyze.
Information about preparation and ingredients, registering in his consciousness as clearly as colors or sounds. But no pleasure. No satisfaction. No sense of the meal being good or bad, only an acknowledgment of its constituent properties and nutritional content.
While he ate, maintaining the appearance of a man focused on his dinner, he listened to the conversations flowing around him, his enhanced perception picking out individual threads from the general ambient noise of multiple discussions happening simultaneously.
"...heard the Crimson Path disciples found an ancient ruin three days' journey north. Supposedly contained techniques from the previous era, before the great collapse of the cultivation world five centuries ago..."
"Bah, rumors and exaggeration. You know how these things grow with each telling. Probably just an old tomb with some minor artifacts and maybe a few spirit stones if they're fortunate..."
"My shipment was delayed again. Third time this month. These bandits are getting bolder, I tell you. Operating with impunity while the city lord does nothing to secure the trade roads..."
"The Jade Seal Sect says road security isn't their responsibility. The Crimson Path says they're too busy with other matters. And the Flowing Cloud disciples just laugh and say merchants should hire better guards..."
"Did you hear about the city lord's son? Failed his advancement to Tier 2 again. That's what, the fifth attempt now? The boy should give up cultivation and focus on administration. At least he might be useful in managing his father's affairs..."
"Sixth attempt, actually. The family tries to keep it quiet, but servants talk. They say he barely eats anymore, spends all his time in meditation trying to force a breakthrough that clearly isn't going to happen..."
"The new girl at the Golden Peony pleasure house is supposed to be absolutely stunning. Worth the silver they're charging, from what I've heard, though I haven't confirmed personally yet..."
Fragments of conversation, most mundane, some potentially useful. Xu Jun absorbed them all without discrimination, filing each piece of information away in his mental archives for potential future relevance. You never knew what seemingly trivial detail might become crucial later. He'd once leveraged knowledge of a merchant's affair into controlling access to an entire city's grain supply. Small pieces of information could combine into large advantages when properly utilized.
The key was collecting everything without judgment, without filtering based on assumptions about what might be important. Importance was contextual and situation-dependent. What seemed irrelevant today might be critical tomorrow.
"You're new here."
The voice came from his left, pulling his attention from the ambient conversations he'd been monitoring. Xu Jun turned his head to find one of the cultivators from the corner table standing beside him—the younger of the two who'd been playing the board game, a man perhaps in his mid-twenties with the confident bearing that came from moderate power combined with insufficient experience to understand the limits of that power.
His robes were quality silk marked with the stylized cloud emblem of the Flowing Cloud Sect, the kind of expensive garment that sect disciples wore to display their affiliation and status. His hands showed the distinctive calluses that came from regular sword practice—marks on the thumb and forefinger from gripping a hilt, hardening on the palm from impact with practice weapons. His posture was that of someone who'd trained in combat forms but likely had limited actual combat experience, the stance slightly too perfect, too formal, lacking the unconscious adjustments that came from fights where the stakes were life and death.
Tier 2 cultivation base, Xu Jun assessed automatically, sensing the density and quality of the energy that radiated from the young man like heat from a fire. Flow stage, probably mid-level based on how the energy circulated through his meridians. Dangerous compared to normal mortals, essentially irrelevant to anyone with real power, but still capable of causing problems for someone trying to maintain a low profile.
Careful evaluation required: potential threat, potential asset, or simply curious sect member with no particular relevance to operations.
"I arrived this evening," Xu Jun replied neutrally, his tone offering neither welcome nor rejection of the approach, simply acknowledging the observation while providing minimal information. His expression remained pleasant but not eager, the face of someone who would tolerate conversation but wasn't particularly seeking it out.
The cultivator gestured to the empty chair across from him with casual presumption, clearly accustomed to having such requests granted. "Mind if I sit? I don't think I've seen you around the city before. Name's Wei Lin, Flowing Cloud Sect outer disciple."
Outer disciple—important distinction. It meant he had access to sect resources and some authority within the organization, but wasn't part of the inner circle where real decisions were made and sensitive information was shared. Useful for gathering general intelligence about sect activities without the risk of dealing with someone important enough that their disappearance or manipulation would trigger serious investigation.
A calculated decision point presented itself. Refuse the approach and potentially offend someone who might have useful connections, limiting future information access and marking himself as unfriendly or antisocial. Accept and risk unwanted attention or entanglement in sect politics, potentially drawing scrutiny from people with enough power to see through his cover identity. The optimal choice depended on Wei Lin's actual value versus the risk he represented.
Preliminary assessment based on available data: Low immediate risk, moderate potential value. Outer disciples typically had access to enough sect information to be useful sources of intelligence without being important enough to attract serious attention from senior members. Social interaction with such individuals was expected behavior for a merchant hoping to do business in the city—refusing would actually be more suspicious than accepting.
Proceed with cautious acceptance and measured engagement. Gather information while revealing minimum about self. Position as potential future contact without committing to any relationship beyond casual acquaintance.
"Chen Wu," Xu Jun said, offering his fabricated name as he gestured to the chair in implicit invitation. "Please, sit. I'm always interested in meeting locals who might help me understand the city's... commercial landscape."
The phrase 'commercial landscape' was deliberately chosen—vague enough to apply to almost any kind of business while suggesting legitimate trade rather than anything questionable. It positioned him as someone interested in profit opportunities without specifying what kind, leaving room to adjust his apparent interests based on what Wei Lin seemed most likely to respond to positively.
Wei Lin settled into the chair with the casual ease of someone comfortable in his own body and social position, his movements displaying the unconscious confidence of someone who'd never been truly threatened in his life, who'd never had to worry that a moment's inattention might result in death. His sword, Xu Jun noted, remained peace-bonded at his side—the leather strap that prevented quick draw still in place, indicating he wasn't expecting trouble and probably lacked significant real combat experience despite his evident training.
"Merchant?" Wei Lin asked, though his tone suggested he'd already made his assessment based on Xu Jun's clothing and bearing. "What kind of goods do you deal in?"
Another decision point. Too specific an answer and he risked being asked questions he couldn't answer convincingly about trade details he hadn't yet researched. Too vague an answer and he'd seem suspicious or incompetent. The optimal response was specific enough to sound legitimate while vague enough to allow flexibility.
"Specialty goods, primarily," Xu Jun said, picking his words carefully. "Rare materials, unique items, occasionally antiquities or texts for collectors. The sort of things that don't fit into standard merchant categories or guild regulations. I maintain contacts across several regions and help connect buyers with sellers when conventional channels aren't suitable."
The description was deliberately ambiguous, suggesting anything from legitimate rare goods trading to black market operations, allowing Wei Lin to interpret it based on his own assumptions and experiences. It was the kind of business description that could mean almost anything, which made it perfect for someone who didn't yet know what specific role he'd be playing in this city's economy.
"Ah, a broker," Wei Lin said with evident interest, his posture shifting to indicate increased attention. "That's potentially valuable. The sects are always looking for unusual materials, and the normal merchants sometimes struggle to source specific items. Looking for suppliers or buyers in Sky Abyss City?"
"Both, potentially, though I'm still in the preliminary assessment phase." Xu Jun took a sip of his tea, using the gesture to punctuate his speech naturally. "I'm still familiarizing myself with the local market dynamics and power structures. Every city has its own rhythms, its own networks of relationships that need to be understood before one can operate effectively. Trying to conduct business without that understanding is a recipe for either wasted effort or serious mistakes."
It was a deliberately cautious and professional response, the kind of thing an experienced merchant would say, showing awareness of local complexity without claiming premature expertise. It positioned him as careful and thoughtful rather than arrogant or naive.
"Well, you've definitely come to the right place," Wei Lin said with the enthusiasm of someone enjoying the opportunity to show off insider knowledge. "Sky Abyss City is a major trading hub—everything passes through here eventually. Goods from the coast, from the mountains, from the interior provinces, even occasional imports from across the western deserts. If you're looking for rare items or unusual contacts, this is absolutely the place to establish yourself."
He leaned back in his chair, radiating the confidence of someone who felt they were providing valuable information. "If you need connections or introductions to the right people—merchants, sect procurement officers, specialized craftsmen—I might be able to help. For a small facilitation fee, naturally. I make it a practice to help new arrivals navigate the local business landscape. It's good for everyone when traders can operate efficiently."
Of course there would be a fee. Everyone had an angle, a way to profit from interactions with others. Wei Lin saw an opportunity to earn some silver by brokering introductions, which was actually a perfectly legitimate small business on the side of his sect duties. Outer disciples often supplemented their sect stipends with such arrangements.
In fact, the offer was so normal and expected that refusing it would be more suspicious than accepting. This was simply how business was conducted in cities where personal connections mattered more than official procedures.
Xu Jun had expected no less. In fact, Wei Lin's opportunism was actually reassuring—it meant he was behaving exactly as a typical outer disciple would, without any hidden agenda or unusual interest beyond the prospect of earning a few coins.
"That's generous of you to offer," Xu Jun said, his tone carefully neutral, expressing neither excessive enthusiasm nor dismissive rejection. "I'll definitely keep that in mind as I establish myself in the local market. When the time comes for more permanent arrangements and formal introductions, you'll be among the first people I contact."
The response was non-committal but positive, suggesting future business without actually promising anything concrete. It left the relationship potential intact without obligating him to actually use Wei Lin's services unless it proved genuinely useful.
"Excellent. Please do." Wei Lin produced a small card from his robes, the kind of calling card that people exchanged in business contexts, with his name and sect affiliation written in neat calligraphy. "You can usually find me at the sect compound during morning hours, or leave a message at the Jade Garden tea house on the east side of the commercial district. The owner knows me and will make sure any correspondence reaches me quickly."
Xu Jun accepted the card, examining it briefly before tucking it away. The gesture was pure theater—he'd already memorized every detail—but social norms required the appearance of giving the card proper attention.
"I appreciate the contact information," he said. "And while we're on the subject of advice, is there anything specific I should know about conducting business in Sky Abyss City? Any local customs or sensitivities that an outsider might not be aware of? I'd rather not inadvertently cause offense through ignorance."
The question served multiple purposes: it positioned him as cautious and respectful of local norms, it gave Wei Lin an opportunity to feel helpful and knowledgeable, and it might actually provide useful information about potential pitfalls to avoid.
Wei Lin considered for a moment, his expression taking on the slightly self-important look of someone who enjoyed being asked for advice. "A few things worth knowing. First, all three sects are technically equal in status, but they're very sensitive about displays of favoritism. If you're going to work with one, be discrete about it, or better yet, maintain relationships with all three to avoid appearing to take sides."
"Second, the merchant guilds control access to most major markets and warehouses. You'll need to either join a guild or partner with a guild member if you want to operate at any significant scale. The fees are substantial but trying to work outside the guild system will just get you shut down or worse."
"Third—and this is important—there's tension between the Crimson Path and Jade Seal sects over some territorial dispute in the border mountains. Mining rights or something like that. It's been simmering for months and everyone expects it to eventually turn into open conflict. Don't get caught in the middle of that situation. Stay neutral, don't sell exclusively to either side if you deal in anything that could be used in sect conflicts."
All useful information, and Wei Lin delivered it with the authority of someone who felt confident in his knowledge. The territorial dispute was particularly interesting—Xu Jun filed it away as a potential source of future opportunities. Conflicts always created demand for goods and services that couldn't be obtained through normal channels.
"That's very helpful," Xu Jun said with genuine-sounding gratitude that was entirely calculated. "I'll definitely keep all of that in mind. The last thing I want is to accidentally entangle myself in sect politics. I'm just here to facilitate trade, not pick sides in disputes I don't understand."
"Smart approach," Wei Lin approved, standing as his companion at the other table called him back to their game. "Welcome to Sky Abyss City, Chen Wu. Try not to step on any important toes while you're getting your bearings. The local powers can be... territorial about their interests, and they're not always gentle with people who cause problems, even unintentionally."
"I appreciate the warning. I'll be appropriately careful."
Wei Lin nodded, satisfied that he'd played the helpful local to a promising new contact, and returned to his table. Xu Jun watched him go, already analyzing the interaction and extracting useful information from how it had unfolded.
Assessment: Wei Lin—opportunistic but not aggressively so. Moderately intelligent with adequate social awareness. Well-connected within outer sect circles but lacks access to truly sensitive information or real power. Cultivation base insufficient to detect any anomalies in my nature or see through basic deceptions.
Potential utility: Information source for sect activities and general city affairs. Introduction vector to merchant networks and other contacts. Low-risk relationship that can be maintained with minimal investment. Could serve as distraction or misdirection if authorities become curious about my activities.
Risk assessment: Minimal. Can be cultivated as casual contact without significant resource expenditure. If relationship becomes problematic, can be terminated through simple neglect or, if necessary, through memory alteration to remove recollection of our interactions.
Recommendation: Maintain friendly but distant relationship. Exploit when optimal opportunity presents. Monitor for any indication that he's reporting my activities to sect superiors or showing unusual interest beyond simple business opportunism.
Xu Jun finished his meal in silence, the food consumed with mechanical efficiency rather than any sense of enjoyment or satisfaction. When the last bite had been taken and the tea drunk, he returned his dishes to the kitchen window where Mrs. Qin accepted them with an acknowledging nod. He offered the same slight nod in return—basic courtesy that would be noted as good manners without being memorable—and made his way back to his room.
The evening was still relatively young, perhaps only two hours past sunset, but he had no need for further social interaction beyond what served immediate strategic purposes. Maintaining his cover required appearing normal, and normal people often retired to their rooms early when traveling, either to rest or to handle private business. His withdrawal from the common room would attract no notice or speculation.
Back in his room, he extinguished the candle Mrs. Qin had left burning on the desk—a thoughtful touch suggesting she maintained good standards of hospitality—and sat in the darkness that didn't inconvenience him in the slightest.
To any observer who somehow managed to peek through his window, he might have appeared to be meditating in the traditional cultivation manner, sitting in formal posture with eyes closed, seeking enlightenment or cycling energy through meridians according to whatever technique his sect had taught him.
In reality, he was processing, analyzing, planning with the cold precision of a machine designed for exactly this purpose—a being that could think but not feel, that could calculate but not care, that could survive but not truly live.
The city's rhythms were becoming clearer with each hour of observation, each interaction adding data points to his growing understanding of how this society functioned. The merchant guilds operated on predictable schedules, with established meeting times and auction cycles that suggested they valued routine and tradition. The cultivation sects maintained their careful balance of power through constant mutual surveillance and occasional cooperative ventures that prevented any single faction from growing too dominant. The common people went about their lives in the spaces between these power structures, simultaneously dependent on the powerful for stability and victimized by their conflicts and ambitions.
And beneath it all, invisible to most observers, he could sense the subtle currents of information, money, and influence that actually made the city function—the real power that flowed through informal networks and backroom deals rather than official proclamations and public ceremonies.
He would insert himself into those currents. Carefully. Methodically. Like a stone dropped into a pond, creating ripples, but controlled ripples that spread in precisely calculated directions and magnitudes.
Tomorrow, he would begin in earnest. Today had been about observation and infiltration, establishing his presence without drawing attention, learning the basic geography of the social landscape. Tomorrow would mark the start of actual integration into the city's power structures—building relationships, establishing economic presence, identifying potential tools among the local population.
The approach would be multi-pronged, redundant systems ensuring that no single failure could compromise the entire operation. Economic presence through careful trading and brokering. Information networks through strategic relationships with people positioned to gather useful intelligence. Identification of leverage points—people with problems he could solve, weaknesses he could exploit, needs he could fulfill. And most importantly, remaining below the threshold of serious scrutiny from anyone with enough power to be genuinely dangerous.
Premature exposure would be catastrophic. The sects maintained security forces specifically to identify and eliminate threats. If they realized what he truly was, if they understood that he could negate their abilities and dissolve their carefully cultivated power...
They would unite against him. Politics and rivalries would be set aside in favor of eliminating an existential threat to the entire cultivation system.
So he would be patient. He would be careful. He would build his position one small, unmemorable action at a time until he'd made himself too embedded to safely remove.
That was the strategy. That had always been the strategy across countless cities and countless lifetimes.
Make yourself indispensable. Make yourself invisible through ubiquity. Become so integrated into the system that the system itself protected you because your removal would damage too many vested interests.
Timeline update: Day one of active operations complete. Base secured without incident. Initial reconnaissance successful. Cover identity established and tested through social interaction. Information gathering protocols initiated.
Void debt status: 89.7% threshold unchanged. Current activities generating negligible additional degradation—well within sustainable parameters. Margin maintained.
Next twenty-four hour objectives: Morning—explore commercial district in detail, identify key merchants and guild locations. Afternoon—visit marketplace, assess available resources and current pricing structures. Evening—establish contact with at least one information broker if opportunity presents naturally. All activities to be conducted in character as curious new merchant familiarizing himself with local business environment.
Long-term objective tracking: Days until critical threshold—1,167 remaining. Current pace adequate for establishing sustainable operations before deadline. Acceleration unnecessary at this phase, would increase risk of detection disproportionate to marginal time savings.
Outside his window, Sky Abyss City continued its nightly existence, thousands of lives intersecting and diverging in the eternal dance of human society. Lanterns lit windows in buildings throughout his field of view, each one representing people engaged in their evening routines—families sharing meals, merchants reviewing accounts, cultivators practicing techniques, lovers meeting in secret, all the countless variations of human activity that filled cities with life and noise and motion.
Life, in all its chaotic, messy, inefficient, emotional glory, continued without pause or awareness of the thing that had entered its midst.
And in room three of the Tranquil Lotus Inn, something that wore the shape of a man sat in perfect stillness, plotting its next moves with the cold precision of fifteen centuries of accumulated experience.
The game had only just begun, and Xu Jun had always been patient.
After all, what were a few weeks of careful preparation to someone who had been playing games like this for over a millennium?
Nothing. Less than nothing. Merely the opening moves of a sequence that would unfold over months and years, each action building on the last, each success creating opportunities for the next, until finally—inevitably—the city would be his to control from the shadows.
Not through conquest. Not through force. But through the far more reliable method of making himself indispensable to too many people for his removal to be practical.
Invisibility through ubiquity. Safety through utility. Power through others' dependence.
The perfect strategy for someone who existed on the edge of reality itself.
Somewhere in the distance, a night watchman called out the hour, his voice carrying through the quiet streets. Around the city, other guards would be changing shifts, merchants would be tallying their day's profits in account books lit by candlelight, cultivators would be entering meditation to consolidate whatever gains their day's training had brought, families would be settling children into bed with stories or lullabies that had been passed down through generations.
The city lived. The city breathed. The city continued its existence in blissful ignorance.
And in the void that was Xu Jun's consciousness, calculations continued their endless procession, each thought following the last with mechanical inevitability, planning and scheming and analyzing without rest or mercy or doubt.
Tomorrow would bring new opportunities. He would be ready for them. He was always ready.
That's what fifteen centuries of survival had taught him. How to endure. How to adapt. How to turn every circumstance into advantage.
How to be the stone that stayed still while the river flowed past, wearing away at everything that tried to move it.
Patient. Relentless. Inevitable.
The void endured. The void was patient. The void would consume everything given time.
And Xu Jun was the void wearing a human face, speaking human words, learning human ways.
All while remaining utterly, completely, fundamentally inhuman beneath the carefully maintained disguise.
The perfect predator. The perfect parasite. The perfect void.
Chen Wu, the mysterious merchant, settled in to sleep despite needing no sleep, maintaining the facade even in the privacy of his own room, because careless habits could become dangerous habits, and dangerous habits led to exposure.
And exposure led to death.
So he lay down on the narrow bed, closed his silver-grey eyes that saw without needing light, and pretended to sleep like the human he was pretending to be.
Perfect. Meticulous. Relentless.
Just another night in just another city for something that had survived far longer than any city had stood.
The void endured.
Always.