NOVEL NEXT Chapter 114: Shop opening
The carpenter arrived early with his apprentices, their boots leaving faint prints in the sawdust that still coated the shop floor. Feng Yun guided them with calm, precise instructions.
Behind the counter, they fitted a new row of shelves, each board sanded smooth and oiled until it gleamed faintly in the morning light. At first glance, it was an ordinary fixture. But if one leaned close and tapped the back panel, the hollow echo hinted at the space beyond.
A false back. A narrow compartment running the length of the shelves.
Feng Yun watched as they secured it with a discreet sliding latch — nothing visible from the outside, but easy to trigger if you knew where to press.
Upstairs in the loft, the carpenter measured along the back wall while Feng Yun marked the space with chalk.
"This part here", Feng Yun said, tapping lightly. "It must be flush. No seams, no edges. It should look like the rest of the wall."
The man squinted. "A hidden door?"
"Storage", Feng Yun replied evenly. "For goods not meant for every eye."
The carpenter didn't ask further. In Black Plain City, not asking was often the safer choice.
That evening, when the hammering and sawing had ceased and the apprentices had tramped off down the street, the shop fell silent.
Feng Yun locked the door, drew the curtains, and brought out a plain wooden chest. He placed it on the counter and flipped the clasp.
The lid creaked open, and light spilt into the dimness — not bright, but soft and living, like moonlight caught in shallow water.
Inside lay the true foundation of his business:
Spirit Condensation Pills in small glass jars, their smooth surfaces faintly warm to the touch.
Silverleaf Spirit Tea sealed in tight pouches, its sharp, clean aroma cutting through the dusty air.
Along with a few more of the system's storage goods, each one came from the system, impossible for others to replicate.
Feng Yun lifted a sheet of silk, letting it spill across his hands like water. The weave was impossibly fine, almost invisible to the naked eye. In the right circles, it would fetch enough to buy a manor.
But he had no intention of letting it scream its value. He would dust the edges, fray the ties, and dull the colours just enough to pass for an old merchant's forgotten stock. To the right eyes, they would be treasures. To the wrong eyes, curiosities.
"The city will think they're lucky finds," he murmured to himself. "And luck… is easier to believe than skill."
The next morning, he began arranging his wares.
The front half of the shop was nothing special:
Bundles of talismans inked with simple charms for warding off bad dreams or attracting customers.
The back shelves, however, told a different story. Here, the casual buyer might find:
A pouch of dried herbs that seemed to shimmer faintly under the right light.
A talisman whose black ink was deep enough to glisten, drawn with genuine spirit ink.
A small jar of pills labelled as "stamina restoratives", their faint medicinal scent carrying an undertone of energy-rich qi.
No sign announced them as special. No display case proclaimed their worth.
Those who knew would know.
The first day was quiet. A stooped old woman came for a cooking pot. Two mercenaries picked up travel rations before heading back to the street, muttering about a job in the mountains. A young man in plain robes — but with the faint stiffness of a cultivator — selected one of the spirit ink talismans and paid without meeting Feng Yun's eyes.
By the third day, the rhythm had changed. People lingered longer, their eyes moving from the mundane to the oddities at the back. Feng Yun overheard scraps of conversation outside:
"Sometimes he has rare goods."
"Not always. You have to be lucky."
"The owner… doesn't haggle much. Doesn't ask questions either."
Exactly the kind of rumours he wanted — enough to draw the curious without painting a target on his back.
At night, with the shutters closed and the oil lamp burning low, Feng Yun counted coins with quiet precision.
The shop was not yet bustling, but the till grew heavier each day. More important than the silver was the list in his head — a tally not of purchases, but of people:
The ones who recognised the rare items instantly.
The ones who lingered too long without buying.
The ones who came back too quickly, their curiosity outweighing their need.
Those names and faces he would remember.
Leng Yuexi returned late one evening, the street dust clinging to her boots. She unpinned her cloak, tossed it onto the nearest chair, and fixed him with a steady look.
"What happened?" Feng Yun and Zhao Mingxi asked curiously.
"There's been another disappearance," she said without preamble. "Two rogue cultivators, last seen heading toward the Black Plains Mountains."
"That's the fourth one in a week," Zhao Mingxi said from her seat by the window. Her voice was quieter, as if the walls might listen. "And no bodies. No belongings."
Feng Yun set down his ledger and leaned back, folding his arms. "Beasts?"
"Some think so," Yuexi replied. "But others whisper about something older. A group working in the shadows."
Mingxi's eyes narrowed. "A cult, maybe. Something using forbidden techniques."
Feng Yun's gaze shifted to the window. The night sky stretched dark and clear, the jagged line of the Black Plains Mountains a blacker shadow against the stars.
"Beasts leave tracks," he said softly. "Techniques leave traces. If it's the latter, they'll get bold enough to make a mistake."
"Has anyone sent people to inspect the mountains? I am sure the top forces of the city won't tolerate this." Zhao Mingxi's eyebrows frowned slightly.
No one spoke after that. The air in the room seemed heavier, as though the shadows outside had pressed closer.
At this time, Zhao Mingxi's guard came, carrying a letter. After reading the letter, Zhao Mingxi's expression changed slightly.
"What happened?" Feng Yun asked.
"They are here; my mother's guards are here to bring me back." Zhao Mingxi sighed and said.