73. Freezing a Loan Shark’s Assets (Literally)

We enter the Red Ledger Office.

It is clean. That is the first thing I notice. Not a criminal den; shelves line the walls, stacked with ledgers in neat rows. Ink pots, abacuses, clerks at desks.

‘Respectability as a mask.‘

I see seals on the wall, seemingly official and legitimate. They have a real front. I click my teeth in irritation. If this were an illegitimate organization, I could use force. No one would question it. The authorities would not care about Liang Pu, but they would care about disorder. A Foundation Establishment cultivator terrorizing a registered office was exactly that.

The manager’s office is private, cleanly adorned with luxuries. Silk cushions. A carved desk. The man behind the desk is mortal, but his robes are fine, his rings are jade, and his smile is easy despite being in the presence of a cultivator. I glance at the desk. Small emblems. Souvenirs from cultivator clients. A badge from the Crimson Sun Sect. A token from the Iron Peak Sect. Nothing from the major powers, but enough to imply connections. He’s dealt with cultivators before. I activate the Gaze.

He smiles. It does not reach his eyes.

“Senior Cultivator. This one’s name is Liang Pu. I am the manager of this establishment. May I have the honor of knowing your name?”

I do not smile back. “I am not here for pleasantries. The contract. All of it.”

Without missing a beat, he bows his head in deference and produces the contract.

“I understand, Senior.”

The documents are laid out on his desk: an original note, interest record, transfer history, penalty schedules. He explains them in the tone of a man explaining that water is wet. Official. Legitimate. Reasonable. I let him finish.

“What is the actual expected recovery value on this debt?”

He stills, his smile frozen in place. His eyes flick to Shen Qiao, then back to me.

“Senior, as I have explained, the full amount owing is—”

“The full amount is five mid-grade.” I cut him off. “Shen Qiao pays tiny amounts. He will never reach five mid-grade unless he suddenly gains powerful backing. Therefore, the debt’s true market value is much lower. I am assuming you purchased this debt from another collector?”

His smile tightens. It’s clear he doesn’t expect a cultivator to know so much of predatory lending practices. Most wouldn’t.

I continue. “You have collected enough to cover your purchase. Everything else is profit. I am offering you more profit.”

I smile, mimicking his easy smile as I offer him a proposition.

“One mid-grade stone. And then, you can be rid of this debt and I’ll be on my way.”

He stiffens. “Senior, you must be joking. The most I can concede is four mid-grade stones.”

I tap the table. Ice spreads from my fingertip, white and instant, freezing the wood solid. The cold creeps toward his hands. He pulls back sharply, breaking his facade to reveal what he is.

Just a mortal man who mistakes his wealth for power.

“One mid-grade,” I say again. “Paid now. Clean transfer. No future claim.”

He looks at the frozen table. At me. A fortune for a mortal. A loss for him, technically. But one mid-grade today is better than years of slow payments and the risk of angering a Foundation Establishment cultivator over a sweeper.

CRACK!

The carved desk warps under the sudden cold. I do not pull the ice back. Men like Liang Pu detect mercy as weakness and weakness as profit. His connections mattered only if I caused disorder. I was not causing disorder. I was paying. By cultivator standards, this was quite merciful.

“I’m growing impatient.”

He signs quickly after that. I sign. The contract is stamped, transferred, and handed to me. Liang Pu’s face still bears an uneasy smile as he escorts us out of the office. Duan Ke and the other enforcers stand in a line, sweating profusely with their heads down as we exit the Red Ledger Office. In the street across from the Red Ledger Office where Shen Qiao is waiting, the sun is bright and the crowd is loud and no one looks at us twice.

I hold out the contract. Shen Qiao stares at it. His hands went still, but his eyes roamed the paper as though trying to confirm whether it was real.

“You are free.”

He takes the contract. His fingers press into the paper. I wait a few moments before asking him a question.

“What will you do now?”

He opens his mouth. No words come. He closes it. He has spent so long calculating escape that the answer after is an empty column.

“I… I don’t know.”

I watch his face. The ledger under his arm. The contract in his hands. He could have used me. Leveraged our relationship for his freedom. Instead, he tried to solve it himself and worked alongside me. He sold information, took commissions and built a network. He almost succeeded, and when the collectors came, he did not hide behind me. He stood in the alley alone, trying to negotiate, refusing to reveal my name.

That is either foolish or honest. Perhaps both. And it only reinforces the decision I’m about to make.

“I am the leader of a sect.” Shen Qiao’s eyes lift to mine. “One who needs someone who understands numbers, contracts, supply, risk, and people who lie about all four.”

He says nothing.

“You can stay here. Find another employer or make something of yourself. Use what you earned and start over. I will not stop you.” I pause. “But if you come with me, you will not be sweeping floors while others waste your mind.”

I will not be another shackle for him.

“Come with me, Shen Qiao. Help me build something at the Coiling Dragon Sect.”

His eyes lower to the contract in his hands.

“What would my position be?”

I smile. He is still Shen. Even emotionally overwhelmed, he wants terms. Not joining blindly. I can respect that.

“Provisional steward. Commercial affairs. Records. Procurement. Information networks. Pay to be negotiated.”

He looks at me. At Ling’er. At the contract. At the arena in the distance, where we have spent days building something together.

“Then, Sect Leader…” He tucks the contract into his ledger. His hands are steady now. “I accept.”

I nod. The Foundation bracket is slipping away without me, but I have secured something rarer than a winning bet. Ling’er steps forward, fist meeting palm in a shallow bow.

“Welcome,” she says.

He responds, bowing deeper in gratitude.I watch them and think: this is the first real recruitment I have made since coming here. A man who understands numbers. I walk with Shen Qiao and Ling’er, but I do not immediately return to the arena. The temptation is there. I can hear the distant roar of the crowd, even from here. The Foundation Establishment bracket has already begun again. Techniques worth fortunes are being displayed under hard-light domes. Every passing minute feels like a spirit stone thrown into a river.

But Shen Qiao has just been freed from a lifetime of debt. That does not mean his old life untangles itself in a single dramatic moment. He still has loose ends. If he is going to be the sect’s steward, his first task is closing his own ledger.

I turn to him.

“Go. Collect your belongings. Settle what needs to be settled. Say as little as possible about where you are going.”

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He listens. His face is still, but his eyes are tracking.

“You are not to handle further betting today. No information sales. No ‘old friends’ who suddenly appear with opportunities. Understood?”

He nods. “Understood, Sect Leader.”

He hurries away. At the corner, he takes one last glance at the Red Ledger Office. Then he disappears into the crowd.

I watch him go, then turn to Ling’er.

“The Foundation Establishment bracket is still ongoing. If you follow me around while I handle errands, that is wasted time.” I pause. “More importantly, I have been too focused on cultivator threats. Mortals cannot threaten me. But they can watch, report, follow, manipulate, and corner the people around us.”

She looks toward where Shen Qiao vanished.

“He will be safe for now,” I say. “The Red Ledger Office just learned that he has Foundation Establishment backing. That buys a little time.”

She nods slowly.

“Go to the arena. Watch the remaining Foundation matches. Memorize what you can.”

She hesitates. Then she nods again and walks. I watch her until she too, is swallowed by the crowd.

The day becomes a series of practical measures.