Chapter 2: Negotiating a Deal

"Jinyiwei business—if you want to live, kneel now."
Li Miao spoke these words.

There was no mistaking it—this was a naked insult. For men of the martial world, who valued their reputation above life itself, such blatant contempt was even harder to stomach than the flash of a drawn blade.

Veins bulged on the necks of several disciples from the orthodox sects gathered in the room.

No one knelt, of course. But not a single person dared utter a protest.

All because of the Jinyiwei commandant’s badge at Li Miao’s waist.

The emperor’s hounds, licensed to kill first and report later. If it was just one or two Jinyiwei officials coming to your door, perhaps you could curry favor, offer a bribe, find some way out. But when the court’s enforcers appeared in full force, it meant the emperor himself had marked you for death.

The world of the martial arts had always straddled the line between court and common folk. Yet that did not mean you could stand up and declare, “I am not the Son of Heaven’s subject.” Only by showing respect to the imperial court could you preserve your own standing.

To slight the Jinyiwei was to slight the court, to slight the emperor. If you insisted on making yourself a target for the sake of your own pride, even your own sect master might kill you on the spot to show proper submission to the throne.

Such were the orthodox disciples’ thoughts. As for the solitary outlaws and underworld figures, their fear was a simpler one—the violence of the Jinyiwei.

The Jinyiwei were all orphans, chosen young for their talent and trained in martial arts and body-forging techniques rivaling those of the great sects’ inner disciples. Their lives were a continual dance with death, blades ever drawn. Talent, discipline, sweat, and bitter experience—these they had in abundance.

The dozen or so black-clad, steely-eyed youths blocking the doorway were all accomplished in both internal and external martial arts. If one were to match them against others of equal skill from the martial world, few would survive.

None would kneel, and all were afraid. The atmosphere was tense and brittle.

Li Miao, seeing no response after a long moment, merely chuckled. "Well, well, a room full of hard bones."

Yan Xiaosheng, who had been holding his wine cup in silence, coughed gently and put on his signature affable smile. Stepping down from the seat of honor, he approached Li Miao, smiling as he spoke: "Officer, officer, I wonder what offense my humble establishment has given you? Allow me to offer my apologies..."

He had scarcely finished when a man behind Li Miao stepped forward with a cold, piercing gaze, forcing Yan Xiaosheng to halt in his tracks.

Li Miao ignored him, taking a few steps further into the room. The line of Jinyiwei, like a wall, advanced with him, driving the guests seated by the door to scuttle from their seats with frantic haste, upending tables and bowls in their panic.

Some, too proud to move or unwilling to lose face, remained seated.

Li Miao paused by one such table, glanced down, and remarked with feigned surprise, "Well, if it isn’t Hero Gu of Mount Hua?"

Gu Jiao, known as the “Gentle Breeze Sword,” stood and bowed with calm dignity. "Sir."

"Hero Gu, not practicing swordplay in your own halls—are you here in the capital visiting family or friends?"

"Visiting friends."

"Oh? And which friend might that be? Are they here in this room?" Li Miao’s tone was casual, but the question was deadly. Every word from the Jinyiwei could be a death sentence.

Gu Jiao hesitated for a long moment before finally exhaling. "No, they are not."

"Good," Li Miao replied. "I hear your daughter has been unwell these past few days. Shouldn’t you hurry home to see her?"

A chill fell over the room, and Gu Jiao’s face turned ashen. The meaning was clear: I know everything about your family, their comings and goings.

It also meant: You wouldn’t want your daughter to truly fall ill, would you?

Li Miao leaned in, lowering his voice just enough for everyone to hear: "I tell you to kneel, and you refuse. But surely, if I tell you to leave, you’ll obey?"

Gu Jiao’s expression was grim. He gritted his teeth, glanced between Li Miao and Yan Xiaosheng, and finally raised his sleeve to cover his face as he fled the room. The disciples of Mount Hua followed in a flurry.

Li Miao paid them no mind. He called out another name, “Hero Hu of the Canal Guild, I have long heard of you.”

Hu Shuang, his face dark, saluted Yan Xiaosheng, spoke a single word—"Go"—and left with his men.

These two were the most prominent in the room. Their departure prompted the lesser sects to rise en masse and make their escape in Hu Shuang’s wake.

The Jinyiwei stepped aside to let them pass. Their business was with Yan Xiaosheng; they had no interest in the others.

In a matter of moments, the once-crowded tavern was emptied, leaving only a handful of wanted outlaws, Yan Xiaosheng, his chief lieutenant, and two half-dead thugs sprawled on the floor.

Li Miao strolled to the seat of honor, hooked a chair with his foot, and sat down.

He beckoned to Yan Xiaosheng, who had been standing in place. "Dragon Head Yan, come, sit, sit."

Yan Xiaosheng took the seat opposite Li Miao. Behind him, the sound of a scuffle broke out.

His lieutenant, seeing the way things were going, had tried to bolt for the door. A Jinyiwei struck him across the face with the sheathed blade, knocking out most of his teeth. He was pinned to the floor, a boot pressed to the back of his head, muffled cries escaping his bloodied mouth.

Yan Xiaosheng dared not look back. Li Miao barely glanced over, waving a hand.

A wet hiss—the sound of blood spraying. A narrow blade pierced through the man’s neck. The lieutenant, so arrogant and ruthless only moments before, twitched and was still.

The two thugs, who had been dumping bodies earlier, fainted dead away from fear.

Li Miao showed no emotion. After twenty years in the Jinyiwei, death was as familiar to him as breathing.

Lifting the wine jug, he poured a cup for Yan Xiaosheng, and then one for himself.

"Dragon Head Yan, you must realize you won’t leave here alive."

Yan Xiaosheng’s face was ashen as he nodded.

When the Jinyiwei came calling, especially for a figure like him, it meant either confiscation of property or extermination of his entire clan. Li Miao’s words snuffed out his last shred of hope.

Li Miao nodded. "Truth be told, this job was meant for a lower-ranking officer. Normally, it wouldn’t be my place as a chief inspector to handle it."

"But when we investigated your enterprises, we found your interests remarkably diverse—brothels, underworld dealings, cons, gambling dens—you’ve made quite a fortune over the years, haven’t you?"

Yan Xiaosheng, a man of the underworld, knew there was no easy way out. He dropped his polite façade, downed his wine in one gulp, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, a note of mockery in his voice.

"I merely earn my keep. The real profits go to people of your standing."

"Yes, yes, that’s the way of things," Li Miao replied smoothly, pouring him another cup.

"In truth, your martial skills are on par with a second-tier sect leader. Out in the provinces, you might have made yourself a local warlord. But here, in the imperial capital, to build such a sprawling enterprise takes more than just skill with a blade."

"We’ve looked into your connections—too many people are involved. If we simply wiped you out, we’d risk exposing others, and that’s more trouble than it’s worth."

"But your life and your wealth must still be forfeit."

"And so, as the Jinyiwei’s treasurer, I’ve come to discuss a little business with you."