The old man’s smile widened, stretching the thin skin around his eyes into a web of crinkles. An empty gap gleamed beside his incisor. Kuang Mian calibrated the distance to his throat, measuring reach and counter-weight. She had moved through countless such calculations in her previous life, always with efficiency. Her left hand, hidden within the loose sleeve of Bai Yulu’s robe, curled. A sliver of chilling qi, barely perceptible, began to coalesce around her fingertips. One swift strike to the neck, severing the carotid, silent and clean. The old man wouldn't even have time to reconsider his poor life choices. “Now, now, little sparrow,” the old man rumbled, his voice surprisingly robust despite the frail appearance, “no need for such dramatics. It’s bad for the qi flow, and worse for the complexion.” He took a slow step forward, parchment rustling in his gnarled hand. “You made a rather enthusiastic mess of Elder Lin’s inventory, didn’t you? Six thousand Grade-9 Jade ingots missing, a rather glaring discrepancy when compared to your original entry of, ah, *checks page again*, ‘one small, chipped gravel token’.” He chuckled, a dry, raspy sound. “Amateurish, truly. But then, you’re new to this particular game, aren’t you?” Kuang Mian froze, her killing intent dissipating not from fear, but from sheer, indignant surprise. Amateurish? *Her* work? She, the Blood-Ash Sovereign, who had pilfered half the demonic realm’s treasuries with such finesse that her enemies still blamed each other? The nerve of this tattered old relic. He continued, oblivious to her simmering fury. “See here.” He jabbed a stained fingernail at the record. “You replaced the true tally of Grade-9 ingots with a number far too small to be credible, yet not small enough to escape an afternoon audit. What you *should* have done,” he said, pulling a worn brush and a tiny inkstone from his sleeve, “was increase the apparent stock of some other, lesser-used material. Then, discreetly, write off two hundred mineral slabs every week across three months. No one tracks a slow leak until the barrel rings hollow.” With a few swift, elegant strokes, his brush danced across the page. Kuang Mian tracked the ink as the numbers shifted, the dates altered, and the stray pebble morphed into a documented depletion of rare ore, culminating in a steep drop precisely two nights ago—timed to Elder Lin’s scheduled inventory audit. Blame pivoted from raw theft to months of systemic negligence, framing the unfortunate administrator for embezzlement. “There,” he said, snapping the bound leaves shut with a soft thump. “Clean. Deniable. Pointed squarely at a peacock who believes his lineage exempts him from scrutiny.” A sharp glint lit his rheumy gaze. “I am Patriarch Tuo Buyan. It seems we share a taste for reorganizing the estate's balance sheets. I manage the paperwork, you cart away the bullion. You secure your quiet estate downstream, and my rivals choke on their own insolvency.” Kuang Mian considered this. A silent, senile accomplice who actively framed her targets? This was an open vault door lined with silk cushions. She had always preferred to work alone, but this old man was offering to *clean up her messes* and *pin them on someone else*. The sheer convenience was intoxicating. “And what,” she asked, her voice flat, “is the cost of your… services?” Patriarch Tuo Buyan waved a dismissive hand. “A small portion of the clunkier hardware. A few ugly ceremonial urns from the North Pagoda’s vault, or that gaudy set of jade calligraphy brushes from Elder Yun’s study. Junk that hogs shelf space to flatter inherited vanity.” He winked. “Think of it as an aesthetic clean-up.” Before Kuang Mian could respond, a piercing, resonant clang ripped through the serene mountain air. One bell, then another, then a cacophony of deep, booming gongs vibrated through her bones. The compound bells clanged in the long, measured cadence of an internal breach. Tuo Buyan grinned, revealing that solitary dark gap in his gum. “Impeccable timing. Our rebalancing act drew an audience. To the Grand Pavilion, little sparrow. Our debut awaits.” He shuffled away, leaving Kuang Mian to fall in behind the rushing crowd. Junior initiates streamed down the stone staircases toward the central sanctuary, white silk sleeves whipping like startled egrets. Polished obsidian floors reflected gilded pillars inside the hall, where senior stewards jostled for rank beneath a towering mural of a crowned crane. At the dais, the Sect Head stood motionless. The Sect Head's voice rang across the rafters. “Brethren! Two nights ago, our vaults were violated. Six thousand units of Grade-9 refined jade have vanished from the reserve stores!” Gasps rippled through the crowd. Kuang Mian mentally high-fived herself. Six thousand! A magnificent haul. She caught sight of Feng Zihuan near the front, his perfect face a mask of furious indignation. He must have been worried about his own future cultivation funds. Beside him, Elder Lin, portly and grease-skinned, dabbed his temples with an embroidered sleeve while scanning the crowd. “The vault guards,” the magistrate continued, pointing toward three trembling sentries in indigo robes, “recovered a strand of white silk matching inner-sect uniforms caught in the lockplate. Furthermore, due to the sudden illness of her maids, Bai Yulu was absent from her quarters throughout the third watch.” Kuang Mian felt a prickle of irritation. Absent? She had been too busy *acquiring* her future retirement fund to bother with such trivialities as ‘residence’. Her posture did not shift, though her jaw tightened. So, her first theft was already under suspicion. This was faster than she’d anticipated. Before anyone else could speak, Feng Zihuan stepped forward, his voice a thunderclap that silenced the hall. “Silence! Are you truly suggesting that my fiancée, Bai Yulu, a paragon of purity and an embodiment of righteous virtue, could possibly be involved in such a sordid act?” His gaze flared with indignant nobility. He turned to the guards, his gaze scathing. ““You build accusations on a stray thread and the fact that she was in secluded meditation? Your incompetence is a stain upon the sect! You are not fit to guard a chicken coop, let alone the Grand Treasury!” He gestured dismissively at the head guard, whose face crumpled under the verbal assault. “Bai Yulu is far too unworldly to understand thievery, far too elevated to covet common coin! Any slight against her honor answers to my blade!” Kuang Mian watched him, a slow, calculating appraisal running through her mind. His golden hairpin, gleaming under the hall’s magical illumination, looked like pure, unadulterated Sunglow Gold. It was easily worth five hundred high-grade gems. A valuable piece of plunder, if she could just find a way to… acquire it. He was certainly dramatic, she conceded, but also utterly, completely oblivious. She wondered if his righteous indignation could be monetized and liquidated into bearer bonds. Feng Zihuan drew his scabbard an inch, bright steel ringing. “By the founders' bones, I will hunt this dog myself! I shall drag the wretch to the central plaza and sever their meridians for all the peak to see!” As Feng Zihuan’s impassioned vow hung in the air, Elder Lin, seizing the moment, wiped his brow with a silk handkerchief. “Elder Council! Given the magnitude of the loss and the tainted perimeter, I demand a total quarantine of the outer gates! Not a carriage departs until the missing freight is recovered!” Murmurs broke across the crowd. Kuang Mian assessed the exits; sealing the mountain paths meant freezing outgoing freight. This was an intolerable disruption to her liquidity.

The Accomplice in Rags