The heavy cedar table inside the Ruined Peak’s distillation shed creaked as Han Ping dropped a thick roll of coarse parchment across the rough planks.
A single oil lamp flickered between them, casting long shadows over the rows of clay fermentation jars and copper tubing lining the stone walls.
Han Ping wiped grease from his fingers with a stained rag, his usual cheerful demeanor replaced by a rigid, sleepless tension that weighed heavily in his voice.
"The trade stalls on Riverbend Way are crawling with cutthroats, Boss Ye," Han Ping said, leaning over the table and tapping three cinnabar marks stamped into the parchment. "Zhao Feng did not waste an hour after the arena match concluded. He liquidated his mother’s private jade holdings in the lower city and posted three separate bountie
