Chapter 3: Outwitting the Eastern Depot's Probe

Moonlight hung like a sickle, sharp enough to cut, yet unable to hook the killing intent simmering in this deep compound.

Lin Xiao didn't move. He didn’t even let his breathing change pace. A pair of eyes blinked once between the roof tiles; crimson irises reflected the plastic bottle dangling in Lin Xiao’s hand. The cold light refracting off the bottle looked alien and creepy against the pitch-black night.

The other party hadn’t made a move yet.

If it had been a Jinyiwei officer, they’d have already drawn their sword and called out; if it had been an Eastern Depot agent, they’d probably have thrown a shuriken to test the waters. But these eyes? They were terrifyingly still, waiting for the prey to slip up on its own.

The smirk on Lin Xiao’s lips didn't fade. His tongue pressed against his cheek and popped a sharp, crisp sound.

He was gambling.

Gambling on their identity, and even more, on just how deep the water ran behind them. One second, the silence was still as dead water; the next, the roof tiles vibrated slightly. A black shadow dropped down like a ghost, landing silently beneath the withered plum tree in the courtyard.

“Shopkeeper, you have exquisite taste.”

The voice was ice-cold, carrying the texture of metal scraping against stone, like rusty iron dragging across a paving slab.

The intruder didn't draw a blade. Instead, he kept his hands behind his back, his all-black outfit blending into the night. Only a bronze clasp at his waist caught a glint of dark red under the moonlight—the distinctive mark of the Eastern Depot’s "Supervisory" rank.

Lin Xiao stood up, dusted off his trousers, and wore that trademark gentle smile. It looked as if the person in front of him wasn't an assassin sent to steal his life, but an old neighbor who had walked to the wrong door.

“You visit late at night without making a sound. Anyone else would’ve been scared out of their wits by now,” Lin Xiao said, his tone flat, laced with a hint of sarcasm. “But the people from the Eastern Depot don’t seem as rough as the rumors say. In fact, you’re a bit... refined.”

The black-clad man gave a cold chuckle, ignoring the comment, and suddenly took a step forward. It looked casual, but it actually sealed off every retreat Lin Xiao had toward the warehouse. At the same time, his left hand moved slightly. Between his fingertips, a silver needle as thin as a hair appeared, flashing with cold light.

“One question,” the intruder said, his voice low. “What exactly are those things in your warehouse that ‘shouldn’t exist’?”

Lin Xiao’s eyebrow twitched, a silent laugh echoing in his mind.

There it is. Straight to the point.

It seemed the one Su Wan, the Seal-bearer of the Eastern Depot, had sent was hot-tempered. Or perhaps just a savvy spy. The silver needle spun between his fingers, charging up. If that shot landed, it would block Lin Xiao’s acupoints, or worse, drill straight into his brain.

“The Shopkeeper jokes,” Lin Xiao said, stepping back half a pace. He looked frightened, but he was actually stepping into a pre-set trap zone. “The Eastern Depot prides itself on solid evidence. Throwing a silver needle to force someone to talk? That’s a bit beneath you, don’t you think?”

The intruder’s eyes narrowed. He fired the silver needle.

Just as the needle was three inches from Lin Xiao’s throat, Lin Xiao sidestepped. The move was light, graceful, feline. The needle grazed his collar and embedded itself deeply in the brick wall behind him.

Immediately, the floor tile under Lin Xiao’s feet gave a faint “crack.”

It was the sound of a wooden structure being crushed.

The intruder’s pupils shrunk. Instinct told him to pull back, but he felt a massive resistance at his ankles, followed by a horrible, sticky sensation spreading from his feet to his whole body.

“Glue traps,” Lin Xiao said softly, a bit of mischief in his voice. “The person Su Wan sent has decent skills, I’ll give you that. Pity he missed that little detail on the ground.”

In reality, it wasn’t an ordinary rat trap.

It was a modern, high-strength industrial adhesive that Lin Xiao had exchanged from the System, mixed with polymer materials. It was specifically prepared to deal with high-level kung fu experts. Once they made contact, no matter how deep their internal energy was, they’d be glued to the floor, unable to move.

The intruder’s face went grim, but he didn't panic or scream. He forced his chaotic internal energy to stabilize, trying to shake the adhesive off with brute force. However, the industrial glue was stickier than he imagined. The harder he struggled, the deeper he sank.

“You... ” The intruder gritted his teeth, a flash of viciousness in his eyes. His other hand quickly drew a short blade hidden in his sleeve and thrusts toward Lin Xiao.

Lin Xiao didn't dodge.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, shiny object—a high-powered flashlight.

*Click.*

The instant the switch was pressed, a beam of white light, brighter than the sun, shot out like a sword and hit the intruder’s face dead-on.

“Ah!”

The intruder let out a sharp cry of pain, his eyes snapping shut as his body leaned back instinctively.

That backward lean slammed him right into another board Lin Xiao had set up behind him, one coated with a mix of capsaicin and industrial glue.

Burning pain, stinging heat, and sticky resistance exploded all at once.

The intruder shrieked, rolling on the ground. His previously icy face twisted into something that was almost comical. Blood mixed with black glue, leaving shocking streaks across his face. He tried to get up, but his legs felt as heavy as lead; every lift came with a grinding, sickening tear.

“Does it hurt?”

Lin Xiao walked over, looking down at the disheveled figure. He clicked the flashlight off, plunging the area back into darkness, which somehow made the pressure feel heavier.

“Su Wan sent you here to probe for info, right? But she must have given you other orders, too,” Lin Xiao crouched down and picked up the half of an identity tag that had fallen from the intruder’s belt. It was engraved with a blurry character: "Lin." That was a spy network belonging to the Lin Trading House in the capital.

“Shut... up... ” The intruder ground out the words through his teeth. His eyes were as vicious as a wolf’s, but all that earlier composure was gone.

Lin Xiao didn't care about the threat.

He knew that for Su Wan, this “probe” wasn't just a failed intel-gathering mission; it was a total loss of face. The Eastern Depot was famous for its iron fist. Now that one of their top experts ended up rolling around in a puddle of blood like a stuck rat, the moment the word got back, Su Wan would not let it go.

“You’d better hope Su Wan is still in her right mind,” Lin Xiao stood up and tossed the tag back onto the intruder’s chest. “Otherwise, the next person coming to 'visit' you won’t be a little shopkeeper like me. It’ll be something that actually sends your soul to the next world.”

The intruder’s eyes went wide. For the first time, fear flickered in them. He vaguely sensed that this seemingly gentle shopkeeper radiated a vibe that made his instincts scream in fear. It was a power that didn’t belong to this era, something vaster and colder.

Lin Xiao stopped paying attention to him and turned to walk toward the house.

“Drag him back. And help me get my clothes washed. Otherwise, by tomorrow, the whole capital will know that an Eastern Depot agent crawled out of a mud pit.”

With that, Lin Xiao pushed open the door and stepped inside.

He knew that after tonight, the waters of the capital would get muddier.

But he didn't mind muddy water.

In fact, he needed it.

Because only then would those high-and-mighty types look down and watch where they stepped.

Early the next morning, East District, the capital. A small courtyard next to the Lin Family Pharmacy.

The street, usually quiet, now had a long line stretching down the block.

Vegetable-selling farm women, down-on-their-luck scholars, old beggars, and pregnant women were packed tight at the courtyard entrance. The air smelled strange—porridge mixed with coarse grains. In the cold wind, it felt oddly warm.

At the gate, two employees were keeping order.

“One bowl of porridge and two steamed buns each. Line up properly. No pushing!”

At the front of the line, an old man in tattered clothes trembled as he took the food bowl. His cloudy eyes were full of tears. “Th-thank you... you kind soul... I haven’t eaten in three days. I thought I’d die on the street. I never expected... there’d be a charity porridge place like this.”

A young scholar nearby pushed up the imaginary glasses on his nose—he couldn't afford real ones, it was just a habit—and whispered to his companion, “Smell it? The porridge is light, but the flour in those buns is clearly high-grade wheat. With grain shortages like these, being able to produce charity food of this quality... this shopkeeper is throwing around some serious cash.”

“Shh. Keep it down. Word is that Grand Secretary Yang is looking for an excuse to vent his anger at the government. If he finds out someone’s running 'illegal' relief operations in the capital, stirring up the people's hearts... it might be bad.”

“Why worry? The people need food to survive. As long as the masses are fed, it doesn’t matter who holds power,” the scholar whispered, but his voice held a defiant pride. “What matters is who can keep them alive.”

At the corner of the street, a plain donkey cart slowly stopped.

A middle-aged man in a grey robe jumped down. He had a gentle, jade-like temperament, but a clear attitude that kept people at a distance. He stood with hands behind his back, his gaze drifting over the crowd to the steaming porridge pot.

His look was light, but it weighed as much as a counterweight.

In the shadow behind him, a Jinyiwei Hundred-Rank Officer kept his head down, hand on his sword hilt, palms slightly sweaty. He recognized this man. Although this nobleman was low-key and often traveled in plain clothes, even the Emperor rarely saw him.

“So... this is what that mysterious shopkeeper is up to?” the man murmured, frowning slightly.

“Your Excellency,” Chen Jiu, the Jinyiwei officer, stepped forward and lowered his voice. “According to our checks, this Shopkeeper Lin isn’t from the capital. His background is unknown. But he has some... rare goods in his possession. Even the Eastern Depot can’t find the bottom of it. Now he’s opening the Lin Family Charity Granary with such a big splash. I’m afraid he’s trying to challenge the government.”

When Chen Jiu said “challenge,” there was a bit of hesitation in his tone.

Deep down, even though he was annoyed, he had to admit that Lin Xiao’s move had won the people’s hearts.

The middle-aged man didn't say anything. He just watched the long line quietly.

Suddenly, he noticed a small figure at the end of the queue. It was a little book-boy with a backpack, on his tiptoes, trying to squeeze into the line, but the employees kept politely sending him back.

There was no despair in the boy’s eyes. Only stubbornness.

A faint smile curled the middle-aged man’s lips.

“Interesting.”

He turned. The donkey cart creaked as it rolled away, fading into the distance.

“Chen Jiu, go find out who else is backing Lin Xiao.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

Sunlight broke through the thin clouds, casting a golden glow over the long line.

On the roof not far away, Lin Xiao leaned against a pillar, flipping a piece of “future tech” chip retrieved from his System space between his fingers. His eyes were deep and calm.

He looked down at the surging crowd, at the “Lin Family Charity Granary” banner fluttering in the wind. His mind was calm as water.

Su Wan wouldn't let this go.

Yang Tinghe wouldn't let this go either.

But so what?

When the livelihoods of tens of thousands of people depended on this small courtyard, who dared to make a move?

To move against him was to move against the hearts of the nation.

And all he had to do was one thing—

Keep this granary full enough to meet their expectations, but never let anyone starve.

That was enough.

The chess game had only just begun.