Chương 63: 62. A Sect Leader’s Guide to Insider Trading

I meet Shen Qiao at the usual alley. His ledger is open, his scarred nose wrinkled in concentration.

"Silver Hall first," he says.

"That's the mortal side. Qi Condensation bracket only. Mortals can't follow Foundation Establishment fights, so the hall doesn't bother offering what they can't judge." He flips a page.

"Bets are in silver. Low-grade stones are accepted, but they convert them at poor rates. Silver Hall takes a bigger cut. Early rounds use bucket betting."

"Bucket betting?"

"Drop your coins in a bucket for the fighter you want. End of round, they count the buckets. Winners split the loser's pot, minus the hall's cut." It's primitive but effective. It shares the same logic as horse betting on Earth.

"Top eight becomes fixed odds," Shen Qiao continues.

"Before then, there are too many matches, too many fighters so the clerks don't try to set odds for every early round."

"Reasonable."

"I don't know how accurate the counts are," he admits.

"Most of what I learned came from servants, kitchen boys, and gamblers who had already lost money. They complain more honestly than winners. One of the stable hands said the Silver Hall gets loud enough that the clerks stop caring about small mistakes. Another said if you win too much in silver, they just pay you and forget you. If you win too much in low-grade stones, they remember your face. One of the servants here got spooked when a cultivator kicked them out after winning big a few months ago."

"Good to know."

"Servants place bets for cultivator masters," he adds. I look up from the ledger.

"Allowed?"

"No."

"Enforced?"

"... Only when the sums get large enough for enforcement to be profitable." Of course. Some principles transcend worlds.

"What does that look like?" I ask.

"Small bets are ignored. A servant placing ten silver on behalf of a young master? Nobody cares. A steward placing fifty low-grade stones across six counters? Someone starts asking why a mortal has that much money and who gave it to him." Shen Qiao taps the page.

"People say the Silver Hall dislikes schemes more than cheating."

"Difference?"

"Cheating embarrasses one clerk. Schemes make the entire hall look stupid." I consider that. The Crimson Dragon Alliance bankrolled both halls. That meant they could afford small leakage. Small leakage created volume, which created noise. Noise hid ordinary corruption, servant bets, drunken wagers, and small mortal hustles. But anything large enough to imply organization would be treated differently.

"And the Jade Hall?" I ask. Shen Qiao's expression flattens slightly.

"Harder. Cultivators only. I can't get inside. Most mortals only know what they hear from their masters complaining afterward." He glances down at his notes.

"Spirit stones only. Lower cut. All brackets. More complicated bets. But I don't trust the details enough to report them as fact." I close the ledger and hand it back.

"You did well."

"I did little."

"You learned what you could, noted what you couldn't confirm, and didn't lie about the difference." I meet his eyes.

"That is more useful than a confident liar."

"... I'll keep asking."

"Carefully."

"I know." It's no surprise he can't gather as much information. How many cultivators are willing to explain how the Jade Hall works to a mortal who can't even use it? I make that my goal for tomorrow. The next day, I walk the shopping district. A shopkeeper selling mid-grade pills. A formation master between commissions. A wandering cultivator who has been in the city for three months and is already down thirty mid-grade stones on bad bets. I buy things, I haggle, I chat.

I ask about the tournament, about the fights, about who looks strong this year. Most are happy to talk. Cultivators love to talk about themselves. The picture of the Jade Hall forms slowly. Cultivators only. There were specialty bets available. Win condition like knockout, submission, ring-out, death. Even breakthroughs mid-battle, a fighter advancing a stage during a match is rare but not unheard of. The odds change accordingly.

"Saw it once," the wandering cultivator says.

"Foundation Establishment Fourth Stage, losing badly. Then he broke through to Fifth mid-fight. Turned everything around. The payout was enormous—no one had bet on it. I've been chasing that high ever since." By the time afternoon arrives, I have what I need to confidently draw my plan. I continue shopping, seeing it as a chance to find what I need. Bloodline awakening manuals, specifically. The results are insulting.

The first shopkeeper shows me something called Tiger Blood Awakening Manual, bound in red leather and displayed behind glass like a priceless inheritance. The cover has a roaring tiger stamped in gold, which is always a bad sign. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. The Gaze flickers.

Tiger Blood Awakening Manual - Grade: Low Type: Body Refinement Manual (Qi Condensation) Contents: Aggressive breathing exercises, meat-heavy diet recommendations, three drawings of tigers. No bloodline theory. Verdict: This awakens nothing except indigestion. I close the manual.

"How much?"

"Fifty low-grade stones," the shopkeeper says, smiling. I stare at him. He lowers it to forty. I keep staring.

"Thirty-five?" I put the manual back. The second shop has a Dragon Marrow Resonance Scripture. For one brief, beautiful moment, hope rises in my chest. Then I read the first page. It is a collection of vague statements about "feeling the dragon within the bones," followed by a marrow-strengthening exercise copied from a common soldier's body-tempering drill. Someone has replaced every mention of "spine" with "dragon spine".

Dragon Marrow Resonance Scripture - Grade: Trash Type: Body Refinement Manual (Fraudulent) Contents: Common marrow-strengthening method with dragon terminology added later. Verdict: A chicken painted green does not become a jade phoenix. I close that one more gently than it deserves. The shopkeeper leans closer.

"A rare text, Senior. Very suitable for those with noble beast ancestry."

"Do I look like someone with noble beast ancestry?" He hesitates.

"One can never know, Senior."

"Correct," I say.

"Which is why fraud is dangerous." His smile weakens. I place the manual on the counter and tap the cover.

"This scripture claims to awaken dragon marrow through reverse-breathing, but the breathing pattern is copied from a common military drill. Page twelve refers to tiger sinews instead of dragon marrow because whoever copied this forgot to change the animal." The shopkeeper's face turns pale. Behind me, another customer slowly lowers the manual he is holding. The shopkeeper bows quickly.

"Senior has sharp eyes. Perhaps this old one was misled by a supplier."

"Of course."

"Terrible people, suppliers."" Terrible." He bows again.

"Perhaps Senior would prefer to view our more practical collection?" He becomes extremely helpful after that. I do not find a bloodline awakening manual. I do, however, leave with a generous discount on several texts that are actually useful. I also find a small stack of formation maintenance notes for Lian. Not profound, but the kind of boring knowledge that keeps arrays from failing at inconvenient times, which means it is probably more valuable than half the "ancient secrets" in this shop.

By the time I leave, the shopkeeper is still bowing. Despite my efforts, no true bloodline awakening manual. The subject is rare. Either the manuals are hoarded by established bloodline families, or they have been bought up by larger powers. I think of the Crimson Dragon Alliance, buying out every dragon technique in the satellite city.

'Knowledge is power. Those who have power do not share it.' And those who lack power apparently draw tigers on common breathing exercises and hope no one notices. By the end of the day, I have gathered enough information to make educated bets, and enough manuals to bolster my sect. For now. I return to the inn and grab Ling'er for dinner at a small stall near the inn. She eats noodles with her usual focus. As she slurps, I explain everything.

The Silver Hall, the Jade Hall, the brackets, the odds, the specialty bets. She listens, her chopsticks pausing mid-bite.

"I think I understand," she says slowly.

"But some of it… This is harder than cultivation." I snort. It should be the other way around. A twelve-year-old who can reverse-engineer techniques from a single glance should not find gambling odds confusing. And yet here she is.

"You don't need to understand all of it," I say.

"Your job is simpler. Watch the combatants. Read their threads. See who is secretly injured, who is planning to take a dive, who is holding back their true power. That information is worth more than any odds calculation." She nods, relieved.

"I can do that. For sure."

"Good." I met Shen Qiao after dinner. He confirms what I already know. But the Jade Hall is beyond him; mortals cannot pass the guards, and he cannot learn anything I could not learn myself. I am unsurprised. The division makes sense. The cultivator side of the city is walled off in more ways than one. I expected this. Shen Qiao hesitates. His fingers tap the edge of his ledger.

"You gambled before?" I ask.

"I can calculate odds. I can calculate payouts. I do not gamble."

"Why not?" He looks at me, tired.

"I can calculate the probability of a fighter winning. I cannot calculate whether they will throw the match. I cannot calculate whether the clerk will record my bet correctly. I cannot calculate whether the house will pay out or invent a reason to refuse." He pauses.

"Too many strangers hold my money. I do not trust strangers."

"But you trust me."

"I trust that you will pay me if I provide value. That isn't the same at all." I consider this. Cultivators see the world simply. Power is power. A Foundation Establishment cultivator does not fear a Qi Condensation disciple. A Core Formation elder does not fear a Foundation Establishment sect leader. The hierarchy is clear and the rules are known. Mortals do not have that luxury. Shen Qiao cannot rely on his cultivation to enforce agreements. He cannot threaten violence if a buyer refuses to pay.

He cannot rely on reputation to guarantee fair treatment. Every transaction is a leap of faith: faith that the other person will act as expected. Frostbite waits in Wei Zheng's shop, sitting in the hands of a man who still hates weapons. I have no guarantee he will not sell it to a collector. No guarantee he will not wake tomorrow and conclude that cultivators are only trouble wrapped in silk robes. Trusting him is a wager. Shen Qiao himself is another.

I hired him for potential and handed him baskets of meat with no certainty he would come back. A mortal clerk with sharp eyes and too much hunger in him. He could have disappeared into another district before sunrise. Instead, he returned with ledgers and contracts. Then there is Ling'er. Storybooks, delivery routes, and meat wrapped in lotus leaves. I keep telling myself these small things matter.

That if I teach her how to live before I teach her how to win, she will not grow into someone who mistakes strength for virtue. I think of Wei Liang. Then Feng, kneeling with a blade at his throat and my mercy balanced against his resentment. That was a wager too. They all were.

"... Gambling with stones is easy," I say.

"Numbers are easier than people. The most dangerous bets are the ones you place on others." He is quiet for a moment. We stand in the alley. The lantern light flickers. Somewhere inside the restaurant, someone drops a pot.

"Before you go," Shen Qiao says.

"Who are you betting on in the tournament?" I look at him. His face is careful, but his eyes are sharp. He is not asking out of idle curiosity.

"Do you know something the others don't?"

"I have my ways," I say. He doesn't press. I turn and walk toward the inn. The streets are crowded, the lanterns bright, the city loud. Shen Qiao's words follow me. Wei Zheng holds my sword. Ling'er holds my hope. Shen Qiao holds my information network. I have placed my bets.