CHAPTER 567: A NEW DECREE

Han Yu read the decree under the lamp light but his face did not change. Though in his chest a coil of tension unraveled, then re-knotted itself.

"What did you expect," he told himself. "You pulled too far, someone was bound to release it."

He sat with the decree and a blank slip. Then he wrote quietly for an hour. He mapped what the decree truly meant.

The hall would fix a price band.He could no longer spike demand with tailor made shortages.He could no longer trigger panic buying.He could no longer let the people starve then feed them the next.

That was one side of the coin.

The other side gleamed.

Centralization meant the hall would absorb fluctuations. Clerks would manage inventory buffers. When he delivered at scale, clerks would smooth the flow for him. Buyers would no longer bother him directly.

That freed his hours. It also hid his throughput. If everyone delivered to the same amount, nobody would see which stream was largest. He could increase volume without painting a target on his back.

He tapped the table. A small smile rose and fell.

"Phase two, then."

He registered as a regular supplier the next morning. He did not swagger nor did he haggle. There was no argument to be made when the Elder’s themselves were involved.

Han Yu simply presented his Novice Alchemist title with the same cold face that had made junior clerks stand straighter for a year. He submitted neat batches. Three lots at first. Then five. Then seven. Each lot was perfectly stamped and weighed. Nothing excessive. Nothing suspicious. Always within the hall’s recommended lot size.

The clerks liked him within a week.

Han Yu was punctual than most, even more than some of the elders.

His packaging never leaked. His lots passed purity standards with enviable consistency. He never argued about price bands. He accepted adjustments without protest and even thanked the clerk for clarity which terrified him to no extent.

The clerk was sure Ju Fan’s thanks were sarcastic and he was already plotting how to harvest his blood later.

Standing in line, Han Yu watched suppliers who lost their tempers. He watched others that tried to push into the window early. The zombies did not move, but the line moved around the offenders.

And when that happened he took notes while casually absorbing the Eight Emotions Energy from the people around. After all, this entire debacle was due to him.

Behind the compliance, Han Yu planned more.

He could no longer jerk price.

Fine... He would milk volume.

The hall had back rooms that never rested. Stamped inventory came in, was indexed into racks, and left along fixed routes like blood returning to a heart. If he became one of the beating muscles in that system, his merit would climb heavier than any price trick.

He would become boring. He would become normal. He would become necessary.

He also shifted his hedges.

He had always hoarded the expensive local ingredients he pretended to use. With the decree, he began selling small parcels back to the hall at opportune times, always under a different registered gatherer name, always modest quantities, never enough to look like a dump.

The sales were tiny compared to his stock, but they paid him twice. Once in merit. Again in goodwill from quartermasters who liked suppliers that eased bottlenecks.

He did not abandon the cheap ingredients that actually fueled his recipe. He expanded those contracts quietly. He bought outside the sect now. He paid gatherers before they harvested and gave them guidelines on drying and bundling that reduced wastage.

He never revealed the true destination. He never even let the same messenger visit the same gatherer more than twice in a season. Many coins to many pockets made less noise than a chest to one.

He could not starve the market anymore, but he could still swerve it. He learned the hall’s weekly posting rhythm. He delivered a hair under peak forecast so the board always showed a need for one more lot. The next day his lot arrived just as the board flickered from yellow to green. Clerks noticed who arrived on time. Clerks remembered.

While he engineered these quiet flows, the Disciplinary Hall continued its hunt. Han Yu’s precaution turned fruit as the Elders soon questioned two alchemists who had boasted about windfall profits.

Both men learned to keep their mouths closed when a masked disciplinary elder drew a circle on the floor and asked polite questions that made the room colder. Runners were made to recite their last three months of routes by memory.

A map was filled with red lines that crossed like veins. The phrase masked man began to circulate. Three different silhouettes were reported. One tall. One with a limp. One that smelled of herbs. The council wrote them down and did not like it one bit.

Han Yu kept his life flat and ordinary.

He rose early. He refined. He delivered. He rested. He checked the Slave District auction boards at regular intervals and filed away every face and line of skill data. He never stared at the listings for too long. He never asked a clerk about a particular lot twice.

He saved, he counted and he saved again.

Six months earlier the idea of buying a Core Condensation slave had mocked him. Now the merit stacked enough that he could bid seriously for not just one, or two but ten... of course that was if prices did not spike.

He still had not seen Wu Shuan in any list. He still had not seen Senior Brother Duan. He still had not seen Xuan Qing. Relief and dread shared the same chair in his chest and took turns warming the seat.

He returned from a delivery near dusk and found the latest decree posted on the hall board. He read it quietly.

The Blood Flood Pill price band would narrow again next week.

Reading this Han Yu sighed once more, knowing he’ll have to adjust his plans once more.