The Forge of Fortune

The Jade Lotus House was a ghost in the predawn chill, its crimson lanterns swaying in the wind, the last echoes of drunken revelry slipping into the frost.

Han Jin's palanquin jolted along the icy streets, the bearers' boots crunching through slush, their breaths steaming in the cold. Inside, he sprawled across silk cushions, one leg dangling lazily over the edge.

His black-and-gold robes were a rumpled mess—half prince, half rogue. The stale tang of wine clung to him, mixed with the faint trace of Lian Xue's sandalwood tea, both cloying and bitter.

Prince Chen rode alongside, his horse snorting clouds of white into the freezing air. His dark robes flapped behind him like a vulture's wings. "You've really done it this time, Han Jin," he called over the wind, his voice laced with sharp amusement. "The Silvercloud Mine? That's a gut punch even my old man would feel."

Han Jin grinned, lazily flipping a silver coin between his scarred knuckles. "Flinching's for dogs who've lost their teeth, Highness," he drawled. "Gao Shun wants to flex his purse? I'll snap it like a twig." His voice was casual, almost bored, but his eyes gleamed with cold calculation—three days ahead, he saw Gao Shun's ruin, Mu Qing's rage, and a throne built on their broken bones.

Beside him, Luo Ping clung to the edge of the palanquin, his round face pale and sweaty despite the cold. "Three hundred thousand taels…" he croaked, voice trembling with panic. "And now a damn mine? My father'll hang me by the balls for this—I'll bring shame on the entire clan!"

"Then keep your mouth shut," Han Jin snapped, catching the coin mid-air. "Whining's free, Luo Ping. Glory's what bleeds you dry." He leaned back with a smirk as the Resonance System chimed softly in his mind:

—Emotional fluctuation detected. Luo Ping's panic: +100. Total: 34,465.—

Even the fool's misery was coin in his pocket.

The palanquin came to a halt outside the Chancellor's estate. The iron gates loomed black and jagged against the torchlight. Wei Kang—his guard, not that sniveling heir—grunted as he lowered the platform. His notched axe hung low, its edge chipped from too many kills. "Chancellor's awake," he muttered, voice like gravel on steel. "News from the Lotus hit him hard. He's spitting nails."

Han Jin stretched, his boots sinking into the snow as he climbed out. The cold bit into his face, but he only cracked his neck with a satisfied groan. "Father's always got nails to spit," he muttered, clapping Wei Kang on the shoulder. "I'll dodge 'em like always."

He swaggered through the gates, past rows of crimson-cloaked guards whose heads dipped low at his passing. Their breath clouded the air, thick and heavy with the smell of iron. The courtyard stones were slick with ice, but Han Jin walked as if he owned the place—because he soon would.

Inside, the heat hit him like a fist. Braziers roared, filling the hall with the scent of burning pine. Silk screens flickered with the shadows of cranes in flight, their silhouettes twisting with the flame. At the jade table stood Han Zheng, his indigo robes sharp and stiff, his beard bristling with fury. Scrolls were scattered across the table—reports of Han Jin's latest escapade, the ink still damp with outrage.

To the Chancellor's left stood Han Bo, arms crossed, his hulking frame like a wall of muscle and barely-restrained fury. On the right, Han Yi lounged against a pillar, spinning a jade ring idly between his fingers, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Han Jin strolled in, hands shoved into his sleeves, grin wide and shameless. "Father! Brothers! Up before the roosters—plotting my parade or my pyre?"

Han Zheng's eyes pinned him like knives. "You brainless cur," he spat, slamming a scroll down with enough force to rattle the table. "Three hundred thousand taels pissed away on a whore's smile. A spirit trinket tossed into the gutter. And now you've wagered against the Silvercloud Mine? This house is not your damn gambling den!"

Han Jin shrugged, his boots scuffing the polished floor. "Gao Shun's shoving his family's guts on the table," he said casually. "I'm just here to carve them out." His grin widened, sharp as a blade. "The city's howling my name, Father. That's worth more than all your dusty vaults."

—Resonance System Notification: Emotional fluctuation detected. Han Zheng's rage: +300. Total: 34,765.—

Han Bo took a heavy step forward, voice low and rough. "You're a pup yapping at wolves, Jin'er," he warned. "The Gao Guild doesn't play tavern games. They'll slit your throat and call it trade."

From the corner, Han Yi chuckled, the jade ring glinting as it spun. "Or drown you in silver. Either way, the court's buzzing. Half of them are betting you'll win. The rest are praying you choke. It's a circus, Father, and Jin's the star."

Han Zheng's knuckles whitened around the edge of the table. "A circus I have no use for," he snapped. "Mu Qing's Black Tiger Legion is camped in the northern barracks. Her hawk screeched in at midnight—she's caught wind of your brothel stunt. And that 'marry her tomorrow' quip?" His voice dropped to a growl. "She's ready to skin you alive."

Han Jin's grin wavered for a heartbeat, then sharpened. "Still licking her wounds in camp, huh?" he sneered. "Let her stew—it makes her prettier." He leaned against the pillar, arms crossed, voice thick with mockery. "She's been here for days, and she's still hiding? What, too shy to face her groom?"

—Resonance System Notification: Emotional fluctuation detected. Han Zheng's exasperation: +200. Mu Qing's distant fury: +600. Total: 35,565.—

Han Zheng's eyes narrowed into slits. His voice was quiet now—deadly. "She's waiting for the Emperor's envoy. He arrives tomorrow to seal this marriage. You've turned her into a laughingstock—and she'll gut you for it." He jabbed a finger at him. "Gao Shun is your mess. Win or bleed. But when you face Mu Qing, you'll show her respect—or I'll drag you to her in chains."

For a brief moment, the room hung still. Then Han Jin's lips curled into a grin, sharper than before. "Respect's a two-way street, Father," he said softly. "She'll get what she earns—blood or a laugh. As for Gao Shun?" He rolled a silver coin across his knuckles. "In three days, I'll have his silver and his tears."

—Resonance System Notification: Emotional fluctuation detected. Han Zheng's grudging trust: +150. Total: 35,715.—

Han Zheng waved him off with a scowl. "Get out. Fix your shit—or don't bother crawling back."

Han Jin gave an exaggerated bow, all mocking grace, and sauntered out, the system's chime ringing sweetly in his mind.

Outside, the wind cut through the courtyard like a blade. Snow swirled around him, but he barely felt the cold. He cracked his knuckles, eyes gleaming with the promise of blood and gold.

"Three days," he muttered, lips curling into a wolfish grin. "And I'll be richer than sin—or dead with a smile."