The First Day's Fire

The doors opened at noon sharp, and Clear Sky City's robe market would never be the same again.

A string of red talismans shimmered and dissolved in the air as I nodded to Hu Ren. He gave the signal, and the twin-door formation of darkwood and glass slowly opened outward, spilling the scent of sandalwood and clove perfume into the street.

People paused. Even those who hadn't come here for robes found their attention drawn by the serene chime of the bell above the door and the stillness that followed.

We had planted the rumors well—Changhu had done his work brilliantly. Word had gone out across all Ye stores and side businesses. "A robe shop transformed. Grade Two exclusives on the second floor. Invites only. Jindan Zenren attending." Some assumed it was all hot air. They were wrong.

The first wave came within minutes. Sons and daughters of noble clans, accompanied by servants. A few lesser sect disciples. A sharp-eyed casual cultivator or two. Then came the first of the officials—one even from the City Lord's administration.

I stood by the staircase leading to the second floor, dressed in my black-red robe stitched with Mo Clan-exclusive perfume threads, hands clasped politely, greeting people as Hu Ren and the staff welcomed them in.

The first floor was wide and glowing—snow jade walls, blackwood shelves with bronze edgework, robes placed on gentle rises under soft amber lights. The centerpiece, a rotating glass column that held a black robe with phoenixfire thread—Grade 1 Top-Tier.

"Exquisite," someone whispered.

"Expensive," someone else added. They weren't wrong. Prices were up 35% compared to the standard market, but I made sure every bolt of cloth was superior, the stitching nearly invisible, and the scent subtle but persistent.

We weren't just selling robes. We were selling presence, identity, an aura of prestige.

"Will there be more colors?" someone asked.

"Only when the Mo Clan prepares the next round of scent threads," I replied.

People talked. People gossiped. Some brows rose at the prices. Others handed over spirit stones without blinking.

By the second hour, we'd sold more than a dozen Grade 1 robes. I'd expected five.

By late afternoon, the first true test came—not from the public, but from the clan.

Hu Ren stepped up to me, his face tight.

"One of the record-keepers from the clan treasury came by," he said, placing a scroll on the desk.

I arched a brow. "Really? We submit reports every five days."

"He said some of the elders were… curious. Wondering why we needed that much funding for interior stones and branded seals."

I leaned back. So that's how they were playing it. Not a direct attack—just enough to slow me down with paperwork and second-guessing.

Let them come. The store was alive. The customers flowed.

On the second floor, accessible only by appointment or invitation, things were quieter. More refined.

Staff escorted guests up one at a time. The lighting was even softer here—moon jade panels hidden behind cloudsilk screens. Incense burners shaped like cranes. Glass showcases embedded into whitewood tables. These robes weren't just tailored—they were marked with sigils, some embedded with spirit-suppressing thread, others with slight temperature control.

Accessories now sat alongside the robes—silver belts, spirit-thread fans, crimson tassel pouches. It had started with a comment I'd made to Changhu:

"We should sell accessories too. That fan of yours? Half the people here want one just like it."

He grinned. "If you copy my style, you owe me royalties."

"Fine," I smirked, "you'll get a free robe a year."

After nightfall, I slumped into the back office, exhausted.

Hu Ren came in, scroll in hand. "We're three times over the forecast."

I nodded slowly. "Start preparing the ledgers. Tomorrow will be harder."

We had orders to fulfill, guests requesting tailored versions, and some even wanted robes reserved for months later. Logistics would tighten. So would expectations.

I glanced at the perfume shelf beside the design table, filled with small sealed vials from the Mo Clan. I smiled.

"You know," I had told Mo Yuyan back in her family's shop, "someday, this'll flip. When enough people chase our robes, your perfumes will need us for exposure."

She had only smiled politely. But she'd agreed to the purchase. No partnership—just commerce.

For now.

Tomorrow, we'd meet suppliers again. A new week, a growing storm.

But tonight, Clear Sky City whispered one name in its robe market:

Ye Changsheng.