Three days felt both like an eternity and no time at all. Chen Wei spent the period in a strange state of dual existence. By day, he was the dutiful analyst, catching up on the Phoenix Project with a feigned enthusiasm that somehow passed muster. He answered emails and sat in meetings, but his mind was elsewhere. He was constantly, almost subconsciously, aware of the city's energetic pulse. The mundane world had become a mask, and he was growing adept at wearing it.
At night, he and Xiao Tong practiced. They didn't attempt another full "charging." Instead, she taught him control: how to draw just a trickle of power, how to feel the subtle differences between the qi of a fluorescent light and an LED, how to ground himself. He was a quick study, his analytical mind perfectly suited to categorizing these new sensory inputs.
On the third night, they returned to the Dongtai Road Antique Market. Xiao Tong carried a small, silk-lined wooden box. Inside lay one of the nine obsidian spheres, now a perfect sphere of captured, synthetic yin.
The market was steeped in a profound silence under the glow of a few lonely streetlamps. The stalls were shrouded in tarps, their ghostly contents sleeping. The air was cold, and the whispers of the past felt stronger without the distraction of the living.
'This is the culmination of my first real foray into their world—not as a victim, but as a player,' Chen Wei thought, a nervous energy thrumming within him. They had created something of value, something new. But would it be enough? Ghosts, he was learning, were not known for flexible contract negotiations.
They stood by the same bookstall as before. They didn't have to wait long.
The air grew heavy, and the shadows in the alley seemed to deepen. From that unnatural darkness, the shimmering form of Qian Lao Gui emerged. His ghostly eyes immediately fixed on the wooden box in Xiao Tong's hands.
"Punctuality," the ghost rasped, his form more stable than before. "A fine quality in business partners. You have brought the agreed-upon payment?"
"We have," Xiao Tong said. She opened the box.
The single obsidian sphere lay nestled in the silk. It didn't glow or shine. Instead, it seemed to drink the meager light around it, creating a small, perfect circle of void. Qian Lao Gui floated closer. His shrewd eyes widened, his perpetually calculating expression replaced by one of pure, unadulterated awe.
"Incredible," he breathed, the sound like rustling paper. "It is Yin Qi, yet... it is not. It is clean. Devoid of the resentment and sorrow that clings to naturally occurring yin. It is... manufactured. Pure profit, with no emotional overhead." He looked at Chen Wei with a new level of respect. "Young master, your 'business proposal' was more than mere words. This is a work of art."
He reached out a shimmering, translucent hand. As his fingers passed over the sphere, a visible stream of dark energy flowed from the stone into him. Qian Lao Gui let out a soft, contented sigh. His form solidified, becoming less a shimmering haze and more like smoked glass.
"The quality is... exceptional," he declared. "The first payment is accepted."
"Then it's your turn," Xiao Tong said, closing the box. "The information. Everything you know about Hu Meilan."
Qian Lao Gui's expression became serious. He floated back into the shadows, as if the topic itself was dangerous.
"The Crimson Fox is old, even by the standards of the Yao," he began, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "She arrived decades ago, after the old world was swept away. She loves the energy of this new age—the ambition, the passion, the desperate scramble for fame and fortune. It is a feast for her."
He paused. "She does not maintain a single 'den.' She has several nests. But her primary residence is on a higher frequency than most of you righteous folk look."
"What do you mean?" Chen Wei asked.
"You look for places with strange qi. She is smarter than that. She hides in plain sight, in the most modern, most Yang-filled places imaginable. Her main residence is Penthouse A of the 'Elysian Spire'—one of the newest, most expensive luxury apartment buildings in Xintiandi."
Chen Wei and Xiao Tong exchanged a look of surprise. Xintiandi was the heart of modern, fashionable Shanghai. It was the last place they would have expected an ancient Yao to live.
"It's a fortress of Urban Qi," Chen Wei realized aloud. "The sheer volume of electricity, data, and human traffic would create so much 'noise' it would mask her own energy signature."
"Precisely!" Qian Lao Gui confirmed. "She sleeps in the heart of the storm."
"What about habits?" Xiao Tong pressed. "Vulnerabilities?"
"She is a creature of routine. She favors the 'arts.' Jazz clubs, art gallery openings, symphony performances... any place where artists pour their very souls into their work. That is where she goes to 'dine,'" the ghost explained. "As for vulnerabilities... a creature of her power has no true weaknesses, only things she dislikes. She detests chaos and ugliness. Her lairs are places of perfect order and aesthetic beauty. Disrupting that order... displeases her greatly."
He floated closer, lowering his voice even further. "But I will give you one more piece, as a bonus, a gesture of goodwill for our new partnership. She is vain. Like all foxes, she values her form. But this form is not her own. It is a construct she has perfected over centuries. To maintain it requires a focal point, an anchor. Her anchor is a set of nine ancient bronze mirrors. She never strays far from them. They are the source of her glamour. Without them, she cannot maintain her perfect human shell."
Nine ancient mirrors. The information clicked into place, sharp and clear. It was the first tangible weakness they had. Not a way to kill her, but a way to hurt her, to disrupt her.
"The information is satisfactory," Xiao Tong said, her voice tight with the weight of what they'd learned. "We will be in touch regarding the next 'recharge.'"
"I look forward to it, partners," Qian Lao Gui chuckled, his form dissolving back into the shadows. "A pleasure doing business with you."
As the ghost vanished, the oppressive cold in the alley lifted, leaving them alone with the silent night and their newly acquired, terrifying knowledge.
They had the address. They had the habits. And they had a target: nine bronze mirrors.
They had their map to the tiger's den.