The heavy glass doors of Baicao Immortal Pavilion swung open with a cold blast of winter air.
Shen Qiaoqiao walked into the lobby like a winter frost marching across dry grass. Her black leather heels clicked against the polished gray granite with sharp, steady snaps.
Behind her marched eight state investigators in crisp navy uniforms. Two came from the National Tax Bureau. Two carried brass-cornered cases from the State Drug Administration. Four wore the silver mountain pins of the Special Ninth Bureau’s civil enforcement division.
They did not look like cultivators. They looked like accountants with legal authority. To a crooked business, that was ten times more terrifying than a flying sword.
Behind the long mahogany counter, forty sales clerks backed away until their shoulders pressed against the wooden herb cabinets.
Steward Zhou dropped his broom. The wooden handle clattered on the floor tiles. His hands shook so hard that he could not pull his phone from his pocket.
“What is the meaning of this?” Steward Zhou stammered, clutching his throat. “This is private property! This is the Yanjing headquarters of the Hidden Spirit-Merchant Guild! You have no right to barge in here!”
Shen Qiaoqiao did not slow down. She stopped right in front of the tall counter and placed a black leather briefcase flat on the polished wood.
