Master Lu Jian stepped up to the edge of the pit.
He held his heavy bronze ruler at arm’s length, aiming the runic tip directly at the center of the oily black chaos-iron hatch.
A series of harsh crimson sparks snapped across the bronze metal, crackling with foul, greasy smoke that smelled of sulfur, rot, and burnt hair.
“Stand back, everyone,” Lu Jian warned, his deep voice dropping to a gravelly rumble. “This door is wired with a Quasi-Rank 10 Greed-Curse Lock. It is calibrated to sense pure intent. If anyone with a shred of genuine kindness touches that handle, the formation incinerates their soul down to the marrow.”
“What kind of person installs a lock that only sociopaths can open?” Tie Niu muttered, scratching the side of his brass helmet with a heavy gauntlet.
“The kind of person who runs a predatory monopoly,” Su Wan replied softly, her fingers resting lightly on her executive tablet. “They want to ensure that no honest accountant can ever look at their books.”
Over in the corner of the sub-basement, Ancestor Tian Li leaned on his straw broom, his neon-yellow debtor vest glowing brightly in the gloom.
A malicious smirk crept across Tian Li’s wrinkled face.
