The sour tang of office sweat hung heavy in the Outer Sect Administrative Hall.
Lin Ke stood before the polished hardwood counter, his right arm throbbing behind his coarse linen sleeve. Every pulse of his wrist blood vessel sent a dull twinge across his newly steadied micro-fissure, reminding him that the meat was running on borrowed time.
Behind the counter, Elder Wu DeZheng was actively sweating through the armpits of his second-best stitched silk robe.
“The Grand Fortune Clan holds lawful commercial options on eighty percent of your regional coke supply, boy,” Elder Wu wheezed, mopping his jowls with a stained silk handkerchief. “And now Clerk Qian here presents twelve sworn affidavits claiming your small roof-dome furnaces are shaking at seventy-two hertz.
That exceeds Section Nine shaking dampening thresholds! If the Seventh Ward detonates, the Disciplinary Hall will audit my upkeep budget!”
Beside the desk stood Clerk Qian, a thin man in a clean violet-collared gown whose fingers were stained with indigo ink and hungry malice.
“We don’t desire an explosion, Elder Wu,” Qian said, his voice as smooth as grease on pig iron. “The Grand Fortune Clan merely requests immediate distraint of the Seventh Ward’s three high-purity furnaces to satisfy outstanding debt covenants.
