The silence in the pavilion stretched until the sandalwood incense burned down to grey ash.
Elder Kuang sat with his mouth clamped shut, his knuckles whitening over the two lethal, un-patched jade slips. Beside him, Elder Bai and the other punishment judges were already murmuring in quiet consultation. He nodded toward Lin Ke with unconcealed test.
Only Zhao Wuji remained standing, his face pale and twisted. He grabbed his gold-edged debt scrolls like a drowning man clutching driftwood.
“Even if his manual is registered,” Zhao hissed, his voice trembling with desperate fury, “the civil debt contracts remain in force! The Grand Fortune Trade ring holds contractual liens on all surrounding hematite and coke veins for Smelting Ward Seven! The moment Lin Ke ascends to the Inner Mountain, we’ll exercise our right of seizure on the leftover labor force!”
Zhao’s bloodshot eyes darted toward the public gallery, fixing on Meng Shan and Shen Yue standing near the door.
“The blacksmith and the magic charm girl will work sixteen-hour fire shifts until every copper coin of that default penalty is paid in blood!”
Lin Ke slowly turned his head.
His blue-green eyes fixed on the young merchant heir with the flat, emotionless calm distance of a court guard checking an inventory list.
