The sound that echoed from the threshold was the dry, sharp rustle of counting beads clicking across a counting frame.
Above the Root Stone base, a cascade of commercial contracts frozen in the staging pipeline threw thousands of red validation exceptions:
At the entrance to the BIOS vault, the air rippled, condensing into the sharp, elegant projection of a young nobleman clad in dark silk brocade, holding an ivory ledger in one hand and a gold-trimmed counting frame in the other.
Zhao Wuji.
The heir of the Grand Fortune Clan, the master of land-wide mercantile contracts, and the living embodiment of the economic machinery of the mortal world.
“Lin Ke,” Zhao Wuji’s projection spoke, his tone cool, measured, and razor-sharp. “You have performed miracles with your spirit veins and your firmware. But in your righteous zeal to purge the ancient patriarchs, you have frozen the heart of human commerce.”
Elder Wu squinted at the projection, his soapstone seal twitching in his hand. “Master Zhao! Your family’s hereditary debt bonds carry twelve percent compounded interest every lunar month! That violates Section Four of the newly staged charter!”
“Of course it does, Elder Wu,” Zhao Wuji replied smoothly, clicking three jade beads on his counting frame. “And if you void those bonds with a single stroke of your red seal, twelve thousand grain merchants will collapse into bankruptcy before nightfall. The supply ships in the Eastern Archipelago won’t sail. The flour mills in the Western Province will refuse to grind wheat without…
