Han Yu settled into White Peacock Town with a calmness that felt almost criminal.
The echoes of screams from the Birch Leaf Merchant Clan had faded days ago, the smell of burnt flesh had long since been washed away, and the blood that soaked the floors of their grand hall had been scrubbed clean.
The survivors had already been scattered or silenced, and now the only sign that the clan ever existed at all was their lingering influence, now twisted, redirected, and bound entirely to Han Yu's will.
The days that followed were a quiet storm, silent on the outside, but violently transformative beneath the surface.
Driver Yun moved like a shadow through the town. Heart pounding. Mind sharp. Every step he took was laden with purpose, urgency, and the weight of new authority. Men who once laughed at him or dismissed him as a lowly carriage driver now bowed their heads when he walked past.
Some were polite. Some practically trembled. All treated him as someone far above their station.
