The streets of Shanghai's southern market district buzzed with the usual chaos. Voices clashed—merchants hawking wares, customers bargaining, hawkers shouting over one another, the clatter of carts, the hissing hum of powered equipment. Neon lights fought for dominance above narrow alleys, glowing with promises of miracle elixirs, sharpened blades, awakened beast parts, and counterfeit relics.
Lan Yuheng adjusted his hood as he, Zhuang Niao, and Xing made their way deeper into the maze of stalls. The hound padded silently at their side, ears twitching at the cacophony. To the ordinary eye, they were simply mercenaries looking for supplies; but beneath the calm exterior, their mission carried weight.
Scarletwing had been born in an abandoned factory, held together by old loyalty and the embers of Luo Yuchen's return. Yet for survival, for strength, and for legitimacy, they needed more than words—they needed power, weapons, ships, resources.
And none of that would come cheap.
Zhuang Niao glanced nervously at the crowd, lowering his voice.
"Sir… is it really necessary to buy these things from the market? Everyone knows Federation eyes are everywhere here. Even if we succeed, won't this create suspicion about us?"
Lan Yuheng smiled faintly, not breaking stride.
"Of course it will. That's why we aren't buying them directly. We're looking for someone who can cover our tracks. Someone who knows which alleys to avoid, which merchants can be trusted, and which names must never be spoken aloud. Without such a person, every credit we spend will be marked and every alloy we purchase will become evidence against us."
He patted Xing's neck. The hound woofed softly as if in agreement.
Zhuang Niao still frowned.
"And you're saying such a person even exists? A fixer who can get us raw alloys, energy cores, and bio-synthetic compounds under the nose of the Federation?"
"Not just exists," Lan Yuheng said, turning a corner into a quieter lane. "We've already met him."
Zhuang Niao blinked. "What do you—wait… don't tell me you mean—"
"Yes." Lan Yuheng's eyes gleamed. "Zhang Wei."
The same Zhang Wei who had guided them through the awakeners' market days earlier, when Luo Yuchen's group had first arrived in Shanghai. A seemingly harmless fixer, fast-talking, with a reputation among wandering mercenaries for "making problems disappear." At the time, they had paid him only for directions and safe entry. But Lan Yuheng had seen the careful way Zhang Wei handled bribes, the way merchants deferred to him, the coded nods he received in dark corners.
Zhang Wei wasn't just a guide. He was a broker.
They found him near the edge of the market, leaning lazily against a cart of discarded parts, chewing on something like it was the most relaxing day in the world. The man's wiry frame and sly smile fit the surroundings perfectly, his sharp eyes scanning without ever looking like they were.
"Well, well." Zhang Wei pushed off the cart as they approached. "The famous wanderers return. Looking for another scenic tour of Shanghai's finest stalls? Or did you lose your way in the alleys again?"
Lan Yuheng motioned for discretion. "Not here. Walk with us."
Zhang Wei raised a brow but fell into step easily, whistling as if they were old friends strolling for tea. Xing padded closer to his side, eyes fixed on him with an unsettling intelligence.
Once they ducked into a deserted alley behind a row of shuttered shops, Lan Yuheng stopped. He didn't waste time.
"We need bulk supplies. Raw alloys. Energy cores. Bio-synthetic compounds. Enough to feed production, not just a few trinkets."
Zhang Wei froze for a heartbeat. Then his grin widened, showing teeth.
"Bulk supplies? Hah. And here I thought you only wanted rare herbs or beast blood for cultivation. Tell me, gentlemen, are you opening a forge, or… preparing for something bigger?"
Zhuang Niao stiffened. His hand instinctively twitched toward the hidden blade at his belt.
Lan Yuheng, however, chuckled softly. "Let's just say we're preparing for the future. Are you interested?"
Zhang Wei rubbed his chin dramatically.
"Interested? Of course I'm interested. But let's be clear—you're talking about shipments that the Federation monitors like hawks. Bulk alloys? You can't move ten crates without every customs checkpoint flashing alarms. Bio-synthetic compounds? Those are rationed. And energy cores? Forget it. They're tracked like military assets."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice to a whisper.
"So tell me the truth. Are you… going to war?"
For a moment, silence lingered. Then Xing barked once—sharp, startling.
Zhuang Niao burst out laughing, trying to mask the tension.
"War? Hah! Don't flatter us. Do you see a hundred battleships behind us? No, Zhang Wei. Nothing like that."
Lan Yuheng smirked. "But it's true we're developing weapons. Weapons we can't buy from the Federation. That's all you need to know."
Zhang Wei's eyes flicked between them. Then he exhaled, slapping his thigh with exaggerated relief.
"Well, thank the stars. For a moment I thought I'd stumbled into a rebellion. And rebellions don't pay their debts."
"Wars and rebellions may come later," Lan Yuheng said calmly. "For now, we simply need someone who can get us what we need without drawing attention. Can you?"
Zhang Wei tilted his head.
"That depends. How much are you willing to risk?"
Lan Yuheng met his gaze. "Enough."
The alley went silent except for the hum of distant generators. Then Zhang Wei leaned back, hands spread.
"Alright, wanderers. You want bulk supplies moved without Federation eyes noticing? That means smuggling through ghost channels, bribing inspectors, and sometimes swapping shipments in the dead of night. It's dangerous. But doable. For the right price."
"We'll pay."
"And one more thing." Zhang Wei's grin sharpened. "Supplies are one matter. But you also asked for… what was it? Tier 2 Cruisers? Tier 3 Destroyers? Do you have any idea what kind of hornet's nest you're poking at? Those aren't supplies. Those are weapons of mass attention. The Federation categorizes them as restricted assets. Even black markets hesitate to touch them."
Zhuang Niao shifted uncomfortably. "So it's impossible?"
"Not impossible," Zhang Wei corrected, eyes gleaming. "Just expensive. And suicidal."
Lan Yuheng's tone turned serious. "Can you introduce us to the people who can?"
The smuggler studied him for a long moment. Then he burst out laughing, clutching his stomach.
"You're insane. Absolutely insane. But I like insane clients—they pay well, and they don't bore me."
He stopped laughing abruptly, his voice lowering into a businesslike tone.
"I know a man. Not here. Not in Shanghai. He's based in the southern docks, hidden behind a front company that deals in freight. Officially, he moves cargo for intercity trade. Unofficially, he brokers military hardware for those willing to pay in blood or fortune. If you want to meet him, I can arrange it. But once you step into his world, there's no turning back. His name alone will put you on watchlists."
Lan Yuheng exchanged a glance with Zhuang Niao, then nodded.
"Arrange it."
Zhang Wei snapped his fingers.
"Good. But before we talk ships, we handle the basics. Alloys. Cores. Compounds. I'll move word through the underground lines tonight. By tomorrow, I'll have offers. But be ready—the more bulk you buy, the louder the whispers will get. You'll need a place to receive and hide them. Do you have such a place?"
"We do." Lan Yuheng's eyes flicked toward Zhuang Niao. "That won't be a problem."
Zhang Wei whistled.
"Then gentlemen… welcome to Shanghai's real market. Not the one with stalls and hawkers. The one built in shadows, where prices are measured in risk and betrayal."
The cramped teahouse Zhang Wei led them into was nothing more than a hole in the wall, tucked behind a spice shop that stank of cinnamon and dried meat. To an outsider, it looked like an abandoned storeroom with flickering lanterns. But the second the curtain fell shut, the noise of the market faded, replaced by the low hum of hidden generators and the faint smell of gun oil.
Zhang Wei gestured to the scarred wooden table in the corner.
"Sit. If we're going to talk about breaking the Federation's leash, better to do it where no ears can wander."
Lan Yuheng sat first, calm, Xing at his side with his sharp eyes sweeping the shadows. Zhuang Niao followed, visibly on edge but keeping his hand close to his concealed blade.
Zhang Wei dropped into the opposite chair with a grin, pulling a chipped flask from his coat.
"Negotiations go smoother with tea—or something stronger. But since you're all business, let's get straight to the marrow."
He leaned forward, his smile fading into something sharp.
"You want alloys, cores, bio-compounds. In bulk. Under the Federation's nose. That means three things: hidden deals, clean credits, and invisible shipments. Fail at any one of them, and you'll have soldiers kicking down your door before you've unpacked the first crate."
Zhuang Niao frowned. "Start with the first."
Zhang Wei tapped the table with one finger.
"Deals in Shanghai don't happen on the street. Anyone selling bulk goods openly is either a fool or a Federation plant. The real market exists in shadow circles—closed auctions, coded exchanges, whispered contracts. You don't walk in; you're invited. You don't pay in cash; you pay in loyalty or leverage. Once you're inside, you'll meet smugglers who deal in things Federation officers pretend don't exist: monster hearts, black-grade relics, stolen warship schematics."
Lan Yuheng's voice was steady. "And who controls these circles?"
"Not one hand," Zhang Wei said. "It's a patchwork. Rival guild brokers, disillusioned Federation officers, even noble families with debts they'd rather not declare. They form a chain of greed. Everyone eats, but no one talks. Break the silence, and you disappear."
He leaned closer, his tone low and deliberate.
"To survive there, you need a shield. Someone who vouches for you, puts their own neck on the block. That's me. Without that, you won't even find the front door."
Zhuang Niao muttered under his breath, "So you're saying we trust you with our lives."
Zhang Wei's grin returned. "Exactly."
Lan Yuheng didn't flinch. "Then talk about credits."
Zhang Wei spread his hands.
"Credits are the Federation's leash. Every digital coin has a history, stamped with a traceable code. If you transfer ten thousand credits to a smuggler, the Feds know within an hour. That's why shadow markets don't use raw credits."
Zhuang Niao frowned. "Then how do they pay?"
Zhang Wei smirked. "Through layers. Ghost accounts, offshore nodes, encrypted shells. Think of it as washing blood from a blade. First, you scatter your credits into dozens of small transfers—laundering them through gambling halls, trade guilds, or even funeral houses. Then you buy tokens: jade slips, bearer bonds, or relic coins. These aren't tracked, because technically, they're cultural artifacts or vouchers."
He produced a small jade chip from his sleeve and flicked it onto the table.
"This? Looks like a charm from a temple. In reality, it holds a key to an encrypted account worth fifty thousand credits. Hand it to the right smuggler, and he'll risk his life for you. Hand it to the wrong one, and you'll be gutted in an alley."
Lan Yuheng turned the jade slip in his hand, studying it.
"And you're offering to handle the washing?"
Zhang Wei's eyes gleamed. "Naturally. For a cut. Twenty percent."
"Ten," Lan Yuheng said flatly.
The smuggler barked a laugh. "You bargain like a merchant. Fifteen. Final."
Lan Yuheng let the silence stretch, then finally nodded.
"Fifteen."
Zhang Wei leaned back, satisfied. "Now, the third—and deadliest—piece. Moving goods."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a folded map, spreading it across the table. It was an intricate chart of Shanghai's ports, rail lines, and hover corridors. Red circles marked checkpoints, and black arrows marked smuggler routes.
"Every alloy shipment is flagged. But you can rename it. Register ten tons of starsteel as 'scrap metal for recycling.' Bio-synthetic compounds? Call them 'medical nutrient gels.' Energy cores? Easy—label them as 'portable plasma batteries for hospitals.' The Federation clerks are lazy; they won't open every crate."
"But if they do?" Zhuang Niao asked sharply.
"Then you need faces they won't question," Zhang Wei replied. "Shipments often travel under the name of people the Federation would never suspect—wives of mid-level officers, cousins of inspectors, guild brats with clean records. I've got a list of such names for sale. Expensive, but worth it."
Lan Yuheng asked, "And what about moving large shipments?"
Zhang Wei tapped the map. "You layer them. Never send all in one convoy. Split into fragments—one goes by rail, another by river, another by courier drones. If one is caught, the rest vanish into smoke."
Zhuang Niao rubbed his temples. "Sounds like madness."
"Madness is survival," Zhang Wei shot back. "The Federation doesn't chase whispers. They chase noise. Stay quiet, and you'll thrive."
Lan Yuheng was silent for a long moment. Then he said, "We want an initial test. Small. Enough to feed a forge for a month. If it works, we'll scale up."
Zhang Wei nodded approvingly. "Wise. How much alloy?"
"Three tons. Plus one hundred energy cores. And two shipments of bio-compounds."
Zhang Wei whistled low. "That's already more than most guilds dare. But it's manageable. I'll need forty-eight hours to set up the channels. Payment upfront."
Lan Yuheng slid the jade slip back toward him. "This covers it."
Zhang Wei pocketed it with a satisfied grin.
"Then gentlemen… welcome to the shadows."
But before they could stand, Zhang Wei's voice hardened.
"One last thing. In this business, betrayal isn't an accident—it's a currency. Someday, someone will sell your name. Maybe even me. When that day comes, you'd better have knives sharper than theirs. Because in Shanghai's underbelly, loyalty lasts only until the next payout."
Zhuang Niao stiffened.
Lan Yuheng, however, simply rose.
"Then let's hope, Zhang Wei, that you prefer our friendship more profitable than our deaths."
For once, Zhang Wei's grin faltered. Then he laughed, loud and reckless.
"Ha! You might survive this city after all."
The teahouse shadows still lingered in Lan Yuheng's mind as he, Zhuang Niao, and Xing stepped out into the crowded street. Zhang Wei's promises of shadow markets and hidden channels weren't just words—they were the skeletal structure of survival in Shanghai.
Zhang Wei had grinned as he parted, tossing one last thought like a dagger over his shoulder:
"Scarletwing needs wings of paper before wings of steel. Build fronts. Hide your claws. If you want my people to trust you, your guild must look like something harmless."
Lan Yuheng knew exactly what that meant.
Two nights later, in the backroom of a gambling den lit by smoky lamps, Zhang Wei spread another chart on the table. This one wasn't ports or smuggling routes—it was a map of the city's legal districts.
"Listen well," he said, pointing with a calloused finger. "Scarletwing can't breathe without lungs. Lungs are fronts. They let you launder credits, pay off officials, and hide weapons in crates marked 'groceries.' So I'll propose three to start."
He jabbed the first mark.
First, Crimson Tide Recycling Co. "On paper? A scrap metal recycler near the east docks. Cheap land, already half-abandoned. You bring in starsteel, adamantine shards, any alloy you need—and mark it all as junk being melted down. No inspector questions scrap. Half the city's rusted rails end up here anyway. With the right seals, your alloys will disappear into 'recycling,' and reappear as 're-forged export plates.' Perfect cover."
Zhuang Niao frowned. "And the Federation?"
Zhang Wei smirked. "Federation inspectors hate dirt. Nobody with clean boots walks into a recycler. Trust me—it's invisible."
He tapped the second mark.
Second, White Lotus Medical Supplies
"A storefront in the Awakeners' Quarter. Harmless, polite, with clerks in white coats. Officially, it sells low-grade healing salves, nutrient gels, hospital bandages. Unofficially? You funnel bio-synthetic compounds through its inventory. Every month, you'll 'restock.' Hidden among the real medicines, crates of compounds pass unnoticed. No one questions medicine—especially not when it's feeding hospitals."
Xing gave a soft growl. Lan Yuheng stroked his fur and nodded. "Practical."
Zhang Wei pointed to the third mark.
Third, Scarlet Freight & Courier Services
"This one's the spine. A courier service with small hovertrucks and delivery drones. On paper? You carry letters, parcels, factory supplies. In reality? You use it to move your goods across the city, from recycler to medical supply to hidden caches. The Federation trusts couriers; they're everywhere. Blend in, and your shipments become dust in the wind."
Zhuang Niao tilted his head. "And who runs these fronts?"
Zhang Wei leaned back. "Faces that look ordinary. Paper men, clerks, cousins of veterans. No guild marks, no scarred mercenaries. You make them boring, invisible. That's what hides the teeth."
Lan Yuheng memorized every word.
The next day, Zhang Wei introduced them to the other half of the equation: people.
They walked the lower docks at dusk, the air thick with salt and oil. Cargo ships groaned against moorings, their hulls blackened with soot. Men and women moved crates, shouted orders, smoked pipes. Here, law existed only in pockets of bribes.
Zhang Wei waved casually to a short man with a broken nose.
"Meet Han Dock-Finger. He's the inspector for Bay Gate Six. They say he lost three fingers in a crate accident, but I say he sold them for coin. Han checks every manifest. For the right price, he doesn't check yours. He likes rice wine more than credits, though, so don't insult him with money alone."
Han grinned when he saw Zhang Wei, his eyes sharp despite his sloppy posture.
"Another brood for the nest? Zhang, you bring me too many friends."
"Only the ones who pay well," Zhang Wei answered.
Next came a tall woman with tattoos snaking down her neck, her arms bulging with muscle as she hauled crates twice her size.
"This is Jin Suyin," Zhang Wei said. "Retired Federation loader. Her back is steel, her heart is gold, but don't test her patience. She runs a crew of dockhands who can slip crates in and out without anyone noticing. She hates Federation officers but loves their coin. Treat her with respect—she'll die before betraying a deal."
Jin Suyin nodded curtly at Lan Yuheng.
"Your hands are too clean, boy. But your eyes? They've seen blood. Good. I'll move your cargo, if you keep your promises."
Finally, Zhang Wei gestured to a boy lounging on a barrel, flipping a silver coin across his knuckles.
"And that little rat is Luo Fen. Son of a minor guild merchant. He's got more connections in customs than half the officers combined. He can make paperwork vanish or appear out of thin air. But he's greedy and slippery. Keep him close, but never turn your back."
The boy smirked. "Better greedy than poor."
Zhuang Niao muttered, "I don't like him."
"Good," Zhang Wei replied. "Then you're thinking clearly."
That night, after leaving the docks, Lan Yuheng guided Zhuang Niao and Xing back to the hidden grove where the Voidrunner lay cloaked.
"KORA," he ordered once they entered the command deck, "prepare for immediate takeoff. Destination: the slum beaches near Shanghai."
"Command acknowledged," KORA's clear voice replied. The hum of engines filled the cabin as the Voidrunner rose into the night sky.
Through the viewport, Shanghai's towers glittered like knives under the moon. The city looked peaceful, but Lan Yuheng knew the truth—it was a nest of predators.
Minutes later, the Voidrunner descended near the abandoned shoreline at the edge of the slums. Waves crashed against rusted docks, and distant fires flickered among the broken homes.
The four commanders were already waiting—Hai Ying, Bai Ying, Jian Mei, and Tei Shen—their silhouettes hard against the sea breeze.
Lan Yuheng stepped out first, cloak snapping in the wind.
"Commanders," he greeted, bowing slightly.
Hai Ying, tall and broad-shouldered, gave a grunt of acknowledgment.
"You've returned. What have you brought us?"
Lan Yuheng told them everything—about Zhang Wei, the shadow markets, the dummy fronts, the dockside contacts. He explained how Scarletwing would survive not by brute force alone, but by deception, subtlety, and hidden claws.
When he finished, the commanders were silent.
Bai Ying, the sharp-eyed woman with streaks of white in her hair, finally spoke.
"So we'll be smugglers now? Hiding in shadows like rats?"
Lan Yuheng met her gaze without flinching.
"No. We'll be hawks. Rats scurry, hawks swoop. We hide only until we strike."
The fire in her eyes dimmed, replaced by reluctant respect.
Jian Mei, quiet until now, folded her arms. "And these fronts? Who runs them?"
"Veterans' families," Lan Yuheng answered. "Faces no one suspects. They'll earn honest wages on paper, while protecting us in silence. No more begging in alleys. No more starving."
At that, Jian Mei's lips curved in a faint smile.
Lan Yuheng raised his hand. "KORA. Open the armory."
The Voidrunner's ramp hissed open, revealing racks of gleaming armor and weapons, freshly forged by KORA's nanoforges. Sleek breastplates shimmered with alloy plating. Blades and rifles hummed with restrained power.
The commanders froze, stunned. Veterans who had fought with rusted rifles and scavenged gear now stared at weapons fit for elites.
Tei Shen, the oldest among them, stepped forward and touched a blade reverently. His hands trembled.
"After all these years… real weapons again."
Hai Ying barked a laugh, fierce and raw.
"With this, our people are soldiers again, not beggars!"
Lan Yuheng's voice cut through their awe.
"These are not gifts. They are tools. Tools for survival. From this night, Scarletwing breathes its first breath. Prepare yourselves—for your first mission. Unofficial, unseen, but ours."
The wind roared, carrying their shouts across the slums.
"Scarletwing!"
The name echoed, not just a word but a vow.
And for the first time, hope burned in the veterans' eyes like fire.