[HOST INTEGRITY: 25%]
[LOCATION: THE LAST STOP FACTORY – REFINERY FLOOR]
[TIME: 11:00 PM]
The new batch was ready.
Ren Wu stood on the rusted metal catwalk, looking down at the spirit furnaces.
In the Third Dynasty, alchemy required gold cauldrons, virgin sacrifices, and the blessing of the stars. It was an art form.
Here, it was just plumbing.
Pipes hissed. Valves groaned. The factory smelled of sulfur and cutting corners.
"Crude," Ren muttered, adjusting his Crow Mask. "Modern efficiency has killed the romance of production."
Usually, the factory was filled with a haze of indigo smoke—the sign of standard, cheap incense.
But tonight, the air was different.
Tonight, the smoke was Black.
It spiraled upward from the reinforced containment chamber, pulsing rhythmically. It didn't just swallow the light; it seemed to swallow time itself.
Lian floated beside him, shivering.
"Boss… this stuff isn't just stronger," she whispered. "It hurts to look at. It smells like… memories."
Ren inhaled deeply.
"It smells like the Imperial Court," Ren corrected. "Heavy. Suffocating. And expensive."
He nodded to the floor. "Bottle it."
The Product
Ren had spent the last six hours modifying the formula. He had extracted the "Authority" residue from the Surveyor's broken camera lens and mixed it with the raw, chaotic energy of the factory.
"In my day," Ren murmured, picking up a black stick, "we used to burn Dragon Amber to make the Emperor feel immortal. It took ten years to refine an ounce."
He looked at the mass-produced black sticks rolling off the conveyor belt.
"Now, we can print immortality by the crate. The Heavens must be weeping."
"Test it," Ren ordered.
Lian beckoned to an older ghost worker—a man with a missing jaw.
Ren lit the stick.
Hiss.
A thin tendril of black smoke curled into the ghost's nose.
Instantly, the trembling stopped.
The ghost's posture transformed. He didn't hunch like a beggar. He stood tall, his chest puffing out. His missing jaw seemed to shimmer, visually restored by the sheer force of his own self-perception.
[EFFECT: NOSTALGIA OVERDRIVE]
[DURATION: 6 MINUTES]
[RESULT: THE USER RELIVES THEIR MOMENT OF GREATEST POWER.]
"Look at him," Ren said softly. "He stands like a Viceroy. Give a pauper six minutes of dignity, and he'll starve himself for a week just to feel it again."
Ren extinguished the stick. The ghost slumped back down, sobbing.
"Cruel," Lian whispered.
"Governance is always cruel, Lian," Ren said. "At least I'm charging for it. My Emperor used to demand it for free."
The Strategy
Ren walked back to his office.
He activated the [Factory Interface].
[SET PRODUCTION LIMIT]
[BLACK LABEL DAILY OUTPUT: 10 UNITS]
Lian blinked. "Only ten? Boss, we could sell a thousand!"
"If we sell a thousand, it becomes common," Ren scoffed. "In my time, only the Emperor could wear yellow. If a peasant wore it, he was executed. That scarcity made the silk worth more than gold."
He sat down.
"We are bringing back the Imperial Standard. Scarcity creates desire. Desperation creates loyalty."
The heavy thud of footsteps announced Red Dog. The massive Triad leader squeezed through the door, drooling.
"That stuff," Red Dog growled. "I smelled it from the yard. It smells like the night I conquered Sector 8. I want a crate."
Ren turned to him slowly.
"Two hundred coins per stick."
Red Dog choked. "Two hundred? That's robbery!"
Ren laughed—a dry, raspy sound.
"Robbery is a peasant's trade, Red Dog. You stick a knife in someone's ribs for a few coins."
Ren tapped the desk.
"I created a desire you didn't know you had. In the Old World, we called it Tribute. In this trash heap, they call it Branding."
Market Reaction
The first ten units hit the Midnight Market at 11:45 PM.
They sold out in three minutes.
By midnight, the rumors were flying.
"The Emperor's Smoke."
"The Kingmaker."
Ren watched the data stream. Scalpers were reselling the sticks for 350 coins.
"Human nature never changes," Ren sighed, watching the numbers. "Whether it's the Silk Road or a sewer drain, the middleman always takes his cut."
The Chaos
The violence started at 1:12 AM.
Two rival groups clashed over a single Black Label stick. Three ghosts were torn apart.
Lian flew into the office, horrified.
"Boss! They're killing each other for it! We need to stop this!"
Ren didn't look up from his ledger.
"Stop it? Why? When the salt merchants fought in the capital, the Emperor didn't stop them. He just taxed the winner."
He tapped the screen.
[OFFICIAL PRICE: 200 → 250 COINS]
"Violence is just aggressive customer feedback, Lian."
The Warning
At 2:40 AM, Red Dog entered, covered in blue spiritual blood.
"The Iron Fist Gang," Red Dog grunted. "They smashed two of our stalls. They don't like the price."
Ren nodded, unfazed. "Barbarians."
Red Dog paused. "Barbarians? They broke our stalls, Boss. Let me take the boys and crush them."
"No," Ren said, standing up. "You think too small, Red Dog. You think like a thug."
Ren walked to the window.
"In the Palace, when a rival minister annoyed me, I didn't send an assassin. That's messy. I simply bought the rice fields that fed his army."
He turned back, his green eyes glowing behind the mask.
"We don't break their bones. We Acquire them."
Ren pulled up the Factory Interface.
[BLACK LABEL REVENUE: 3,800 COINS]
[HOST INTEGRITY: 25% → 27%]
The ache in his lungs faded.
"Back in my day, power was granted by the Heavens," Ren murmured, feeling the strength return to his limbs. "Now, I have to buy it one coin at a time. What a degradation."
He adjusted his mask.
"Let them complain. I'll charge them for the privilege of listening."
[Author Note:]
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
> Ren Wu misses the good old days when you could just execute people for bad reviews.
> But capitalism is fine too.
> Next Chapter: Supply & Demand.
> The Iron Fist Gang brings clubs. Ren brings a foreclosure notice.
> Power Stones for the Ancient Minister! 📜💰