Dawn had barely broken when Qin Wang Shan stepped out of the residence.
A thin layer of mist clung to Shen City, curling through the narrow streets like a restless spirit. At the eastern gate, a small group had already gathered—hunters, city guards, and a handful of officials who still looked unsure whether this plan was madness or desperation.
Qin Wang Shan counted them silently.
Too few.
Poorly equipped.
Hungry.
Yet their eyes were sharp.
"These are the men who know the mountains best," the young attendant whispered beside him. "They've survived there for years."
Qin Wang Shan nodded.
"That's enough."
He turned to the group.
"Today," he said calmly, "we do not hunt recklessly. We observe, we learn, and we return alive."
The hunters exchanged surprised glances.
Most nobles gave orders from safety. This prince spoke like someone who understood risk.
They moved out shortly after.
The mountains beyond Shen City were rugged and untamed. Paths twisted unpredictably, half-swallowed by overgrown brush. The deeper they went, the more signs of neglect became visible—collapsed watch posts, abandoned markers, trails no longer maintained.
"This land was once used," one of the hunters said quietly. "Long ago."
Qin Wang Shan's gaze sharpened.
Neglect again.
They pressed on.
By midday, the first signs appeared.
Tracks.
Fresh ones.
The hunters crouched instinctively, their earlier doubts replaced by focus. Within the hour, they brought down two mountain deer. Not much—but enough to matter.
"This alone won't save the city," an official muttered under his breath.
Qin Wang Shan heard him.
"It's not meant to," he replied evenly. "This is proof."
Proof that the mountains still had life.
Proof that Shen City had been ignored—not cursed.
They returned before sunset.
When the gates opened and the people saw meat being carried in, the reaction was immediate.
Whispers spread.
Eyes widened.
Hope—small, fragile—began to surface.
Qin Wangshan did not smile.
He went straight to the granary.
"All food gathered today will be recorded and distributed tonight," he ordered. "Children and the elderly first."
An official hesitated. "Your Highness… traditionally—"
"Tradition does not feed the starving," Qin Wangshan said coldly.
The official bowed and obeyed.
That night, Shen City ate.
Not well.
Not fully.
But enough.
Later, Qin Wang Shan stood on the balcony overlooking the city.
Lights flickered weakly below—oil lamps, small fires, signs of life refusing to go out.
The young attendant approached hesitantly.
"Your Highness," he said, "people are asking about tomorrow."
Qin Wangshan's eyes remained on the city.
"Tomorrow," he said, "we organize."
"Hunting parties. Rotations. Storage records. Trade scouts."
The attendant blinked. "Trade… scouts?"
Qin Wang Shan finally turned.
"Shen City sits forgotten," he said. "Which means its borders are poorly watched."
A dangerous thought formed.
"And neglected routes," he continued, "are often used by those who wish to avoid attention."
Smugglers.
Hidden traders.
Men who moved where the empire did not look.
The attendant inhaled sharply.
"You intend to deal with them?"
"I intend to use them," Qin Wang Shan replied calmly.
Silence followed.
Then—
Far from Shen City, in a quiet hall within Wushen, an imperial official frowned as a report was set down before him.
"…The prince has begun to act."
The man's eyes narrowed.
"So," he murmured, "the discarded one has claws after all."
That night, Shen City slept with full stomachs for the first time in months.
And for the first time—
Someone was paying attention.