**Chapter 9: The Neutral Ground**
The invitation arrived via a plain black envelope slipped under the mansion's front gate—no courier in sight, no signature, only a single card inside:
**Tonight. 9:00 p.m.
The Jade Moon Pavilion, Private Room 13.
Neutral ground. No weapons. No formations.
Discuss terms.
—Zhao Consortium**
Lin Chen read it once, then handed it to Su Wanqing. She scanned the elegant calligraphy and gave a small, cold smile.
"They're pretending to be civilized," she said. "After sending twenty men to ambush us underground."
Old Master Su, seated in his favorite armchair by the window, snorted. "The Zhao family has always preferred silk gloves over iron fists when the fists fail. They'll offer terms—generous on the surface, poisonous underneath. Accept nothing without reading between the lines."
Lin Chen folded the card. "We go. But we prepare for every possibility."
Su Wanqing met his eyes. "Both of us?"
"Both. They asked for the Su family representative. That's you. And they know I'm the one they really want to see."
The old man nodded slowly. "Take the armored Bentley. Two of our best drivers—armed, but they stay outside. If things go wrong, get out fast. The Jade Moon Pavilion is old territory—owned by the neutral Three Rivers Alliance. No blood is allowed to be spilled inside. But outside… no such rule."
Lin Chen inclined his head. "Understood."
They spent the afternoon preparing.
Lin Chen retreated to the meditation room again, this time alone. He sat cross-legged on the futon, the seal fragment from the jade box placed before him. Closing his eyes, he sank into his dantian.
The yin qi circulated—slower now, more controlled. The cracks in the seal had stabilized after the link with Su Wanqing, but the Core's earlier awakening had left residue: a faint pressure in his meridians, like a storm cloud waiting to break.
He visualized the shadows inside him—not as wild tendrils, but as extensions of will. One by one, he summoned small orbs of darkness, letting them orbit his body like silent moons. Then he condensed them into a thin blade—sharp enough to cut qi-infused steel, yet invisible to ordinary eyes.
When he opened his eyes two hours later, the room was dim. The blade dissolved back into his palm.
He was ready.
Downstairs, Su Wanqing had changed into a tailored black qipao with silver embroidery—elegant, but practical enough to move in. She had practiced the basic yin qi circulation he taught her that morning; faint silver threads occasionally shimmered under her skin when she focused.
She met him at the garage entrance.
"You look… different," she said, eyeing the calm intensity in his posture.
"You look ready," he replied.
A small, genuine smile touched her lips. "I am."
The Bentley glided through Shanghai's evening traffic—past the Bund's glowing colonial facades, across the river, into the quieter, older districts where neon gave way to red lanterns and tiled roofs.
The Jade Moon Pavilion was a restored Qing-era teahouse turned high-end venue: three courtyards, moon gates, koi ponds, and private rooms screened by bamboo and silk. It catered to the ultra-wealthy and the hidden cultivation world alike—neutral ground where deals were made, alliances forged, and sometimes broken without bloodshed inside the walls.
They were escorted to Room 13 by a silent attendant in traditional robes.
Inside: a long rosewood table, low chairs, a wall of painted screens depicting cranes and pine trees. Soft lantern light. A pot of Longjing tea steaming in the center.
Zhao Kai waited alone.
He rose when they entered—suit immaculate, no visible bruises from the tunnel, though his eyes carried a haunted edge. The shadow curse had taken hold; Lin Chen could sense the faint black thread coiled around the man's throat, ready to tighten if he spoke forbidden truths.
"Mr. Lin. Mrs. Su." Zhao's voice was polite, almost pleasant. "Thank you for coming."
Lin Chen didn't sit. Neither did Su Wanqing.
"Terms," Lin Chen said flatly.
Zhao gestured to the chairs. "Please. Tea first. Business second."
They remained standing.
Zhao sighed theatrically and sat alone.
"Very well. The Zhao Consortium is… prepared to offer compensation for the misunderstanding last night. Ten billion yuan. Immediate transfer. Plus twenty percent stake in our eastern subsidiary. In exchange—"
"No," Su Wanqing cut in. "The eastern site is not for sale. Ever."
Zhao's smile tightened. "Mrs. Su, with respect, your family's finances are stretched thin. The banks are circling. One word from us, and the loans are called. This offer is generous."
Lin Chen spoke next. "You know why we won't sell. The Core beneath it isn't yours to harvest."
Zhao's eyes flickered. "So you admit it exists."
"We admit nothing," Su Wanqing said. "But if you or your Hidden Gate friends disturb that land again, the consequences won't be limited to your men."
Zhao leaned forward. "The Zhao family is willing to share. We bring resources—Foundation Establishment elders, suppression relics, even a path to Nascent Soul for the right bloodline. Join us. The Core could benefit everyone."
Lin Chen's voice dropped. "Your family funded the massacre of mine twenty years ago. You think I'd trust you with my clan's legacy?"
Zhao's face paled slightly—the curse reacting, a thin black line briefly visible under his jaw before vanishing.
"I… wasn't involved then," he said quickly. "That was my grandfather's generation. Business. Not personal."
"Blood remembers," Lin Chen said. "And so do I."
Silence stretched.
Zhao exhaled. "Then we're at an impasse. The Zhao Consortium cannot allow an uncontrolled yin pulse in the heart of Shanghai. If you refuse cooperation… we will be forced to act. Legally. Financially. And if necessary… otherwise."
Su Wanqing stepped forward. "Threaten us again, and you'll see exactly what 'otherwise' looks like."
Zhao studied her. "You've changed, Mrs. Su. There's qi in you now. Faint, but real. Interesting."
Lin Chen moved—sudden, silent. One moment he stood beside her; the next he was behind Zhao's chair, a thin shadow blade resting lightly against the man's neck. Invisible to ordinary eyes, but Zhao felt the cold edge.
"Enough games," Lin Chen said softly. "Tell your elders: the eastern land stays untouched. The Core stays sealed. Or the next time we meet, there will be no neutral ground."
Zhao swallowed. The shadow blade pressed—just enough to draw a single bead of blood.
"I'll… convey the message."
Lin Chen withdrew the blade. It melted back into his palm.
Zhao stood slowly, composure cracking.
"This isn't over," he said, echoing his words from the tunnel.
"It never was," Lin Chen replied.
Zhao left without another word.
The attendant returned moments later, bowing. "The room is yours for the evening if you wish."
Lin Chen shook his head. "We're leaving."
Outside, the night air was cool. The Bentley waited.
As they walked toward it, Su Wanqing slipped her hand into his.
"They won't stop," she said quietly.
"I know."
She squeezed his fingers. "Then we don't stop either."
Lin Chen looked down at their joined hands, then at her face—determined, radiant under the lantern light.
"No," he agreed. "We don't."
Behind them, the Jade Moon Pavilion's red lanterns swayed gently.
In the shadows beneath the city, the Core pulsed once—slow, approving.
The guardians had spoken.
The war had been declared.
**