Two days until Liu's deadline.
Ren had spent the morning after the well incident doing what he did best: watching, listening, gathering threads. He'd learned that Knife Huang operated from a gambling den near the market's edge, that he had at least a dozen enforcers on his payroll, and that he'd recently expanded into loan-sharking after failing his cultivation breakthrough one too many times.
None of this helped Liu. Knowledge of the enemy was useful, but it wasn't a solution. Liu needed two hundred credits, and Ren had eleven coppers.
Eleven coppers. Two hundred credits. One credit is a hundred coppers. I need forty thousand coppers.
The math was so absurd it almost made him laugh. He could beg for a lifetime and never see that much money.
There has to be another way.
He was walking through the market, lost in thought, when he heard the shouting.
---
"—thief! Little rat stole my bread!"
Ren's head snapped up. A crowd was gathering near a baker's stall, the baker himself red-faced and waving a rolling pin. People were pointing, laughing, cursing. And at the center of it all, a small figure was trying to run.
She was tiny-seven, maybe eight years old-dressed in rags even worse than Ren's. Her hair was a matted mess, her face streaked with dirt, her bare feet bleeding from cuts on the cobblestones. In her hand, she clutched a half-loaf of bread, already crushed from her desperate grip.
She didn't make it three steps.
One of the baker's assistants caught her by the arm, lifted her clean off the ground, and threw her into the street. She landed hard, the bread flying from her grasp, and lay there whimpering as the crowd laughed harder.
"Teach her a lesson!" someone shouted.
"Break her fingers!" another added.
The assistant approached, rolling up his sleeves. The girl curled into a ball, protecting her head, and Ren saw her face for the first time.
She was simple.
He knew it instantly-the same look he'd seen in institutionalized adults on Earth, the ones whose minds worked differently, who saw the world through a fog. Her eyes were too wide, her expression too unguarded, her terror too complete. She wasn't a clever thief. She was a starving child who'd seen food and taken it without understanding the consequences.
The assistant reached for her.
Ren moved.
---
He didn't plan it. Didn't calculate odds or weigh outcomes. His body simply acted, stepping between the assistant and the girl, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace.
"Wait."
The assistant paused, surprised. "Get out of the way, rat."
"She's not a thief. She's..." Ren searched for words that would matter in this world. "She's touched. In the head. She doesn't know what she did."
"So? Still stole my baker's bread."
"I'll pay for it."
The words came out before Ren could stop them. The assistant stared at him. The crowd murmured. Even the girl stopped whimpering, peeking through her fingers.
"You'll pay?" The assistant laughed. "With what? You look like you haven't eaten in a week."
Ren reached into his pouch and produced a single copper coin. The assistant's eyes widened.
"That's real copper."
"It's real. For the bread. Let her go."
The assistant snatched the coin, bit it, then grinned. "Deal. But tell your simple friend to stay away from this stall, or next time I won't be so nice."
He walked away, pocketing the coin. The crowd dispersed, disappointed the entertainment was over. Ren stood in the street, feeling eleven coppers lighter and strangely... lighter in another way too.
He turned to the girl.
She was staring at him with those too-wide eyes, still curled on the ground. The bread lay nearby, trampled and ruined.
"Are you hurt?" Ren asked.
She shook her head slowly.
"Can you stand?"
Another shake. Then, quietly: "Leg hurts."
Ren looked at her leg. The fall had opened a gash on her shin, bleeding freely into the dirt. Nothing life-threatening, but painful and vulnerable to infection in these conditions.
He sighed-a long, resigned exhale-and knelt beside her.
"I'm going to pick you up. It might hurt. But we need to get you somewhere safe."
She nodded, still staring.
Ren lifted her. She weighed almost nothing-skin and bones wrapped in rags. He carried her through the market, ignoring the stares, the muttered comments, the occasional laugh. Let them think what they wanted. He had a child to tend to.
---
His shelter wasn't much, but it was private. He laid the girl on his blanket-a scrap of fabric he'd scavenged-and examined her leg. The cut was shallow but dirty. He poured some of his precious water over it, watching her flinch.
"Sorry. Need to clean it."
She nodded again, still not speaking.
Ren tore a strip from his own already-tattered shirt and bound the wound. It would do until he could find something better. Then he sat back and looked at her.
What am I doing?
He had two days to save Liu. He had eleven coppers-now ten-to his name. He had a system that ate his life every time he used it. He had no business taking on responsibility for a simple-minded child.
But she was looking at him now with an expression he couldn't name. Not gratitude-she was too young, too damaged for that. Just... recognition. Like he was the first person who'd ever looked at her without disgust.
"Hungry," she whispered.
Ren stared at her for a long moment. Then he reached into his pouch, produced another copper—his ninth—and handed it to her.
"See that stall over there? The one with the old woman selling rice porridge? Go give her this. She'll give you a bowl. Eat it slowly, or you'll get sick."
The girl took the coin, stared at it, then looked at Ren.
"You... you coming?"
"No. I have things to do. But I'll be here tonight. You can stay here if you want. It's not much, but it's dry."
She clutched the coin like it was the most precious thing in the world. Then she scrambled up-leg forgotten-and ran toward the porridge stall.
Ren watched her go, already questioning every decision that had led to this moment.
---
He spent the afternoon on Liu's problem, but his mind kept drifting back to the girl.
Who was she? Where had she come from? The borrowed memories of Ren Gen held no trace of her, which meant she was new to the slums. An orphan, probably. Parents dead from disease or violence or simply abandonment. There were thousands like her in Cloudcradle. They died young, unnoticed, unmourned.
She'll probably die anyway. I can't change that.
But when he returned to his shelter at sunset, she was there.
She'd built a small fire-badly, in a way that could have set the whole shelter ablaze-and was heating something in a cracked bowl. Rice porridge, he realized. The same porridge he'd sent her to buy.
"You're back," she said, as if surprised.
"I said I would be."
"You came back." She said it differently this time, like the concept was new to her. "People don't come back."
Ren sat across from her, watching the fire. "What's your name?"
"Mei."
"How old are you, Mei?"
She thought about it. Really thought, her face scrunching with effort. "Seven, I think. Maybe eight. I forget."
Seven. Maybe eight. Alone in the slums, with a mind that can't keep track of her own age.
"What happened to your parents?"
Another long thought. "Mama got sick. Papa went away. Then Mama went away too." She said it simply, without emotion, like describing the weather. "Then I was alone."
Ren nodded. It was the same story he'd heard a dozen times since arriving in this world. The slums ate people, and children were the most vulnerable.
"The porridge is for you," Mei said, pushing the bowl toward him. "I already ate. You need it more."
Ren stared at the bowl, then at her. She'd bought porridge with his copper-enough for two bowls-and saved half for him. A seven-year-old, starving, simple-minded, and she'd saved food for a stranger who'd helped her once.
The Ledger says she's worth less than moss. 0.002 credits. Less than garbage.
The Ledger was wrong.
---
ASSESS: MEI
The Ledger flickered before Ren could stop it. The cost registered immediately-one hour-but he didn't look away from the girl as the information filled his mind.
TARGET: MEI
AGE: 7 (APPROXIMATE)
CULTIVATION: NONE
STATUS: ORPHAN, HOMELESS, MALNOURISHED
MENTAL STATUS: DEVELOPMENTALLY DELAYED (NON-TRANSFERABLE BRAIN DAMAGE FROM EARLY CHILDHOOD FEVER)
CURRENT CONDITION: STARVING, MINOR LEG INJURY, EARLY SIGNS OF RESPIRATORY INFECTION
SPIRITUAL CREDIT VALUE: 0.002 (NEGLIGIBLE)
POTENTIAL FUTURE VALUE: UNKNOWN
UNIQUE CHARACTERISTIC: ABSOLUTE LOYALTY TO THOSE WHO SHOW KINDNESS (PSYCHOLOGICAL IMPRINTING)
ASSESSMENT COST: 1 HOUR LIFE EXPECTANCY
WARNING: CONTINUED INVOLVEMENT WITH THIS TARGET WILL INCREASE RESOURCE DEMANDS AND EMOTIONAL VULNERABILITY. RECOMMENDED ACTION: DISENGAGE.
Ren dismissed the Ledger and looked at Mei.
She was watching him with those too-wide eyes, waiting for something. Approval, maybe. Or just acknowledgment that she existed.
"Thank you," he said, and meant it.
She smiled.
It was a small thing-a slight curving of chapped lips, a crinkling of dirty cheeks. But it transformed her face. For just a moment, she wasn't a starving gutter rat or a simple-minded burden. She was a child. A human being. Someone who deserved better than this world had given her.
Ren felt something crack inside him. Something he'd thought was dead.
I can't save everyone. I can barely save myself. But maybe... maybe I can save one.
"Mei," he said, "do you want to stay with me?"
She tilted her head. "Stay?"
"Here. In my shelter. I'll share my food, my water. You'll be safe-safer than alone, anyway. In exchange, you help when I need it. Running messages. Watching people. Being my eyes where I can't be."
Mei thought about this with the same intense concentration she'd applied to her age. Then she nodded.
"I stay. I help. You came back."
It wasn't much of a reason. But to Mei, it was everything.
Ren nodded. "Then it's settled. Eat your porridge. Tomorrow, we have work to do."
---
They ate together in silence, the fire crackling between them. When the porridge was gone, Mei curled up on Ren's blanket-his only blanket-and fell asleep instantly, like a small animal finally safe from predators.
Ren sat awake, watching her breathe, and thought about what he'd done.
This is stupid. Sentimental. Dangerous.
The Ledger had warned him. Emotional vulnerability was a liability. Attachments could be used against him. A seven-year-old with developmental delays would slow him down, consume resources, attract attention.
But she smiled. And I felt something.
He'd spent twenty years on Earth becoming a machine-efficient, calculating, detached. It had made him rich, successful, and utterly alone. No family. No friends. Just work, and numbers, and the endless pursuit of more.
He'd died at his desk, and no one had mourned him.
Is that what I want again? To die alone, unmourned, in a gutter somewhere?
Mei shifted in her sleep, mumbling something unintelligible. Ren reached out and pulled the blanket higher, covering her thin shoulders.
She's an exception.
He'd made exceptions before, in his first life. Trades where he'd walked away from certain profit because something felt wrong. Clients he'd refused to work with because their greed crossed a line. Small moments of humanity in a profession that rewarded its absence.
Those exceptions had defined him as much as his successes.
This is another exception. A small one. One child in a city of millions. It won't change anything.
But even as he thought it, Ren knew he was lying to himself.
It would change everything.
---
Morning came grey and cold. Mei was still asleep, her breathing slightly congested-the respiratory infection the Ledger had noted. Ren added it to his mental list of problems to solve.
He left her sleeping and went to find Liu.
The old beggar was in his usual spot, looking even more haggard than yesterday. Two days until the deadline. The weight of it pressed on him visibly.
"Ren." He nodded as Ren approached. "Any ideas?"
"Working on it." Ren sat beside him. "I need to ask you something. About Knife Huang."
Liu's eye narrowed. "What about him?"
"Where does he get his money? He's a loan shark, but someone has to be lending to him. He can't have that much capital on his own."
Liu was silent for a moment. Then: "He's connected to the Crimson Flame Sect. One of the outer elders funnels money through him, lets him operate in exchange for a cut. Huang's protection comes from them."
Crimson Flame. The sect Ren had heard mentioned in passing-one of the major powers in the region.
"So if something happened to Huang, the sect would care?"
"If something happened to his money, they'd care. Huang himself is replaceable. But the sect's investment in him..." Liu shook his head. "You're thinking too big, Ren. We can't touch a sect."
"I'm not thinking about touching them. I'm thinking about making them an offer."
Liu stared. "What kind of offer?"
Ren didn't answer. He was already calculating, planning, building a structure in his mind. The Ledger's locked functions-Debt Visualization, Karma Futures-would help, but he couldn't afford them. Not yet.
But maybe he didn't need them. Maybe he just needed to see the patterns that were already there.
Huang is a middleman. He takes sect money, lends it to desperate people like Liu, collects interest, pays the sect their cut. If Liu can't pay, Huang loses money, the sect loses money, and someone gets hurt.
But what if Liu could pay-just not with credits?
"Liu," Ren said slowly, "what do you have that's worth more than money?"
Liu laughed bitterly. "Nothing. I'm a failed cultivator with a territory the size of a market square and a handful of beggars who'd sell me for a crust of bread."
"You have information. You have access. You have the ability to watch, to listen, to know what happens in this part of the city." Ren met his eye. "Is there anyone in the Crimson Flame Sect who might want that? Someone who needs eyes on the ground, someone who'd rather have information than interest payments?"
Liu's expression shifted. The bitterness faded, replaced by something like... hope? Fear? A mixture of both.
"You're talking about becoming an informant. A spy."
"I'm talking about giving Huang something he can sell to his sect masters. A new revenue stream. Information instead of coins." Ren leaned forward. "If you can offer that-if you can prove your network has value-Huang might extend your deadline. Maybe even forgive part of the debt in exchange for regular reports."
Liu stared at him for a long, breathless moment.
Then he laughed-that rusty, surprised sound. "You're insane. You know that?"
"Insane, or desperate. Same thing, really."
"Same thing." Liu shook his head. "It might work. It's insane, but it might work." He grabbed Ren's shoulder with surprising strength. "If this works, boy, I'll owe you more than credits. I'll owe you my life."
"Just stay alive," Ren said. "That's payment enough."
---
He spent the rest of the day with Liu, planning the approach. What information could Liu offer? What was valuable enough to interest a sect elder? How could they prove its worth without revealing too much?
By evening, they had a plan. Crude, desperate, but a plan.
Ren returned to his shelter as the sun set, exhausted but strangely energized. For the first time since waking in that alley, he felt like he was doing more than just surviving. He was building.
Mei was awake when he arrived. She'd gathered more firewood-too much, stacked haphazardly-and was trying to start a fire with his flint striker. Sparks flew randomly, none of them catching.
"I help," she said when she saw him. "Fire for dinner."
Ren smiled-a real smile, surprising himself. "Let me show you how."
He knelt beside her, guiding her small hands, teaching her the right angle, the right pressure. She learned slowly, but she learned. When the first spark caught and the kindling began to smoke, she clapped her hands in delight.
"Fire! I made fire!"
"We made fire," Ren corrected gently. "Now we need food to cook on it."
He reached into his pouch-nine coppers left-and handed her one. "Same stall as yesterday. Two bowls this time. And Mei?"
She looked up.
"Don't talk to anyone. Just give them the copper, take the porridge, come straight back. Understand?"
"Understand." She clutched the coin and ran off, bare feet slapping against the cobblestones.
Ren watched her go, a strange warmth in his chest.
An exception. Just one.
But as he sat by the fire, waiting for her return, he knew the truth.
One exception led to another. And another. And another.
That was how families started.
---
Mei returned with the porridge, and they ate together in the firelight. She talked-a constant stream of observations and questions that Ren answered patiently. What's that? Why does it work that way? Who was that man? Where does the sun go at night?
She was curious, he realized. Trapped in a mind that processed slowly, but curious nonetheless. Hungry for knowledge the way she'd been hungry for food.
When she finally ran out of questions and curled up on the blanket, Ren sat watching the flames and thinking.
Liu might survive. Mei might survive. I might survive.
But survival isn't enough. Not anymore.
He wanted more. For himself, for Mei, for the broken people who kept ending up in his orbit. He wanted to build something that lasted. Something that protected. Something that mattered.
The Ledger glowed softly at the edge of his vision.
NEW RELATIONSHIP: MEI
STATUS: DEPENDENT (VOLUNTARY)
VALUE TO YOU: EMOTIONAL, UNQUANTIFIABLE
YOUR VALUE TO HER: ABSOLUTE (PSYCHOLOGICAL IMPRINTING CONFIRMED)
DEBT OWED: 1 BOWL OF PORRIDGE, 1 COPPER COIN (NEGLIGIBLE)
DEBT OWNED: HER LIFE (BY CHOICE)
NOTE: YOU HAVE CREATED AN EXCEPTION. THE LEDGER CANNOT QUANTIFY EXCEPTIONS. PROCEED WITH AWARENESS THAT EMOTIONAL ATTACHMENTS ARE BOTH STRENGTH AND LIABILITY.
Ren smiled at the words.
The Ledger doesn't understand exceptions. Good. Neither do I.
He lay back, listening to Mei's breathing, and closed his eyes.
For the first time since arriving in this world, he slept without dreams.
---
END OF CHAPTER 6