The siheyuan was perfect—if you ignored the coffins.
Ji Ming was satisfied. He finally had a place in Liyue Harbor. Rented, sure, but still a courtyard home—and the rent was cheap.
Of course, Wangsheng didn't include furniture. He'd have to furnish the place himself. Now that he had an address, he couldn't live like he was still camping out on the outskirts.
Knock, knock, knock—
He turned. Miss Not-Worth-Mentioning stood at the door with a sunny smile.
"Mr. Ji Ming, Steward Meng invites you to dine at Wangsheng. His treat."
That wouldn't be "just" a meal. Walk in and he'd be a sheep in the tiger's den. Absolutely not.
"Please allow me to refuse," Ji Ming said, waving it off. "I'm heading to Wanmin Restaurant—need to explain things to Xiangling, too. Oh—and if Hu Tao comes back, tell her to go play by herself."
"…Alright. Take care on the road."
She looked disappointed, but stepped aside to let him pass.
Miss Not-Worth-Mentioning, you're learning!
Leaving Wangsheng in southern Feiyun Slope, Ji Ming headed toward the right district, passing Liuli Pavilion and Xinyue Kiosk—both mainstays of Feiyun Slope and favorite tables of the wealthy.
Lately their dishes grew ever more extravagant, the prices stranger—and still they couldn't beat Wanmin's flavor.
For the bigwigs, decorum and spectacle mattered more than taste.
For Liyue's people, if Xiangling was on the stove, Wanmin was god.
Xiangling was always god. Go one day without her cooking and your whole body felt wrong.
If Liyue elected a new Geo Archon tomorrow, Ji Ming would vote Xiangling—because in Liyue, food is heaven.
"Zhongyuan Chop Suey—tasty and affordable!"
That cry meant he'd stepped into the most quintessential Liyue street: Chihu Rock.
Richest in history, densest in residents—Chihu Rock was roaring at the noon rush.
At a roadside stall, the proprietress hustled between customers and the open-air terrace behind the stand, grabbing extra ingredients—unaware that a pack of ill-intentioned youths had slipped in after her.
Ji Ming clocked it instantly, changed course, and tailed them in silence.
"Boss lady," the leader drawled, "what about last month's protection fee? You make all this money every day and keep stalling. Looking down on us brothers?"
On the terrace, masks dropped. The thugs cornered Su Erniang; their leader even used a finger to lift her chin.
Su Erniang was terrified. The terrace had sightlines blocked, and Liyue folks loved a spectacle but hated getting involved. Xiangling might have a Vision, but she was likely buried in the back kitchen. Shouting wouldn't help.
These punks had been throwing their weight around lately. Report them and they'd retaliate—best case, your stall dies; worst case, you get threatened or hurt.
They didn't dare cross the Millelith, but bullying civilians? That they had the guts for.
Su Erniang slipped aside, eyes wet. "Give me a little more time. My elder at home is ill. We really have nothing to spare."
"My brothers gotta eat too. Why's it always your family that needs money?"
He looked her up and down and smirked. "Don't pay? Fine. Keep us company for a night and we'll waive last month's fee."
Rage flared in Su Erniang's eyes, but she had no way to fight back. She slapped away his hand anyway. She would never submit. If it came to it, she'd bite them bloody.
Some onlookers had noticed, but they recognized the thug—word was his sister had married a Millelith captain. Ordinary folk didn't dare meddle.
The sharper ones had sprinted to Wanmin for Xiangling. People with Visions had clout; even if they lived quiet lives, in a pinch they were a nation's last line.
Ji Ming pushed past a few gawkers and grabbed the leader by the collar, yanking him back—and planted a punch on his jaw.
"Bastard—what do you think you're doing?"
Charging protection was one thing; drooling over someone was another. That smeared the whole "profession."
Seeing their boss get ambushed, the small fry pulled sticks from their belts. Ji Ming clicked his tongue in disgust and popped the leader again.
"Go tell your old man this: what are these—toothpicks? If you want real steel, maybe I'll respect you. These are kids' toys. Aren't you embarrassed?"
The thug finally swung back, but Ji Ming slipped it easily.
"You dare hit me? My brother-in-law is—"
"I don't care if your sister married the Sky Lord or the Earth Lady. On Liyue turf, you call me Grandpa Nine and knock your head on the ground three times."
Grinning, Ji Ming slammed him to the floor. He didn't love fighting; he loved ending fights. Stomping bullies felt… incredibly good.
Some people were pure love warriors. Ji Ming was… a pure warrior.
The thug scrambled up. Whoever this guy was, he was obviously from the streets. Still, for face's sake, he tested the waters.
"Hey! Making trouble on my turf—who do you think you are?!"
"Same line as before. If it helps, call me Grandpa Nine. If you want to apologize, three kowtows to me, then three to the boss lady. If you hassle her again, you're against me."
"Try me! I'm the famed Nine-Patterned Dragon of Chihu Rock. This is my turf. You got a death wish?"
Ji Ming stepped in, unimpressed.
"Territory, huh? Fine. I'll sweep two streets and plant flags first—then we can talk. At that point, three kowtows won't cut it."
You think I'm flying the Old Nine Gates flag?
I'm flying the Liyue Ministry flag.
You think my backing is Ninth of the Nine Gates?
It's Liyue's government—and Liyue's adepti.
The leader faltered, bluff draining away. Still, he puffed himself up.
"She's not even with you. Why cover her?"
"So what if she isn't? I like her face; I cover who I want. I'll stomp your turf if I feel like it, Nine-Patterned Dragon."
Wrong. This guy definitely had backing; no one talked like that without it. Retreat now, ask the brother-in-law later. If he's no one, settle the score next time.
He turned to bolt with his gang of "righteous brothers."
Run? Did you ask Grandpa Nine?
Ji Ming blocked the exit and jerked his chin at the ground.
"Kowtow. Three to me, three to the boss lady. Miss one and I take a finger."
Grinding his teeth, the thug knelt and knocked three times to Ji Ming. When it came to Su Erniang, he glared daggers—almost making her cry again.
Ji Ming stepped in and buried a kick in his gut.
"Listen here. Calling you Nine-Patterned Dragon is me giving you face. You're a flea-bitten cur. Dare pull that face again and I'll take your head. From now on, Chihu Rock is my watch. Pull this crap and I'll end you."
He clutched his stomach, didn't dare resist, kowtowed three heavy times to Su Erniang—and fled with his dogs.
Ji Ming watched the sorry lot run and spat on the ground, ignoring the "No Spitting" notice on the wall.
Su Erniang, teary-eyed, grabbed his arm.
"Thank you. If not for you, I might have—"
Ji Ming patted the back of her hand lightly.
"It's alright. With me covering you, no one dares make trouble. Don't cry, yeah? Doesn't suit you."
Father… your daughter might be in love.
Nearly thirty and never in love, she'd thought she would be alone forever. A hero had swooped in. Her cheeks flamed.
"Sir, I… I don't know how to repay you…"
"No big deal. I'll cover you. Just pay five hundred mora a month as a protection fee. That's barely the price of one Mora Meat."
Her expression froze. Ji Ming didn't notice, and kept going:
"If you can't pay, it's fine. I know your elder is ill. You can owe it—no interest. Owe as long as you like."
It was a symbolic fee—just enough to signal she was under protection so street rats wouldn't try anything.
Su Erniang burst into tears again, shrinking into the corner. Every now and then she peeked at Ji Ming, eyes full of fear.
So the "hero" was just… another villain?
Father, what if I lose my virtue—
Clang!
A wok ladle rose and cracked down on Ji Ming's skull with a crisp ring.
Nice tone. Quality head.
This time Ji Ming's eyes watered. He turned to the furious chef.
"Xiangling, what was that for?"
"You scared Sister Su, you dummy!"
Xiangling stepped in front of Su Erniang and patted her head in comfort—then glared back at Ji Ming.
"I know you meant well, but she was terrified already. And you tease her like that?!"
Ji Ming threw his hands up, aggrieved.
"I wasn't teasing! I was serious. If she pays the fee, no one will dare touch her."
"Still talking back? Want another smack?"
Seeing the ladle rise again, Ji Ming hunched his neck, spun to face the crowd of gawkers, and barked:
"Scram. Move it. Cold-blooded rubberneckers—keep staring and I start swinging!"
The crowd scattered.
Ji Ming dropped the ferocity, pasted on a sheepish grin, and sidled up to Xiangling, chuckling like an idiot.
She ignored him and looked to Su Erniang.
"Don't blame Ji Ming. He means well."
Su Erniang sniffled and wiped her tears.
"Mm… I know. I'm just too timid. It's not Mr. Ji Ming's fault."
Only now did it click—Mr. Ji Ming wanted to protect her.
She stopped crying, hugged Ji Ming's arm again, and lowered her head.
"Mr. Ji Ming… thank you."
Xiangling tilted her chin at Ji Ming: say the line.
"Alright, alright. Get back to business. If anyone gives you trouble, use my name. If it gets messy, tell Xiangling and have her come find me."
After a few more soothing words, Su Erniang headed back to her stall—though she had no heart for business today. Best to go home and calm down… and tell her father what happened.
Mr. Ji Ming… so very great!
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