Over the next few days, Mei started to improve. The fever eased, her cough softened, and she could sit up for longer stretches.
The tonic and ginseng gave her body a chance to fight back, bit by bit. She was not healed, but she was eating small meals and speaking without pain, her voice stronger each day.
One evening, as Li Wei brought her a bowl of rice porridge, Mei reached for his hand.
One evening, as Li Wei brought her a bowl of rice porridge, Mei reached for his hand. "You did more than save the market," she said. "You saved us."
Li Wei set the bowl down, his fingers brushing hers. "We saved each other," he said, his voice steady, meaning every word.
The market began to thrive, free from Zhao Kun's grip. Stalls bustled, and traders haggled without fear.
Li Wei's name was mentioned quietly, with respect—not as a warrior, but as a man who had outsmarted a tyrant. He rebuild his shop, leaning on Song Wen and Ren, now true allies after the fight.
Vincent, still bound to Li Wei's thoughts, suddenly felt the system's pull tugging him toward the real world.
As the system shifted and a screen came to his view.
[Objective Completed: Observe and Survice 10 Days in Li Wei's Body.]
[Endurance and Strategy Studied.]
[Returning to Primary Dimension.]
Vincent's vision blurred, the dim room with Mei fading like ink in water.
He gasped, lurching upright on his vast, soft bed, the silk sheets cool against his sweat-soaked skin. The luxurious room, all sleek lines and modern comforts, was jarring after the wooden simplicity of Li Wei's home.
"What the hell," he muttered, rubbing his temples. The system's screen flickered before his eyes.
[Daily Task Penalty Resolved.]
[Daily Task Penalty for Non-Completed Physical Task: Initiated Within 2 days.]
Vincent scowled, shoving the screen aside in his mind.
Three sharp knocks shattered Vincent's thoughts. He sat up, the chandelier's glow stark against the dim flicker of Li Wei's lantern.
"Come in," he called, his voice rough but firm, masking the disorientation.
Marco entered, the butler who had guided him through the mansion the night before. His sharp suit and calm demeanor hid the chaos of the takeover—bodies hauled away, blood scrubbed from marble floors.
"Sir," Marco said, bowing slightly, "the managers are ready to meet. They are assembling in the conference room. The lawyers are here, and Isabella is waiting."
Vincent nodded, swinging his legs off the bed. His body felt stronger, faster, his wounds from the yesterday fight already fading—unexplained to anyone but him.
"Who is coming?" he asked, pulling on the dark blue silk shirt and black trousers Marco had laid out.
Marco handed him a tablet, a list glowing on the screen. "Twelve managers run Moretti's operations in the city. Casinos downtown, nightclubs in the entertainment district, shipping along the docks, real estate in the high-rises. Smaller fronts, too—restaurants, car dealerships. Each has their crew, their of the profits. Some were Moretti's loyalist; others simply feared him."
Vincent's eyes scanned the names, his mind flashing to Li Wei reading Zhao Kun's men in the warehouse, spotting fear before the trap sprang. Fear was a tool, but trust was the goal.
"Lawyers?"
"Three from Moretti's firm," Marco said. "Led by a guy named Carter. They will transfer assets—contracts, deeds, offshore accounts. They will want proof you can hold this together. Moretti's name kept the cops away, yours is untested."
Vincent smirked, slipping on polished leather shoes. Li Wei had bluffed Master Chen with talk of market allies, Vincent would bluff his way to control.
"And Isabella?"
Marco's face stayed neutral "She was Moretti's secretary—now yours. She knows every deal, every payoff, every dirty secret. If you want to run this city, you need her."
Vincent adjusted the silver watch on his wrist, its price weight grounding him. "Let's meet her first."
Marco led him through the mansion's corridors, past servants wiping down bullet-scarred walls. The conference room was a cavern of mahogany and glass, a long table set of power plays.
Vincent paused at the door as Marco signaled for Isabella. The woman stepped in, and Vincent's breath caught for a split second.
Mid-30s, with piercing green eyes and dark hair in a tight bun, she wore a tailored black dress that hugged her curvy figure—professional, but her presence demanded attention. Her heels clicked with purpose, a leather portfolio in hand, her expression cool and focused.
No flirtation, just competence, like a blade sheathed but ready.
"Mr. Vincent," she said, her faint Italian accent crisp. "I am Isabella Rossi. Marco said you wanted to see me before the meeting."
She set the portfolio down, her movements precise, eyes meeting his without a flicker.
Vincent leaned against the table, studying her. "You ran Moretti's world," he said. "Why should I keep you?"
She did not blink. "Because I know who's bribed at city hall, who's skimming from the clubs, who's talking to the cops. Moretti trusted me to keep his books clean and his enemies in line. Without me, you're blind, and this city eats the blind."
"Loyalty?" he pressed.
"To the one signing my checks," she said, a faint smile forming. "Moretti is gone. You are the boss. My job is to keep you on top."
Vincent nodded, satisfied for now. "Sit with me today. Watch the managers. Tell me who is lying, who is scared."
Isabella's smile sharpened. "Done."
She stepped aside as Marco ushered in the lawyers.
Three suits entered—two men, one woman, all carrying briefcases and wary looks. The leader, Carter, gray-haired and stiff, spoke first.
"Mr. Vincent, we handled Moretti's legal affairs. We are there to transfer assets, but we need to confirm your... legitimacy."
Vincent's eyes narrowed, Li Wei's calm defiance before Huang's test flashing in his mind.
He pulled a folded letter from his jacket, Moretti's scrawled signature stark against the page.
"Moretti signed this," he said, his voice low as he slid it across the table. "It hands over everything—businesses, accounts, all of it—to me. His men are either gone or now mine. That is your confirmation. Get to work."
Carter swallowed, nodding, and spread documents across the table. "We'll cover the city's holdings—casinos, clubs, shipping, real estate. Local accounts need your signatures. Some... sensitive funds require your biometrics."
Isabella was already scanning the papers, her pen marking key points. Vincent caught her subtle nod, a silent assurance that she would track every detail.