Dawn in the Golden Tent City was an impressive logistical operation. The sun rose over the distant mountains, casting a soft light that crept across the curved rooftops and activated the noisy machinery of urban life. For Kenji Tanaka, it was simply time for a business appointment. He had spent the night in a state of controlled hibernation in an alleyway, conserving energy for what would be his first crucial negotiation in this new market. Upon reaching the memorized address, he found himself before an imposing white stone wall, so high and smooth it seemed designed as much for aesthetics as to repel an army.
Behind the wall stood the Silver Cloud Mansion. It wasn't a building; it was a compound. Pavilions with sky-blue glazed tile roofs were connected by dark wooden walkways, all surrounded by meticulously manicured gardens. The air here felt different, cleaner, charged with a barely perceptible energy.
Architectural assessment: excellent. The perimeter walls are solid, and the lookout points on the roofs offer nearly total coverage. This is not just a residence; it is a corporate fortress. The expenditure on security and maintenance must be astronomical. Clearly, the Silver Cloud Clan is a dominant player in this market.
Kenji made his way to the rear entrance, a sturdy wooden door reinforced with iron. Two guards, clad in gray silk uniforms and armed with swords instead of spears, flanked the entrance. Their bearing was far superior to that of the city guards. They were alert, their gazes sharp.
As Kenji approached, one of the guards raised a hand, stopping him. His eyes scanned Kenji's skeletal frame with open disdain.
"Get lost, street rat. This isn't a soup kitchen," the guard said, his voice devoid of the lazy mockery of the city guards; it was a cold, professional contempt.
Kenji did not back down. He showed no fear or submission. He simply pulled the crumpled piece of parchment he had copied from the notice the night before from his frayed tunic, carefully smoothing it out. He held it out to the guard.
"I'm here for the servant's position," his voice was calm and direct.
The guard seemed taken aback. He glanced at the parchment, then at Kenji's serious face, and then to his partner. He had expected a pleading beggar, not someone presenting himself for a job offer as if it were a legitimate transaction. The absolute lack of fear in the teenager's eyes was… odd. The second guard shrugged.
"Matriarch Feng said to interview everyone who came. Let him pass," the first one grumbled, opening the gate just enough for Kenji to slip through. "Go to that courtyard and wait. And don't touch anything."
Security personnel analysis: mid-to-high level. Professional, but arrogant. Their initial screening protocol is flawed; they rely on appearance, not intent. However, they follow orders from their superiors. A functional hierarchical structure. Good.
The courtyard was a space of austere beauty, with perfectly fitted stone pavers and a single maple tree with vibrant red leaves. A dozen people were already waiting, mostly rough-looking, needy men and women, all older than him. They looked at him with a mixture of pity and annoyance, as if his presence somehow devalued their own chances. Kenji ignored them, choosing a spot apart and adopting a passive waiting posture, observing and gathering data.
A short time later, an elderly woman emerged from one of the pavilions. She moved with an imposing stiffness, her back as straight as a rod. She wore a dark silk robe, and her gray hair was pulled into a severe bun, held by a single silver pin. She was not a powerful cultivator, Kenji could sense that, but she exuded an authority that silenced the courtyard instantly. Her eyes, sharp and piercing like a bird of prey's, scanned the candidates, lingering a fraction of a second longer on Kenji.
This was Matriarch Feng, the head of the servants. The hiring manager.
She began to call the candidates one by one, leading them inside for a brief interview. Most came out looking crestfallen, rejected. A few, the strongest and most honest-looking, were sent to a different side of the courtyard, apparently hired. Finally, only Kenji remained.
"You," Matriarch Feng said, her voice as dry as autumn leaves. "Come in."
Kenji followed her into a small, neat office with a polished wooden desk. There were no decorations, only ledgers and records stacked with pinpoint precision. Feng sat down, gesturing for him to remain standing before her. The silence stretched as she examined him.
This woman is the true chief operating officer of this place. Her gaze isn't one of contempt; it's evaluative. She is measuring my value, or lack thereof. She is the first competent person I have met in this world.
"The notice is for laborers, not children who can barely stand," Feng began, her tone a test in itself. "Why should I waste my time on you?"
Kenji didn't flinch. He didn't plead or try to evoke pity. He responded as if he were in a boardroom, presenting a value proposition.
"Because I am the most efficient option you will see today," he said calmly.
Feng's eyes narrowed. "Efficient? Explain."
"My maintenance cost is low," Kenji explained, his logic flowing naturally. "I consume few resources. My learning potential is high; I have no bad habits to unlearn, and I assimilate new tasks quickly. And my loyalty will be directly proportional to the value the Silver Cloud Clan invests in me."
He paused, looking directly into the old woman's eyes.
"I am a low-risk, long-term growth investment."
Matriarch Feng was silent. She didn't understand half the words the boy had used. Maintenance cost? Investment? Risk? It was the language of merchants, but used in a strange, abstract way. What she did understand, however, was the underlying confidence. She understood the transactional logic. This skinny boy wasn't asking for charity. He was presenting a verbal contract. He was offering his future services as an asset in exchange for an initial investment.
It was the most absurd and arrogant thing she had heard in her sixty years of service. And, for some reason, it deeply intrigued her. Everyone else had begged, had spoken of their hungry families, of their desperation. He had presented her with a business plan.
He is different. There is something in his eyes. It is not the look of a street child. It is the look of... I don't know. But it is interesting. A mystery. And mysteries can be useful or dangerous. It is worth keeping him close to find out.
"You speak with a boldness that does not match your size," Feng finally said, a nuance of something that was neither approval nor disapproval in her voice. "Very well. We will test your 'learning potential'."
She stood up, her decision made.
"You will be assigned to the kitchens and the laundry. The most basic and filthiest tasks. You will scrub floors, chop vegetables, and wash clothes until your hands bleed. You will receive a cot in the servants' quarters, two meals a day, and five copper coins a week. A single mistake, a single complaint, and you will be back on the street you came from. Understood?"
"Perfectly," Kenji replied without hesitation.
Phase one complete. Market entry secured. The position is entry-level, but the location is strategic. Now phase two begins: data collection and internal process optimization to demonstrate value and ensure promotion.
"Follow me," Feng commanded.
She led him out of the office, through labyrinthine corridors, to the far reaches of the compound, where the air smelled of charcoal and lye. She handed him a servant's uniform, coarse and gray.
Kenji Tanaka, the CEO who had once restructured global corporations, accepted his new uniform. It was his access card. His first tangible asset in this new world. The infiltration had been a success.