The hallway leading to Matriarch Feng's private chambers was a tunnel through time. Unlike the rest of the sect, which was functional and austere, here the air was dense; it smelled of sandalwood polished over centuries, of the dust of countless secrets, and of a power so ancient it had solidified into the stone itself. The silence was not empty, but a presence that watched and judged.
Xiao Yue walked beside Kenji, and for the first time, she didn't feel like she was escorting her consultant, but advancing with her partner. The revelation of his origin hadn't created a breach; it had welded it shut. The logic of their strange alliance was now absolute.
"So," she whispered, unable to resist the pang of humor amidst the tension, "is this the equivalent of being summoned to the big boss's office after your product crashed the stock market?"
"A functionally correct analogy," Kenji replied without looking at her, his mind already processing the variables of the impending meeting. "However, we haven't crashed the market. We have simply exposed an underlying volatility that existing analysts failed to foresee. The Matriarch isn't summoning us for punishment, but for a quarterly review and budget approval for the next phase."
"Kenji, for heaven's sake, sometimes I wish you'd been reincarnated as a poet." She sighed, a smile pulling at the corner of her lips. "It would be far less stressful."
"Poetry is a communication system with an unacceptably high data-loss rate," he stated, just as they stopped before two imposing dark wood doors that looked as if they hadn't been opened in a decade.
The maiden who had guided them, a silent extension of the Matriarch's will, opened the doors without a sound and stepped aside, bowing her head.
Feng's private chambers were not a place of rest; they were a fortress. Bookshelves reached to the ceiling, filled with scrolls and ledgers so old the parchment had turned the color of amber. Not a single ornament, not one painting. Only knowledge and records. It was the server room for the sect's soul. In the center of the room, Matriarch Feng was seated, not behind a desk, but on a simple dark wood chair, a cup of steaming tea before her, its aroma filling the air with notes of bitter ginseng and earth.
"Personal Assistant Kenji," Feng said, her voice cutting through the silence. "Young Lady Xiao Yue. Take a seat."
Her tone was neither warm nor cold. It was that of a surgeon preparing for a delicate operation. Xiao Yue sat, a knot of nervousness tightening in her stomach for the first time in weeks. This wasn't her laboratory, nor the arena. This was the true center of power. Kenji, in contrast, sat with the same straight, economical posture he would have in any boardroom, his eyes scanning the room, filing away data.
"I have reviewed the preliminary reports of your work in the kitchens and the laundry," Feng began, her hawklike eyes fixed on Kenji. "The savings are… substantial. The workflow has improved. The morale of the servants—an asset most leaders in this clan despise—has increased. A satisfactory result."
"I'm pleased the performance analysis meets your expectations, Matriarch," Kenji responded. "Optimizing low-level systems is the foundation for any large-scale corporate restructuring."
Feng let Kenji's strange words hang in the air for a moment. Then, her gaze hardened.
"Let's talk about your other project," she said. "The one not listed in your job description. The audit of resource logistics."
The tension in the room increased tenfold. Xiao Yue held her breath.
"I requested access to the ledgers to conduct a full efficiency analysis," Kenji explained, his face a mask of neutrality. "It's impossible to optimize a system without understanding all of its resource inflows and outflows."
"And what were your conclusions, analyst?" Feng pressed, though the glint in her eyes made it clear she already knew the answer. She was testing the worth of her new weapon.
Kenji didn't pull out a ledger. He didn't point a finger. He delivered his report as he would to a hostile board of directors, with a logic so cold and devoid of emotion that it was irrefutable.
"My analysis has identified a series of accounting anomalies in the Resource Logistics Annex, overseen by Elder Tong," he began. "These anomalies, while individually attributable to administrative negligence or filing errors, present a consistent and systemic pattern when analyzed in aggregate."
He took a small tablet from his sleeve and placed it on the table. It bore no names, only numbers and dates.
"First: a seventeen percent loss of the spiritual rice sent to the Jade Ring disciples during the last fiscal year is recorded, attributed to 'pest infestations.' However, my inspections of the granaries indicate that the pest control measures are state-of-the-art, and there is no evidence of such infestations. A logistical discrepancy.
"Second: charcoal expenses for the forges have increased by twenty-two percent, yet the production of spiritual-grade weapons has decreased by eight percent. The energy invested does not correlate with the final product. A performance discrepancy."
Xiao Yue listened, fascinated. He wasn't accusing anyone of theft. He was talking about discrepancies.
"But the most significant anomaly," Kenji continued, his voice, if possible, growing even flatter, "concerns a shipment of Soul-Freezing Herb from three months ago—an invaluable ingredient for forging high-grade spiritual weapons. The records, signed by Elder Tong, indicate the entire batch was ruined due to moisture in Warehouse C-7 and was discarded.
"However," Kenji paused, a perfectly calculated, dramatic pause that made even the Matriarch lean forward slightly, "my infrastructure audit revealed that Warehouse C-7 is the driest, most secure facility in the entire complex. The probability of a batch being ruined by moisture in that location is, statistically, close to zero."
The silence that followed was deafening. Kenji had presented the evidence. He had outlined the crime, but he had not uttered the criminal's name. He was letting the Matriarch herself connect the dots, giving her all the power of the conclusion.
Matriarch Feng leaned back in her chair, a finger tapping softly on the table. Her face was unreadable, but her eyes shone with a cold, predatory light. She had been suspicious for years, watching as resources were siphoned off, as Zian's allies prospered inexplicably. But they were whispers, smoke. She never had solid proof. To investigate actively herself would have been an open declaration of war against the favored heir, a schism the clan could not afford.
But this boy, this strange being of relentless logic, had brought her not an accusation, but an audit report. He had given her a surgical weapon instead of a war hammer.
"A… disturbing discrepancy," Feng finally said, her voice a silky whisper. "A waste of clan assets that cannot be tolerated. Your analysis is… exhaustive, Assistant Kenji. You have demonstrated a value far exceeding my initial projections."
The praise, devoid of all warmth, was the greatest recognition Kenji had ever received. It was the approval of a superior who acknowledged pure competence.
"However," Feng continued, "this data, while revealing, is insufficient. It is the smoke trail, not the fire. To act, I need the source of the blaze, an irrefutable chain of custody. I need to know where that Soul-Freezing Herb ended up."
She looked at Kenji, and her gaze was a command.
"Your next project is to follow the money trail. The Logistics Annex is just the exit point. I need you to audit the entry point: the External Acquisitions Department, the merchants we deal with, the caravan routes. I want a complete map of the clan's supply chain, from the mine to the disciple. I want you to find where the chain breaks."
A chill ran down Xiao Yue's spine. That was a task that was not just dangerous, but nearly impossible. It meant dealing with cunning merchants, corrupt guards, and forged ledgers. It was a nest of vipers.
"That task will require access to an even more restricted level of information," Kenji said, negotiating as if they were discussing contract terms and not a plot to overthrow the sect's heir. "Financial records, contracts with external suppliers, security patrol archives…"
"You will have access to everything," Feng interrupted him, with a finality that brooked no argument. "Elder Ji in the library and the captain of the guard will receive my instructions. They will open every door for you. But you will be a ghost, Kenji. No one can know what you are looking for. Officially, you are optimizing procurement protocols to reduce costs. Understood?"
"Perfectly," Kenji replied. "I accept the new project. The estimated timeframe for preliminary data collection is one month."
"Good," Feng said, rising. The meeting was over. "Now, leave. Both of you. Young Lady, your progress in the arena was noteworthy. Continue your training. Assistant Kenji, get to work. Time is a resource that not even you can optimize."
When they left the chambers and returned to the cool night air, Xiao Yue could finally breathe.
"Kenji, this is insane!" she exclaimed in an urgent whisper, grabbing his arm. "She's sending you into the heart of my brother's territory! It's not an audit, it's a death sentence!"
"It's a calculated risk," he answered, unfazed. "Zian's corruption isn't just his weakness; it's the entire clan's greatest systemic vulnerability. If we can exploit it, we not only neutralize him, but we also gain leverage over the Elders who support him. The return on investment is too high to ignore."
"Return on investment!" she repeated, exasperated. "The only return you're going to get is a dagger in the back! What are we going to do?"
Kenji stopped under the silvery light of the moon and looked at her. His face, usually a mask of control, seemed more human in the soft darkness.
"We're going to do what we always do, Xiao Yue," he said, his voice calm, an anchor in her sea of uncertainty. "I will analyze the data. You will grow stronger. I will provide the strategy to the Matriarch. You will be the weapon that executes it. We are a two-component system; neither can function without the other."
He stared at her, and in that moment, she understood. They were no longer just partners. They were interdependent: his safety depended on her strength, and her power on his intelligence.
A new determination, cold and sharp, replaced her fear.
"Fine," she said, her voice firm. "While you hunt for rats in the ledgers, I'll become a dragon. By the time my brother realizes what you're doing, I'll be too strong for him to touch you."
Kenji nodded, just once. It was the deepest agreement they had ever made, sealed not with a handshake, but with a look of mutual, desperate need.
That night, back in his austere headquarters, Kenji did not start on the new ledgers. Instead, he unrolled a blank scroll and, with a piece of charcoal, began to draw. It wasn't a flowchart or an organization chart.
It was a map. A map of the city of the Golden Carp. He began to mark trade routes, merchant warehouses, known guard posts. Then, with a different ink, he drew connecting lines, hypothesizing flows of money and resources, weaving an invisible web of corruption over the city.
The title he wrote at the top of the scroll was not 'Financial Audit,' but: 'Project Cerberus: Vulnerability Analysis of the Adversary's Asset Network.'
The cold war was over. The corporate espionage phase had just begun. And Kenji Tanaka, the CEO from another world, felt, for the first time in a long time, like he was back home.