The firelight turned the entire courtyard as bright as day.
I stood at the warehouse entrance, watching the mountain of opium crates crackle in the blaze. The acrid stench of burning filled my nostrils. Thick smoke billowed into the sky, staining half of it dark red.
Several dockworkers ran out of the warehouse carrying oil barrels and shouted to me, “Young Master Shen, we've poured the last barrel too!”
I nodded, my throat a little dry. The crates bore the emblem of the British East India Company, and I could read every word. Just minutes ago, I had been wondering how I ended up here. The moment before, I had still been in the mansion of the richest man in the Great Ming, watching the accountant clutch the ledger with a mournful expression. “Young Master, you've spent another thirty thousand taels of silver this month…”
Then there was a flash of white light. When I opened my eyes again, this inferno was right in front of me.
A mechanical voice rang clearly in my mind, as if it were speaking right beside my ear: “Spendthrift System bound.
Current balance: zero.
Progress: 0/10,000 silver dollars.
First spendthrift mission: Burn all the opium in stock, worth 30,000 silver dollars, within three days. Reward: penicillin formula.”
The penicillin formula.
