During the Jingyuan era of the Great Zhou, the dynasty's fortunes were running out, and fate determined everyone's rank.
All the geniuses under heaven believed they were children of destiny. Only the one-eyed, lame pawnshop clerk at the end of Qingshi Alley knew the truth: the little bit of luck they had was borrowed from him.
The Longevity Pawnshop accepted no dead things. It pawned only luck.
A thread of fortune earned one percent interest per day, compounded.
On this street, street thugs beat him, bullies trampled him, and even passing dogs barked at him.
Nobody knew the pawnshop had one ironclad rule: the more wretched and lowly its clerk, the more readily it opened its doors to customers. Anyone who thought they could trample him at will became a customer of the pawnshop without even realizing it.
Many years later, the dynasty teetered on the brink of collapse, and the young geniuses faced their end.
The high and mighty lords, ministers, and generals suddenly discovered that the cultivation, power, and lifespans they had once prided themselves on were all written on a yellowed pawn ticket.
The lame, blind clerk opened the ledger, long covered in dust.
"Everyone, the time has come."
"Time to settle the accounts."
