In the ninth year of silence, this was the only shop in the entire city that was still open.
Chen Yan had no special powers. In a world where even the rain could be stopped in midair, the only thing he knew how to do was run a business.
Three days ago, Wang Qiang and six others cornered him in the rain, trying to steal the thing he had spent three days digging up.
Three days later, Wang Qiang stood at his counter, first in line.
"Trade," Chen Yan said. "Wait your turn."
Someone raised a knife two feet from his face, but that hand could never come down again.
In this world, where might makes right, he did just one thing: ran a business.
He bought at a higher price than anywhere else and sold for less.
No matter who you killed yesterday, once you entered this shop, no one was allowed to lay a hand on anyone.
And so the city's toughest people came to stand at his counter, one by one.
Someone asked him: You buy high and sell low. Where does that ten percent in between come from?
He said: Somewhere else.
Where is somewhere else?
He said: I'm still looking.
Only he knew that he wasn't the owner of this shop. He was merely the first person to open the door.
The first page of the ledger held two lines, written in someone else's hand:
"If you can read these words, it means we failed to stop it."
"So the rest is up to you."
He stared at them for a long time, then turned the page.
The last page was still blank.
