I'm Just an Innkeeper, Why Are You All Kneeling?

The morning sun filtered through the high wooden shutters of Secondary Pavilion Building Four, casting long streaks of golden light across the newly organized kitchen prep counters. With the preliminary trial behind them, the team had exactly one day to prepare their prep stations for the upcoming Hospitality Trial.

To help handle light errands, carrying wooden crates, and running messages across the secondary district, Xiao Yu had hired a local eleven-year-old boy named Yun.

Yun was a thin, scrappy kid with bright, sharp eyes and a worn cloth tunic that had seen better days. He was not a cultivator, possessing not a single drop of spiritual qi in his veins. His parents had vanished mysteriously two months earlier during the first wave of capital disappearances, leaving the young boy to survive by running errands, hauling market bags, and dodging aggressive street vendors.

He was remarkably quick, remarkably observant, and deeply embarrassed whenever anyone tried to treat him like a helpless child.

The moment Yun stepped into the kitchen, Sect Master Lu intercepted him, holding a steaming wooden bowl filled with braised pork, fried rice, and a thick slice of golden hearth bread.

”Eat first, boy,” Lu commanded gruffly, shoving the heavy bowl into Yun’s hands. ”In this establishment, nobody carries a single sack of flour on an empty stomach.”

Yun puffed out his chest, trying to look tough and independent. ”I’m here for work, old man! I’m eleven years old! I can carry two sacks of ginger without needing a charity handout!”

”It’s not charity, it’s corporate policy,” Lin Fan chimed in from the stove, casually stirring a simmering pot of bone broth. ”Hungry employees make mistakes, drop porcelain dishes, and move slowly. Consider the meal your mandatory onboarding fuel.”

Yun grumbled under his breath, but the heavenly aroma of the warm food completely shattered his resolve. He sat on a wooden stool and devoured the entire bowl in two minutes flat. Lin Fan noticed something peculiar: Yun carefully broke off the crisp, toasted corners of the hearth bread, wrapping them neatly in a clean cloth to save for later.

”Saving those for a snack?” Lin Fan asked gently.

Yun looked down at his shoes, his cheeks flushing slightly pink. ”My mother used to bake wheat bread... she always gave me the crisp corners because they were my favorite.”

Lin Fan’s expression softened, but he kept his voice practical and firm as he laid out the boy’s employment terms.

”Alright, Yun,” Lin Fan said, tapping a wooden clipboard. ”Here are your operational rules. Rule One: You are paid twenty copper coins a day, plus three full meals. Rule Two: You do not enter the northern high-mortality districts, you do not carry unknown packages for strangers, and you do not work a single minute after dark. The moment the streetlamps light up, you go straight home.”

Yun crossed his arms, pouting. ”Twenty coppers is great, Shopkeeper, but those rules make me sound like a little kid! I know these alleys better than anyone! I can handle myself after dark!”

”Being paid fairly does not mean you get to negotiate away your basic workplace safety,” Lin Fan countered smoothly, tapping the boy’s forehead with the flat side of his wooden spoon. ”I run a legitimate business, not a child labor hazard ring. Follow the rules, or you’re fired.”

Yun rubbed his forehead, groaning, but a tiny, warm grin tugged at the corner of his lips. For the first time in two months, someone in this cold, massive city actually cared whether he lived or died.

By mid-afternoon, the kitchen prep was in full swing. Sect Master Lu was kneading dough, Xiao Yu was organizing supply ledgers, and Lin Fan was refining his spice mixes.

Suddenly, Lu realized they were completely out of fresh crushed garlic—a vital component for their evening broth prep.

”I’ll go get it!” Yun volunteered instantly, leaping off his stool and grabbing a small wicker shopping basket. ”Uncle Chen’s vegetable stall is just two streets over in the secondary market! I know the short cut through the weaver’s alley! I’ll be back in ten minutes!”

Lin Fan checked the sky outside. It was early afternoon, the sun was bright, and the secondary market was crowded with shoppers.

”Fine,” Lin Fan nodded, dropping ten copper coins into the boy’s palm.

”Got it, Chief!” Yun cheered, sprinting out the courtyard gate with his basket swinging wildly.

At first, nobody in the kitchen paid any attention to the time. Lu continued shaping bread, Xiao Ling wiped down the serving trays, and Lin Fan chopped fresh ginger.

Then, forty-five minutes passed.

Xiao Yu paused in his bookkeeping, looking up at the grand pendulum clock hanging in the corner. ”That’s strange... Yun should have returned thirty minutes ago.”

”Maybe Uncle Chen’s stall had a long line,” Lu suggested, though his brow furrowed with mild concern. ”Or perhaps the boy got distracted by a street performer.”

No approval accompanied this copy from the page where the author publishes the story; the chapter there supports its writer.

An hour passed. The distant chime of the secondary market’s closing bell echoed through the stone streets.

Lin Fan set his chef’s knife down onto the wooden cutting board. A heavy, cold pit began to form in the pit of his stomach. ”Xiao Yu, go check Uncle Chen’s stall.”

Ten minutes later, Xiao Yu returned, his face pale and his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. ”Shopkeeper! Uncle Chen said Yun bought the garlic over forty minutes ago! Chen saw him walk into the weaver’s alley heading back toward our pavilion... but nobody in the market saw him exit the lane!”

The air in the kitchen instantly turned ice-cold.

Lin Fan didn’t panic, but his jaw set into a hard, rigid line. ”Crimson.”

From the dark shadow near the ceiling beam, Crimson materialized silently beside the door, his dark sleeves falling neatly over his hands. Without a word, he stepped out into the courtyard and vanished into the shadows of the alleyways.

Fifteen minutes later, Crimson returned.

He did not walk through the gate; he simply stepped out of the wall’s shadow, standing before Lin Fan with an unreadable, stoic face.

”He did not return by any road,” Crimson stated flatly.

That single, simple sentence shattered the lighthearted atmosphere of the kitchen into a million sharp pieces.

Lin Fan took a deep, steadying breath. ”We split up and search every inch of the secondary district. Lu, check the main thoroughfare. Xiao Yu, speak to the carriage drivers near the crossroads. I’ll search the weaver’s alley.”

For the next two hours, the Lin’s Inn expedition team scoured the surrounding neighborhood. They questioned nervous stall owners, tired street sweepers, and fruit vendors. An elderly tea seller remembered seeing a heavy, dark wooden carriage with covered windows idling near the entrance of the weaver’s alley around three o’clock. Another shopkeeper recalled hearing a brief, muffled scuffle inside the alleyway, but had assumed it was merely a dispute between local street urchins.

Deep inside the narrow, damp weaver’s alley, behind a stack of abandoned wooden crates, Lin Fan found it.

Lying sideways in the mud was Yun’s small wicker shopping basket. Scattered across the wet cobblestones were six heads of crushed garlic... and a small cloth bundle containing the crisp, toasted corners of hearth bread the boy had saved from his morning meal.

There was no blood. There was no sign of a violent struggle. There was no ransom note.

Crimson silently dropped to one knee beside the overturned basket. He extended finger, lightly touching a faint, sticky red powder clinging to the wicker handle.

He brought his finger to his nose, sniffing it carefully.

”Night-Blood Root powder,” Crimson murmured, his ruby eyes flashing with an icy, terrifying light in the dim alley. ”Concentrated extract. A single touch induces immediate respiratory paralysis and unconsciousness.”

Crimson stood up, turning his head slightly as his ancient senses tracked the faint, lingering chemical trail through the damp stone walls. He walked thirty paces down the narrow alley, stopping before a rusty, padlocked iron grate that led into the old, abandoned imperial drainage canal system running beneath the city.

The chemical trail vanished down into the pitch-black abyss beneath the street.

”The trail descends into the subterranean network, Master,” Crimson reported smoothly, though the air around his body vibrated with a suppressed, demonic pressure that made the stone walls crack faintly. ”I can enter the tunnels and reduce the entire underground sector to ash within thirty minutes.”

Lin Fan stood in the narrow alley, holding the tiny cloth bundle of toasted bread corners in his hand.

A burning, white-hot fury surged through his veins—a fierce, protective anger he hadn’t felt since stepping into this world. But Lin Fan was a business operator, not a reckless martial artist. He knew how hostage situations worked. A terrified eleven-year-old boy was being held somewhere down in those dark tunnels. If Crimson went in like a human hurricane, blasting spiritual fire and collapsing tunnels, the kidnappers would kill their captives before Crimson could ever reach them.

Lin Fan looked directly into Crimson’s glowing red eyes, his voice dropping into a razor-sharp, uncompromising command.

”Crimson,” Lin Fan instructed ”Find him. Bring that boy back. If anyone stands between you and that child, deal with them however you see fit... but do not let that boy become collateral damage to your anger.”

Crimson looked at Lin Fan. He saw no fear in his master’s eyes—only a cold, unyielding resolve to protect one of his own.

Crimson slowly lowered his head, bowing deeply in the dark alleyway.

”Understood, Master,” Crimson whispered, his voice echoing like dark thunder. ”The child shall be retrieved intact.”

In a blur of absolute black shadow, Crimson vanished straight through the iron grate, melting into the dark, subterranean depths below.

The hours bled away into a long, silent night.

Inside Secondary Pavilion Building Four, nobody slept. Sect Master Lu sat at the kitchen table, his flour-dusted hands clenched into tight fists. Xiao Yu paced back and forth near the window, while Xiao Ling and tiny Xiao Mei sat quietly near the hearth, praying for the young boy’s safe return. Lin Fan sat at his desk, staring at the small bundle of toasted bread corners resting beside his clipboard.

It was nearly three o’clock in the morning when a cold, icy draft swept through the closed wooden shutters.

Crimson materialized in the center of the room. His dark robes were completely untarnished, but a thick, metallic scent of fresh blood clung heavily to his sleeves.

Without saying a word, Crimson walked up to the wooden desk. He extended his dark-gloved hand and placed a single, cold object onto the wood beside the bread bundle.

It was a heavy, iron-carved token, stained with dark, dried blood. Carved into its surface was the terrifying, jagged emblem of a bleeding viper wrapped around a shattered skull.

Lin Fan stared at the bloody token. ”Where is Yun?”

”The boy is safe, Master,” Crimson replied calmly, pulling a clean cloth from his sleeve to wipe a speck of dark blood from his fingers. ”I have relocated him and seven other missing children to a secure, high-tier medicinal sanctuary in the eastern district, under the personal protection of an elder who owes me an ancient debt. He is sleeping, unharmed.”

Lin Fan let out a long, shuddering breath of profound relief, his shoulders finally dropping. ”Thank goodness...”

”However, Master,” Crimson continued, his ruby eyes glowing with a cold, sinister intensity as he pointed at the bloodstained iron token. ”The situation is far more organized than a simple street kidnapping. The operatives who took the boy belong to the Shadow Viper Society—a high-tier assassin organization.”

Crimson leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping into a chilling whisper that echoed through the quiet room.

”And this boy was not their first target. They have been harvesting uncultivated citizens across the capital for two months... by backing of a high-ranking client inside the Imperial Court.”