A Waste of Time

Chapter 61: Hidden Ledger

Ehm.

“Sorry… I guess!” Daemon scratched the side of his nose and offered a lopsided grin to the small crowd glaring at him through clouds of dust and scattered vegetable leaves. He cleared his throat and raised his voice so all the shop owners and stall keepers could hear him. “How about this — we pave the entire Market Street with stone?”

Silence. Then murmurs — low and quick. A few eyebrows shot up, jaws went slack.

“Think about it!” Daemon pressed on, stepping up on a crate so everyone could see him over the heads of the curious villagers. “If we pave this Market Street properly, when Kirin lands or takes off, there’ll be less mess — no churned-up mud, no flying sand. And a sturdy stone road means Merchants can bring heavier wagons through, rain or shine.”

A fat shop owner with ink-stained fingers raised a hesitant hand. “Young Master Da Niu, paving a whole road… that’s not cheap.”

Daemon chuckled. “I know it’ll cost a pretty penny. That’s why I’m not telling you to do it alone.” He pointed at the ground, then swung that finger in a slow circle to draw every ear in closer. “We find someone with real knowledge — a good Stone-Mason, maybe a few Laborers with experience. We figure out what it’ll take — how much stone, how deep, how wide. Once we know, we don’t just dump money blindly.”

He paused to look each shopkeeper in the eye. “We form a proper Management Board — not just one or two people. A real Board with authority. You vote for who you trust. They oversee every copper coin spent. They plan the work, hire the workers, check the stones, measure the road. When there’s trouble — they solve it.”

The murmurs thickened into low hums of agreement. Qiu, watching from her stall, crossed her arms and smirked — this boy, with his filthy boots and wild hair, lecturing the whole street like he owned it.

“And here’s the real part,” Daemon continued. “Each of you — shopkeepers, stall owners — joins a Union. That Union is yours. Every voice gets heard. You decide together who pays what share. You vote on projects. You protect each other when greedy Merchants push you around. One voice is easy to break. Ten voices? Fifty? Good luck to anyone who tries.”

He spread his arms wide. “Today it’s stones for the road. Tomorrow it might be storage buildings, a water channel, a new well. One Union, one plan. No more single shopkeepers fighting alone.”

A wiry old man who sold pickled vegetables called out, “You really expect us all to trust each other?”

Daemon’s grin showed teeth. “Nope. Not right away. You don’t have to trust. You just have to agree that working together is less painful than getting bullied alone. That’s all.”

A few heads bobbed. Eyes flicked left and right — measuring neighbors, weighing old grudges and the shine of new coins. Daemon shrugged and hopped down from the crate.

“Anyway, think about it. I can carve a Perch for Kirin behind or in front of old man Lou's shop in a few minutes if I have to. Then I’ll dust my hands and leave this road the muddy mess it is. But…” He let the word linger, then tapped his chest with a thumb. “I’m still from this village. Born here. Raised here. I don’t like seeing you tripping over each other’s boots when the solution’s so clear.”

He left it hanging there — the seed dropped into the restless soil of hungry minds.

Old Man Lou rubbed his chin. Qiu’s neighbor whispered to his neighbor. Even Qiu herself watched Daemon with a different kind of respect glinting under her furrowed brow.

A moment later Daemon strode up to Qiu’s stall — her once-overloaded table now stripped bare except for a few good, a bit expensive articles of clothes and a single basket full of rough-looking, low quality garments.

“Well now, my energetic and active protégé! Busy as a working Bee, I see.” He dropped onto her empty stool and stretched his legs as if he owned the place. “Tea. And be quick about it — I’m a man in demand today.”

Snort.

Qiu shot him a glare that could curdle milk. “Cheeky. Three days of showing your face here and you're still waltzing in barking orders? You’ve got some nerve showing this attitude to an owner like myself.”

Daemon waggled a finger at her. “Hey now, don’t give me that look. You’re just bitter because you didn’t snatch up Ru when you had the chance. Early Bird gets the Worm. Or maybe Xia will, who knows?”

Qiu’s face flushed pink. She slammed a clay cup onto the tray. “Bfft — you’re impossible! I met Mr. Ru yesterday and there’s nothing going on, so you can cut the matchmaking.”

He leaned closer, voice dropping so only she could hear. Heh. So you did meet him. I knew it. But out loud he just winked. “Sure, sure. I’ll believe you.”

She finished pouring the tea and shoved the cup into his hands. “Anyway, my projects are coming along. Some things are done — I sent them to your place this morning. If there’s something wrong, speak up now. I don’t want to hear you whining about missing details later.”

Daemon sipped the tea and sighed happily. “Perfect as always. You keep this up, I might make you Minister of Tea when I build my own palace.”

“Keep dreaming, Your Highness,” she shot back, turning to help a grumpy hunter haggle over a tonic which looks older than dried Ginseng Roots. But she flicked her eyes at him now and then — a silent reminder that she expected him to keep his promise.

Daemon finished his tea in three long gulps, then tipped the cup upside down to catch the last drop. He rose, stretched his arms overhead with a groan, and cracked his knuckles.

Above, Kirin drifted in wide lazy circles, a shadow sweeping back and forth across Market Street like a royal banner. Villagers pointed, children squealed, a few braver ones tried to toss scraps skyward until their mothers smacked them on the ear.

Daemon clapped a hand to Qiu’s shoulder. “I’ll be back later to nag you again. Save me some good tea.” He gave her a quick wink and spun on his heel, heading for the clearing where Qi Ying had once dared to humiliate himself — a memory that still made Daemon’s mouth twitch with a grin.

A sharp whistle pierced the cold morning air. Kirin tilted one wing, banking sharply. The giant Eagle coasted down through the tangled canopy of wooden houses like a falling star. Its talons scraped the mud as it landed, and Daemon vaulted up to grab a handful of feathers, pulling himself astride.

He murmured into the Eagle’s ear. Kirin gave him a single low Caw, then flapped twice and launched skyward again — this time carrying only the boy and the swirl of drifting dust was no longer a bother for the people in the market.

The backyard of Nie Leixu’s Smithy shook when Kirin landed. Sparks from the forge trembled in the sudden gust of wind. Hammer blows paused. Everyone ducked. Nie Xiaodan and Nie Xiaosheng, the eldest brothers, poked their heads out — only to flinch back when they saw the massive beak and sharp talons so close.

Daemon slid off Kirin’s back and gave the Eagle’s neck a quick pat. “Behave,” he warned. Kirin snapped its beak once, then waddled to the far corner of the yard and settled down, folding its wings neatly as if to say I’m harmless… for now.

Inside, Nie Leixu’s voice boomed. “Oi! Stop squealing and let the boy in! You think that Eagle’s here to peck out your livers?”

Nie Xiaodan muttered under his breath, “I’d rather it peck my liver than my spine.”

Daemon strolled past them, brushing soot from his sleeve. “Don’t mind Kirin. As long as you don’t poke it with a Tongs or try to feed it your lunch, you’re fine.”

Nie Xiaowen, the youngest, poked his head out from behind a pile of scrap Iron. “Little guy… did you really tame that Soul-Snatcher?”

Daemon cracked a grin. “No taming. We struck a deal — I feed him, he doesn’t eat you. Simple arrangement.”

Nie Leixu smacked Nie Xiaowen upside the head. “Back to work! And you —” he pointed a blackened thumb at Daemon — “you ready to swing that Hammer again, or did you come to tell stories?”

Daemon flexed his fingers and snatched the Hammer off the rack. It felt light — too light. Damn Yellow-Scale Fruits, he thought, rolling his wrist. They boosted my strength so much the old weight feels like a toy.

He caught Nie Leixu watching his frown. “Problem?”

Daemon shrugged. “Just feels light. Means I have to mind my swing or I’ll dent this poor thing instead of the Iron.”

Nie Leixu grunted approval. He dragged a fresh piece of red-hot Armor from the Forge — not a Weapon this time, but a curved greave for Daemon’s Giant-Form. Its glowing surface danced with tiny motes of heat.

“You know the rules,” the Blacksmith said, voice turning sharp as a chisel edge. “Armor’s not a Blade. A Blade tolerates a hair’s breadth mistake — Armor does not. A weak point means a spear through your ribs when you’re ten meters tall and think you’re invincible.”

Daemon set his jaw and squared his stance. No pressure.

“Side to side, end to end,” Leixu barked. “Work every curve. Mind the Anvil’s shape. Strike clean, strike true, don’t waste heat. And don’t think I won’t smack you myself if you slip and ruin my work.”

Daemon placed the piece on the Anvil, lined up the curve, and sucked in a breath. He brought the Hammer down in a careful arc — the ring of metal on metal echoing through the Smithy like a promise.

One swing, he reminded himself. Then another. Then a thousand more. Each one measured like a link of a chain, make the progress last long enough to complete the cycle.

Outside, Kirin lifted its head and gave a single, approving Scree. The sparks that flew from Daemon’s Hammer danced like fireflies, carrying his name into the cold morning air.

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