The Eldest Legitimate Son's "Duties"

For the first three months after his rebirth, Shen Fei did nothing out of line.

Every morning, he left on time and followed the main street to the Holy Orchid Institute. Fourth-year students had fewer classes than the lower years: two lessons in the morning, with most afternoons devoted to independent cultivation.

He consistently ranked in the upper middle of his class. In combat lessons, he won steadily against opponents of comparable strength. Against stronger opponents, he never fought desperately, stopping once the exchange had served its purpose.

His instructor's assessment remained the same: "Solid foundations. Keep working hard." He received no extra attention.

A collateral descendant of the Huyan Family named Huyan Ming sat in front of Shen Fei and occasionally turned around to chat between classes. Once, after a practical combat lesson, Huyan Ming wiped away his sweat and asked Shen Fei, "You always take your time when you fight. You could win faster, couldn't you?"

Shen Fei slid his sword into its sheath, picked up his water flask, and took a sip. "Save the strength for next time."

"You certainly know how to make every bit count." Huyan Ming smiled and asked no more. The rest of the class had much the same impression of Shen Fei: the Sacred Family's eldest legitimate son, capable but unassuming, a man of few words who neither caused trouble nor sought the limelight.

After class, Shen Fei neither went to the training grounds for extra practice nor searched the library for cultivation techniques. He returned straight to the Sacred Family estate, entered the study, and helped his father organize documents on family affairs and incoming and outgoing correspondence. He had volunteered for this work after his rebirth.

Three months earlier, when he had told Shen Hong that he wanted to help shoulder the family's administrative work, Shen Hong had given him a look that held both surprise and scrutiny.

"Why this sudden interest?"

"I didn't know better before. Now I want to learn more." That had been Shen Fei's answer. His tone was respectful, his manner sincere, like an eldest legitimate son who had finally come to his senses.

Shen Hong had not agreed immediately, but neither had he refused. The next day, the steward came to tell Shen Fei that his father would let him help organize procurement accounts and correspondence from then on, though family meetings and core decisions remained off-limits.

Shen Fei was not surprised by the outcome. Shen Hong could hardly hand over the family's core affairs to him all at once, but organizing accounts and letters was enough. He did not want a hand in decision-making. He wanted information.

The Sacred Family's study was spacious, with bookshelves lining three walls and a red sandalwood desk in the center. Shen Hong spent most afternoons there, handling family affairs, reviewing documents, and receiving managers.

Shen Fei worked at a low table to one side of the study, piled high with thick ledgers and bundles of letters. Every day, he sat there sorting and filing that month's procurement accounts, then compiling the correspondence by date, sender, and recipient.

Once finished, he stacked everything neatly on the right side of Shen Hong's desk for his father to review.

For the first half month, Shen Fei worked slowly. It was not deliberate; he genuinely lacked familiarity with the work. In his previous life, he had never handled paperwork in the City Guard. He had to learn the formats, code words, and abbreviations in these ledgers and letters from scratch.

He asked no one for help. Each day, after finishing his work, he returned to his room and took notes, writing out the new formats and code words he had encountered from memory and going over them until they stuck.

After a month, he could readily distinguish ordinary business dealings from secret communications hidden beneath the literal wording.

The correspondence between the Sacred Family and the Dark Guild followed a fixed format. A covert mark was painted along the edge of the stationery with some sort of solution, visible only when viewed at an angle in the light.

The marks came in three colors: red, blue, and yellow. Red indicated urgent military intelligence, blue indicated the allocation of supplies, and yellow indicated routine contact.

Shen Fei first discovered the mark while sorting the March correspondence. He happened to lift a sheet toward the window while holding a ledger up to the light to read its writing, and caught a faint blue gleam along the paper's edge out of the corner of his eye.

He made no fuss, continuing to sort the remaining letters as though nothing had happened while committing that marked sheet to memory. Back in his room that evening, he wrote out what he remembered and, after repeated comparisons, confirmed the pattern behind the three colors.

The key information in the letters was concealed in seemingly ordinary business language. "Northern goods" referred to Demon Beast movements, "western district warehouse" referred to a rendezvous point, and "old customer" referred to the Dark Guild's contact.

Every few pages in the supply transport ledgers, a suspicious expense appeared under "losses."

The amounts were small but regular, paid at a fixed time each month in a fixed sum, with a medicinal herb shop that did not exist listed as the recipient. While sorting the ledgers, Shen Fei discovered that this expense appeared every month, consistently amounting to five thousand low-grade demon crystals, with "South City Hundred Herbs Hall" named as the recipient.

He made a special detour to the south of the city after class to look for the shop. When he arrived, he found that the address belonged not to an herb shop but to a warehouse with its doors and windows tightly shut. A rusty iron lock hung on the door, and there was no sign outside.

He took one look from across the street and left without lingering or drawing anyone's attention.

Over three months, Shen Fei pieced these fragments together one by one.

The Dark Guild had three permanent bases inside the city.

The first was an underground warehouse in the Black Market, disguised as a demon crystal merchant's storehouse. Goods moved in and out on the nights of the third and eighteenth of every month, and their quantities and specifications closely matched the expense listed as "losses" in the Sacred Family's ledgers.

The second was an abandoned smithy in the South District. Its doors and windows remained shut year-round, but anyone passing the entrance could smell a faint trace of blood-not the smell of rust, but fresh blood.

The third was hidden in the old woods on the hill behind the Holy Orchid Institute, its entrance concealed by vines and loose stones. In his previous life with the City Guard, Shen Fei had heard veterans mention the place. They said it had once been an old institute warehouse before falling into disuse, and unidentified people were occasionally spotted nearby.

At least seven Demon Spirit Masters were lurking in Glory City under the guise of merchants or mercenaries. Two of them were faces Shen Fei recognized.

One was the Black Market's largest demon crystal merchant, a man surnamed Zhou. Every day, he called out for business from the market's most conspicuous stall, his voice booming and his manner warm, but the quality of his demon crystals was always a tenth below what their market price warranted.

Shen Fei had seen him twice in the Black Market. Both times, he had stood behind his stall haggling with customers, looking no different from an ordinary merchant.

The other was an adjutant surnamed Ma in the City Guard's logistics office. He was responsible for allocating military supplies and often appeared near the city walls, supposedly to inspect their reserves.

Yet the timing and location of his every appearance allowed him to avoid the Demon Beasts' attack waves perfectly. Shen Fei had already noticed this in his previous life.

The Sacred Family supplied them with provisions and intelligence. Their monthly contact arrangement used the "losses" in the procurement accounts to transfer funds, then the "business language" in letters to convey specific instructions.

Shen Fei committed all this information to memory without putting a single word on paper.

He did not dare write it down. He was not the only person working in the study. The steward occasionally checked whether his ledgers were properly organized, and servants cleaned the room every day. If any written record was discovered, he would have only one road left: death.

During the first month, he silently recited each day's discoveries before going to sleep.

This strengthened his memory; by the second month, he could readily distinguish crucial information from secondary details, and he rehearsed the crucial facts so often that he could recite them even in his dreams.

By the third month, the whole puzzle was as clear in his mind as if it had been printed there: three bases, seven undercover Demon Spirit Masters, and a fixed monthly rendezvous schedule, every detail precise down to the number of steps and the hour.

One evening, Shen Fei finished sorting the last batch of letters in the study, stacked the ledgers neatly, and placed them beside Shen Hong's desk. Shen Hong was sitting in a grand armchair reviewing family documents when he said without looking up, "You've been doing well lately."

Shen Fei stood before the desk with his head slightly bowed. "There are still things I don't understand. Please guide me, Father."

"If you don't understand, ask the steward. He'll teach you." Shen Hong's voice remained neither warm nor cold, and his gaze never left the documents before him. He set one approved document aside, picked up another, and continued reading without another word.

"Yes," Shen Fei replied, then withdrew from the study.

Once outside, he followed the corridor toward his room, his pace neither hurried nor slow, exactly as usual.

As he passed the loose bluestone slab at the corner, he stumbled over it as he always did, then steadied himself and continued. Shen Yue's door stood ajar, lamplight spilling from within, along with the faint sound of turning pages.

Shen Fei did not linger. He returned to his room, shut the door securely, and sat on the bed for a while. He knew Shen Hong's remark, "You've been doing well lately," was not praise but a sign that his guard was beginning to lower.

Over three months, Shen Fei had traded his obedient behavior for the beginnings of Shen Hong's trust. That trust was thin, so thin it could be overturned at any moment, but it had already given him access to enough information.

He opened the hidden compartment beneath his bed boards. It was empty, with nothing stored inside. In his previous life, he had hidden intelligence there and never quite felt safe-anything left there could be found as soon as someone lifted the bed boards.

This time, he had learned his lesson. He left no written records of any intelligence, locking it all inside his mind. Even if someone searched every inch of his room, they would find no evidence.

He closed the compartment, pressed the bed boards back into place, and lay on the bed, gazing at the beams overhead.

The Dark Guild's three bases, the seven undercover Demon Spirit Masters, and the monthly rendezvous schedule formed a complete map in his mind. Next, he needed an opportunity, one that would let him pass this intelligence on without exposing his identity.

An opportunity would not simply fall from the sky, but he could begin creating the conditions for one.

Before long, there would be a procurement errand in the Black Market. The steward was getting old and disliked making the trip, so he would probably send Shen Fei. The Black Market was where the Dark Guild's largest base was located.