Chapter 26: Big Brother, You’ve Poured Enough Cold Water to Drown Me

“How do you know I lack any background?” Wu Qingsong finally asked after a moment’s pause.

“If you had any backing, you wouldn’t be learning swordsmanship from someone like me at this stage of your life,” Harold said without sugar-coating his words.

Struck dumb, Wu Qingsong took a moment to collect his thoughts before speaking again, “By your logic, who on earth would have a chance to build their own business?”

“To be frank, nobody,” Harold declared without hesitation. “In the more than fifty years I’ve been alive, I’ve never heard of a self-made man succeeding in Umber. Every commercial business in this place is backed by either a local lord or some high-ranking official from the imperial capital, and it’s no different anywhere else. Without such support, you’d exhaust all your resources just navigating the labyrinth of taxes and levies. How could you possibly thrive? Do you think those workshops around town truly belong to their owners? Unless they’re secondary members of some large trade house within the Craftsman’s Guild, they’d be swamped in fines for pollution and noise violations alone. Consider that restaurant you frequent, if they weren’t tied to the Port Guild, they couldn’t even buy basic ingredients, let alone run a business.”

“You’re utterly clueless,” Harold shook his head, pitying Wu Qingsong. “This place might be a notch above territories directly governed by neighboring lords, but don’t mistake it for a haven. In fact, if you’re not cautious, you might meet a quicker and more horrific end here than you would there. At least in those other places, you just need to keep the local lord happy. Here, it’s often unclear who you should pledge allegiance to and who you should avoid like the plague. One false step, and you’re looking into the abyss.”

Harold’s cautionary words served as a relentless reality check, effectively dousing Wu Qingsong’s ambitions in icy water. It was a sobering reminder that Umber, for all its seeming opportunities, was a hazardous labyrinth where the line between friend and foe was alarmingly blurred.

“What if I put the recipe up for public auction?” Wu Qingsong suddenly remembered a similar plot he had read in a book. “I could stop producing it myself and just sell the method, letting them fight over it. The three major guilds can’t possibly be all chummy with each other, can they?”

“Don’t try to be too clever,” Harold cautioned, pouring another bucket of cold water on Wu Qingsong’s enthusiasm. “What will most likely happen is that the Craftsman Guild would acquire your technology, the Commercial Guild would manage sales, and the Port Guild would oversee the distribution. They’d each profit handsomely in their own specialized way, while you’d end up with nothing, well, almost nothing. They might throw you a substantial sum of money as a smokescreen. Then, when no one’s watching, they’d detain you to prevent you from sharing the method with others. They’d milk every last secret from you and then eliminate you to avoid future risks. However, if you genuinely have the skill to innovate, they might keep you around, comfortably working solely for them. But you’ll never have the freedom to step out into the world again.”

Harold’s depiction was so bleak it was almost hard to take seriously.

“What if I make the information public and let outsiders bid as well? Surely, they can’t all be in league with the three major guilds?”

“That would be like openly inviting the three major guilds to come and arrest you,” Harold replied. “Do you think they’d just sit idly by, watching a goldmine slip away?”

Wu Qingsong was rendered speechless. Harold, however, continued, “You were too impulsive in developing this invention so carelessly. Do you think people won’t look into what kind of raw materials and tools you’ve been purchasing? Even I would…” Harold paused, allowing the implications to settle.

The somber tone of Harold’s words plunged Wu Qingsong deeper into a pit of despair. Every bright idea seemed to evaporate under the harsh light of reality. The naive belief that creativity alone could pave the way to success was mercilessly crushed.

“If I were a decade younger and not crippled, do you think I wouldn’t have controlled all three of you? Used those two to force the secret out of you?” 

“Meow?” Liuli stared at him, puzzled, her tail arching high in the air.

“Why don’t you do it now, then?” Wu Qingsong retorted. If Harold genuinely had such an inclination, there would be no need to vocalize it.

“I’m old, crippled, and I’ve lost any value to those people,” Harold responded. “In this world, only the dead can truly keep secrets. You think after they acquire this information from me, they won’t be wary of me selling it again? I’ve lost the drive to flee, and I no longer have the strength to defend any wealth I may come across. No one of consequence has any interest in me anymore. A sudden windfall would not be a blessing but a curse to me.”

“I may be old, but I’m not ready to die just yet,” he added, a somber note in his voice. “I won’t let the cat out of the bag, but I also hope you don’t drag me into this.”

“What should I do, then?” Wu Qingsong broke his silence to ask.

“It depends on what you’re looking for,” Harold advised. “The safest route is to act as if this never happened. Just aim to be a notch above the rest without drawing unnecessary attention. If a comfortable life is all you seek, then take your inventions to the Craftsman Guild and follow their lead, just give me some time to distance myself from you. If you aspire to more, you’ll have to destroy everything at once and leave. Find an elf who holds enough sway but isn’t excessively greedy. Swear fealty to him and offer your invention. He can have his guild and workshops produce it. If you’ve chosen wisely, you’ll likely be put in charge of its production and sales, giving you a real shot at progress.”

Harold’s counsel bore the imprint of a lifetime of caution and experience, tinged with an undercurrent of regret and vulnerability. Wu Qingsong felt the gravity of the choices that lay ahead, each pathway opening into an uncertain future fraught with risks and opportunities.

Wu Qingsong waited for Harold to unveil a fourth option, but the elder wolfman remained silent.

“What distinguishes the second path from the third?” Wu Qingsong felt compelled to ask.

“Opting for the third path gives you at least a modicum of freedom. If you align yourself with a master who is both generous and compassionate, you could even ascend to owning a trading company and becoming wealthy. But, at the same time, your chosen master could legally strip you of everything whenever they see fit.”

While Harold’s viewpoint might make sense for him, Wu Qingsong, as someone who had traversed worlds, couldn’t reconcile with such a restricted future.

“And what if I don’t want to be beholden to anyone?” Wu Qingsong posed the question to Harold.

The old wolfman looked at him as if he’d uttered an absurdity. “Are you considering escaping to the untamed lands of the North? Don’t be naive. Choosing to be someone’s vassal is far better than risking your life needlessly.”

This might be a limitation of Harold’s worldview. While his understanding of this world far surpassed that of Wu Qingsong and his companions combined, his familiarity also led him to view its inherent injustices as unavoidable. In Harold’s eyes, whether one was a beastfolk or a half-elf, the only path to success was to become the subordinate of someone powerful. The only question was whether one could find a benevolent and generous lord.

For Wu Qingsong, however, the only person who could own his destiny was himself.

He could stomach cooperating with others or even being someone’s subordinate, but being anyone’s servant was unacceptable to him. 

Would anyone in this world be willing to collaborate with him on an equal footing?

For reasons he couldn’t quite fathom, the silhouette of a silver-haired figure naturally emerged in his thoughts.