Silence choked the air.

Jaws sagged open. Eyes popped. Cheeks twitched. One Patriarch let out a reedy wheeze which reminded Dorian of a tiny critter being slowly run over.

Hmm. I do believe I’ve gone too far. Which was part of the plan, of course, but it was still unsettling to go through with it. It meant pissing off essentially every powerful faction in the Oasis—at once. Pissing people off was Dorian’s specialty, but demanding the sacred treasures at the heart of the Oasis? Which shifted its aqueducts and heated its forges and infuses its forests and powered its artifacts? Which even the wealthiest families hoarded jealously? The uproar was ear-splitting.

“Preposterous!” cried Patriarch Fang.

“Impudent!” screeched Matriarch Shun.

“How dare you suggest such a thing?” hissed the Alchemist Guild Head

“Your demand is unthinkable!” roared Patriarch Ouyang. “Who gave you the idea that you have any choice in the matter? You can’t be trusted to make a decision of such import, child! The Oasis Lord would never allow it!”

He turned to the Lord, bristling. “Tell him!”

But the Lord wore a thoughtful expression. He said nothing.

Oh? A grin played at Dorian’s lips. Could it be?

“Uh…my Lord?” Ouyang said, wavering. “You won’t allow it, surely?”

“Hmm.” The Oasis Lord scratched his chin. “Actually, I find the child’s suggestion intriguing.”

Dorian smirked. I knew it!

This was Dorian’s gamble: that the Oasis Lord would allow Dorian’s plan. Sure, it meant paying a hefty price, but the man was rich as all hells! The Zhang family was the biggest in the Oasis. It had ruled for hundreds of years. Who could outbid them? If Oasis Lord Zhang agreed to a bidding war, he’d likely get Dorian all to himself.

Buying a once-in-a-generation supertalent for the price of a few scales? For other families, it might mean sacrificing a treasured heirloom. For him, it merely meant giving up a small chunk of the Zhang family’s vast resources. It was an easy trade.

The other old coots, meanwhile, looked aghast.

“What?!” By the look on her face, Matriarch Shun could hardly believe her ears. “My Lord—you would have us cater to the whims of this insect? Have you gone senile?!”

The Lord smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. “May I suggest you watch your tongue, cousin Shun? The construction contracts the government awards your family suit both of us. I’d hate for our relationship to sour over petty insults.”

Instantly, the color drained from the Matriarch’s face. “O-of course, my Lord. Of course! My humblest apologies—my tongue, heh, it has a habit of running away from me!”

“Yet here you speak the truth,” said General Bin. He glared at Dorian. “Why should we listen to you?”

“Because every other method suggested so far is biased,” Dorian said. “You’re all biased toward yourselves! This way isn’t biased toward any of you. It’s the only fair way to go about it, really. “

“But this is biased toward you!” One of Patriarch Fang’s eyes had gotten a size bigger and a great deal redder than the other. It twitched madly.

Dorian cocked his head. “I’m not the one bidding, am I? My criteria are impartial with regards to all of you. Isn’t that all that matters?”

“You have to admit, he’s got a point,” drawled the Finance Minister, inspecting a painted fingernail. He had an air of indifference, but his sly smile gave him away.

Yes! The Finance Minister was only other man who might support Dorian’s plan: he was likely the only man in the Oasis who rivaled the Lord in wealth. Supporting Dorian’s plan meant that he only needed to defeat one real threat to snag Dorian. And if the Minister was like any other banker Dorian knew, he sat atop a hoard of not only Scales, but also elixirs, manuals, and money... in any bidding war, he’d bet on himself to win.

Now Dorian had the support of two of the coots. Those were the easy ones.

The rest of them still looked at him like he was a slab of rotted meat. Now, for the hard part! Beating them down with a verbal stick.

But first, let’s dangle a carrot.

“Look. You’ll give me resources. But by signing a contract of servitude, I’ll become an asset of your family too, right? You’re really investing in yourself here,” said Dorian easily. “Upgrade me, and I'll better serve you. It’s a win-win!”

That got a lot of those old brows furrowing. Suddenly the prospect seemed much more palatable. Dorian snickered. It’s all about how you frame it. With the right angle, you can make turd look like gold!

But a few—the ones that knew they had no real shot at him—still looked disgruntled.

“Oh, come now! We can’t seriously be entertaining this idea,” cried Matriarch Shun. “You want us to make offers for you? This—this blatantly favors the wealthy! It’s unfair!”

“On the contrary, it’s totally fair,” said Dorian, shaking his head. “You’ve mistaken equality for fairness. In a fair world, those with more resources—whether it’s power, or smarts, or wealth—should come out on top. Such is the way of the multiverse!” He shrugged. “Would you have me change the natural order to suit you? That, to me, is what seems unfair.”

“I—that isn’t—but—“ spluttered Matriarch Shun. “What?!” Clearly, she hadn’t expected him to snap back so fast. She thought Dorian was spewing nonsense coated in a veneer of sense, and she was right! But in the heat of the moment, caught off-guard, all she could do was fume and gape.

Dorian looked around, still smiling. “Any other objections?”

“Yea, you little dung-heap! I have a godsdamned objection!” It was General Heilong, red-faced. He had been piping mad for thirty straight minutes, and didn’t look to be letting up anytime soon. “You destroyed my fucking house! Are you not indebted to me?! The fair thing would be for you to sign my soul contract, and be done with it!”

“Hold on.” Dorian raised a finger. “Let’s make this clear. I didn’t destroy your house, did I? The Purple Wind did. Your quarrel is with Fate, not me. I do confess to borrowing your resources, with the permission of a Heilong family member. I can reimburse you the Spirit Stones if you wish. I’m responsible for nothing more than that.”

Bin was so spitting mad he couldn’t even talk. He made a grunting, hacking sound, like an engine about to catch fire. Two down!

“Anything else?” said Dorian mildly.

A clamor of voices cried out—Patriarchs and Matriarchs alike raised fists, spluttered spittle, spoke over each other.

“Objection! Your method is far too blunt!”

“The Alchemists would prefer a more structured solution.”

“The Fang Family considers this plan frivolous!”

“It’s crude!”

“It’s unfair!”

Dorian held up a hand. “Alright, new rule. If you raise an objection, you must come up with a fairer alternative solution. Otherwise we’re right where we started, and worse for it."

That shut them all up.

The looks on their faces ranged from ticked off to outright pissed. And yet for a few tense seconds, nobody spoke. And Dorian let himself hope.

Then Patriarch Fang opened his mouth. Bollocks.

“You want a fairer method?” said Patriarch Fang, snorting. “I can easily propose one! Split your time among all of us. We shall each get a share.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. Okay. Time to make an example of this idiot.

A smoother strategist than Dorian might spew honeyed words. He might ensnare everyone, nobles to guild leaders, to his plan. He might win without making a single enemy.

But Dorian was not such a strategist. He was more of a “kill the chicken to scare the monkey” type of guy.

“You’ve run into the same problem as Matriarch Shun,” snapped Dorian. “You’ve proposed a solution which is equal, but very unfair. Would you feed a giant the same meals as an infant?”

The Patriarch opened his mouth to protest, but Dorian cut him off with a sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “How about this? I’m a gentleman, so I’ll concede you that point. I don’t need it to refute your silly idea. What would you have me do—be split among all the guilds and families? Sign a dozen soul contracts? Be beholden to all of you? Spend a mere hour a day, rushing from one faction to the next?”

Dorian snorted. “Ridiculous! Here’s a wild guess: Jani Zhang did not found Alchemy by spreading herself thin. The Moondragon Knight did not conquer half the Desert by juggling a dozen different tasks, did he? You, in your greed, propose that each of you tears off a fin of the fish. You fail to see that this kills it.”

“Watch your tone, junior,” growled Patriarch Fang, flushing.

Dorian held his gaze. “You insist on wasting all of our time with inane suggestions. What tone do you think you deserve?”

And Patriarch Fang choked on his own spit.

Truthfully, Patriarch Fang’s plan wasn’t a bad suggestion. It was simply inconvenient for Dorian. He still had grand plans to get his Wizard’s Staff and brewing industry off the ground! He didn’t have the time for it.

But shutting him down wasn’t Dorian’s true goal.

He’d embarrassed the man so badly that the rest of the Patriarchs, and Matriarchs, and even a few Guild Heads—who’d been chewing on half-baked ideas to throw out—now shut up.

Dorian took inventory of the coots again, and they each looked to be biting their tongues. They wore sour looks. But none of them said a word. Dorian cracked a wry grin.

Excellent. I’ve browbeaten them into submission!

It was a strange sight. One Profound Realm newbie, staring down nearly a dozen peak Earth Realm experts. And yet somehow, he was the one who had them all in knots.

“One last time, then. Any objections?” said Dorian, and this time his smile was outright smug. He knew there wouldn’t be any. This was the awesome power of bullshitting. Any one of his arguments was nonsense, of course! But they took some thinking to refute. Strung together in quick succession—and delivered with Dorian’s trademark self-assurance—they were surprisingly hard to shut down.

Dorian operated by a simple principle. He really ought to coin it. Call it Dorian’s First Law: bullshit, spoken with enough confidence, becomes truth. It came with a corollary: if nobody calls you on your bullshit, then you’ve spoken the truth! Simple as that.

The coots didn’t like it. They still looked like Dorian was serving them plates of dung and forcing them to swallow.

“Look,” said Dorian gently. “There is no such thing as a plan which will satisfy all of us. We needn’t all agree. We simply need to agree to the fairest plan, even if it’s not ideal for you personally. Such is the nature of compromise.”

Thon, the Artificing Head, stamped on the ground. He groaned. “Fuck it. Do it. All this talking is making my head hurt. Just be done with it already, damn you! The wife’s making crab soup tonight. Shit’s probably already cold. Fuck!”

The Alchemist Guild Head sniffed. The old lady was leveling an icy glare at him, but she seemed to Dorian like a pragmatic type. She knew she wasn't winning this one. “Fine. Have it your way, child,” she said coolly. “But there is no need to rub it in. I chafe at your condescension.”

“I’m in favor,” said the Finance Minister.

“So am I,” said the Lord.

It’s happening. Dorian’s breath quickened. It’s happening!

“I certainly don’t agree to it,” said Bin darkly. “It’s utter wyrmshit! But I can the see tide’s against me. You’ll go through with it anyways.” He glared at the group. “The military will remember this.”

The last major holdout fell, and that was that. And one by one, looking constipated, the family heads muttered their grudging assent.

Saints! Dorian was tingling.

“Then we are decided!” said the Lord. “Excellent.”

The twinkle was returning to his eyes as he nodded to Dorian. “It appears I’ve underestimated you,” he said softly. He chuckled. “Formidable, young Io. Formidable. But you may be too clever for your own good. It is a common trait of the young: too much cleverness, too little wisdom.”

‘Young’? Dorian blinked. I’ve outlived you a hundred times to one, bud! I’ve been wise before, countless times across countless lives! Let me tell you—it’s dreary as hells. You’ll figure it out eventually. ‘Maturity’ is at best a leash which holds back interesting men, and at worst the chosen fetish of boring men. Life’s more fun when you let yourself fart around.

But what he said aloud was: “Then might I suggest you bid, Sir Lord? With your wisdom and my cleverness, we could go far!”

The Lord chuckled. “Alright. A compelling argument. I bid one Scale.”

Dorian’s smile couldn’t get wider.

“Counter-offer,” snapped the Finance Minister instantly. “One scale, three high-grade Technique manuals, and two hundred thousand Lira.”

Never mind. Yes, it can!

The Lord squinted. “One scale, four hundred thousand Lira, and access to the Zhang Family’s distribution network!”

“One scale and a bottle of Dragon King’s Tears.” The Finance Minister looked up from his nails. “That is an elixir which can boost you directly to mid-Profound, by the way.”

Dorian was giddy.

In one fell swoop, he was about to gain orders of magnitude more resources than he’d gotten this whole lifetime. He’d ascend from the earth to the Heavens in a single step!