Coffin Shop of the Destiny Ruler

Bab 2

Vaelen’s grip on Chen’s collar tightened, the knuckles of his heavy hand turning a sickly white. The smell of cheap wine and unwashed leather wafted off the man, thick enough to make Chen’s eyes water, but Chen didn’t flinch. He couldn't afford to. Behind Vaelen’s head, the crimson numbers of the Destiny Ledger continued their silent, rhythmic countdown: 23:58:12.

"The lid?" Vaelen repeated, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. "You’re measuring me for a coffin?"

"Standard procedure for the 'Express Departure' package," Chen said, his voice remarkably steady despite the adrenaline hammering against his ribs. He adjusted his grip on the measuring tape, clicking a small brass latch to lock the length. "I’ve noticed a lot of people in your line of work tend to, how should I put this, encounter sudden career changes. I’d hate for you to be uncomfortable in your final rest because I was too lazy to get your shoulder-to-shoulder width correct."

Vaelen’s two lackeys, a pair of hulking brutes Chen recognized vaguely as local thugs, exchanged a confused glance. One of them, a man with a scarred lip, let out a snorting laugh. "Boss, I think the 'trash' finally snapped. He's gone full loony."

Vaelen didn't laugh. He stared into Chen’s eyes, looking for the tremor of a lie or the sweat of a bluff. He found neither. Chen’s gaze was clinical, the look of a man calculating the board-feet of timber needed for a project rather than a victim pleading for his life.

"You think you're funny, kid?" Vaelen shoved Chen back.

Chen stumbled, his heels catching on a pile of discarded wood shavings, but he managed to keep his balance. He didn't drop the tape. Instead, he pulled a small piece of charcoal from his apron pocket and scribbled a number onto a nearby unfinished plank.

"Twenty-two inches," Chen muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Plus two for the padding. We’ll go with the extra-wide model. Don't want you feeling cramped."

By now, the commotion had drawn eyes. The shop front was open to the narrow, muddy street of Azure Wood Town, and a small crowd of neighbors and passersby began to linger. Among them was Wrenara Blaze, a local seamstress who usually avoided the 'cursed' coffin shop like the plague. She watched with wide eyes, clutching a basket of linens to her chest.

"Is he actually trying to sell Vaelen a coffin?" someone whispered from the back of the crowd.

"He's suicidal," another replied. "Vaelen’s halfway to the second stage of Body Tempering. He could snap that boy's neck with two fingers."

Vaelen heard the whispers. His ego, already bloated by years of bullying the weak, couldn't handle the public spectacle. He stepped toward Chen, his boots crunching on the sawdust. "I came here for the deed to this shop, Chen. Not for a joke. You owe three months of protection fees to the Black Tiger Hall. Pay up, or I start breaking things. Starting with your fingers."

"I don't have the money," Chen said simply. He walked over to a stack of seasoned cedar, running his hand over the grain. "But I can offer you a massive discount. Ordinarily, a custom-fitted, spirit-sealed cedar box goes for fifteen silver pieces. But since you’re... well, since you’re a local celebrity and your time is incredibly short, I’ll give it to you for five. Paid in advance, of course. Consider it a pre-mortem clearance sale."

The crowd erupted into a mix of gasps and muffled laughter. It was absurd. A powerless, zero-cultivation orphan was offering a 'discount' to the town's most feared debt collector for his own funeral.

Vaelen’s face turned a shade of dark, bruised plum. His Qi, though unrefined, began to circulate, causing the air around his fists to shimmer with a faint, oily heat. "You're dead," he hissed. "I'm going to beat the soul out of your body and use your tongue to sign the deed."

He lunged.

To the crowd, it was a blur of movement. To Vaelen, it was a simple, crushing straight punch aimed at Chen’s jaw. But to Chen, whose vision was overlaid with the clinical data of the Destiny Ledger, the world seemed to slow into a series of logical progressions. He didn't see a fist; he saw a vector of force powered by an unstable Qi flow.

And right there, on the side of Vaelen’s neck, a small, dark mole pulsed with a sickly green light.

Cause of Death: Violent Qi Deviation via Gallbladder Meridian Collapse.

"Wait!" Chen shouted, not moving an inch. He pointed a finger directly at the mole on Vaelen’s neck. "If you finish that punch, you’ll be dead before your fist even connects!"

Vaelen’s fist stopped three inches from Chen’s nose. The sheer wind of the movement ruffled Chen’s hair, but the boy didn't blink.

"What did you say?" Vaelen barked, his chest heaving.

"The mole," Chen said, his voice dropping to a professional, urgent whisper. "Left side, just below the jawline. It’s been throbbing, hasn't it? Every time you circulate your Qi, you feel a sharp, stabbing pain behind your eyes. Your breath smells like bitter almonds, and your left hand has been going numb for the last three days."

Vaelen froze. The anger in his eyes was instantly replaced by a cold, soul-deep terror. His hand, the one not clenched in a fist, involuntarily rose to touch the small bump on his neck.

"How... how do you know that?" Vaelen stammered.

"I'm a mortician, Master Kane," Chen said, stepping back and smoothing out his apron. He looked at the timer. 23:54:05. "It’s my job to know exactly what kills people. Your 'Body Tempering' isn't tempering anything. You’ve been taking those cheap 'Iron-Skin Pills' from the market, haven't you? They’re spiked with lead-sand. Your meridians are clogged, and your Qi is backing up like a dam about to burst. That mole? That’s the pressure point. One more spike in your blood pressure, say, from trying to murder a shopkeeper, and pop."

Chen made a small, explosive gesture with his hands.

The silence in the workshop was absolute. The thugs looked at Vaelen, then at Chen, then back at Vaelen. The crowd was leaning in, trying to catch every word.

Vaelen’s hand was trembling. Everything Chen had said was true. He had been taking the pills to impress the bosses at Black Tiger Hall. He had felt the numbness, the stabbing pain, the bitter taste in his mouth. He had thought it was just the price of power.

"Can... can you fix it?" Vaelen asked, his voice cracking. The debt collector was gone; in his place stood a man who had just been told he was a walking corpse.

Chen looked at the red numbers. The Ledger didn't show a way to save him. It only showed the end. The destiny was fixed, unless Chen had the power to rewrite the ledger itself, which he currently did not.

"I'm a coffin maker, Master Kane," Chen said, his tone devoid of malice, purely matter-of-fact. "I don't fix the living. I provide dignity to the dead. My advice? Go home. Spend whatever silver you have left on a good meal. Maybe say goodbye to your mother. And for heaven's sake, don't get into any fights."

Vaelen stared at him for a long, agonizing moment. He looked at the deed in his belt, then at the unfinished coffins lining the walls. The "trash" disciple he had come to bully now looked like a high-level seer, an untouchable arbiter of fate.

"This is a trick," Vaelen whispered, though there was no conviction in it. He backed away, his eyes never leaving Chen’s. "You’ve cursed me. You’ve put some demonic spell on me!"

"No spell," Chen said, picking up his hammer and returning to his work on the cedar plank. "Just biology. I’ll have the extra-wide model ready by tomorrow afternoon. Don't worry about the deposit. I’ll take it out of your estate."

"I'll kill you!" Vaelen screamed, but he didn't move forward. He was terrified that a single aggressive act would trigger the 'pop' Chen had described. "I’ll come back tomorrow! I’ll come back with a healer, and when he proves you’re a liar, I’ll burn this shop with you inside it!"

Vaelen turned and fled, his two thugs scrambling to keep up. The crowd parted like a sea of wheat before him, watching in stunned silence as the town’s bully ran away from a man with a measuring tape.

Chen didn't look up. He struck a nail into the cedar, the clack-clack-clack echoing in the quiet street. He was focused on the timer.

23:51:10.

The clock was ticking, and in Azure Wood Town, word was already beginning to spread: the trash of the Chen family wasn't just making coffins anymore. He was making prophecies.

Outside, the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long, coffin-shaped shadows across the dirt road. Chen wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, his eyes fixed on the wood. He had twenty-four hours to finish his best work, because he knew, with the absolute certainty of the system, that Vaelen Kane wouldn't be coming back to kill him.

He would be coming back in a shroud.