The Immortal King Reborn

CHAPTER 5

Lin Hao walked straight from the shop to the hospital, the cash folded neatly inside his jacket, pressed against his chest like a second heartbeat.

He did not take the bus. He walked a route that wound through three different neighborhoods, checking behind him at every turn, making sure no car followed too closely, no shadow lingered too long.

Hale’s warning echoed in his mind. Money was not the only thing that drew attention. And people who collected rare things did not always ask nicely.

He reached the hospital an hour later, his shirt sticking slightly to his back from the heat. He found the billing desk on the ground floor and set the envelope of money down gently on the counter. The clerk looked at him, then at the cash, then back at him again.

"This is enough to clear the overdue balance and cover the next three weeks of payments," Lin Hao said.

The woman typed into her computer, her fingers moving fast over the keys. She paused, then looked up at him over the rim of her glasses. "I see a note here. The account was flagged for collection. How did you come up with this so fast?"

"Does it matter?" Lin Hao kept his voice even. "The bills are paid. That is what matters."

She hesitated, then nodded slowly and printed out a receipt, sliding it across the counter to him. "You are current. But if you fall behind again the next time, we may not be this flexible."

Lin Hao folded the receipt and put it in his pocket. "There won't be a next time."

He turned and walked down the hallway toward Xiao Man's room. His mother was sitting in the chair beside the bed, her head resting against the mattress, her eyes closed. Xiao Man was awake, staring out the window, but she turned her head when he stepped inside. Her eyes widened when she saw him.

"Where did you go?" she asked, her voice soft and thin. "Mom was worried."

"I took care of things," he said. He walked over and touched her hand, her skin so light and fragile beneath his fingers. "The hospital bills are paid. And the money we owed the others, I have enough for the first payment."

His mother sat up quickly, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "How, Hao? You have to tell me. You can't just keep showing up with money like this."

"I found something valuable," he said. "An old stone. Someone paid me for it. That is all."

She studied his face for a long moment, searching for something, doubt or fear or maybe just the truth. "It's not illegal?"

"Not even a little bit." He smiled, a small quiet thing. "I promise. We can breathe a little easier now."

She reached out and hugged him then, her arms tight around his shoulders, her shoulders shaking slightly. He held her gently, careful not to let her press against his still-sore ribs.

He had not fixed everything. The debt was not gone, only reduced. The lenders would come back for more. But for now, for this moment, there was relief. And that was enough to keep going.

He left them there an hour later, heading back toward the apartment with the cash for the lenders in a separate envelope. He did not want to bring them to the hospital. He did not want them anywhere near his sister. He called the number from the old messages and arranged to meet them in the alleyway behind the building, the same place they had left him beaten and broken days before.

When he arrived, three men were already waiting there, their shoulders broad, their postures heavy and threatening. The man with the scar across his cheek stepped forward, his lip curling when he saw Lin Hao walking in alone.

"Look who decided to show up," Scarface said. "Thought you might have skipped town."

"I don't run," Lin Hao said. He stopped a few feet away, keeping the envelope in his hand. "Here is the first payment. Half what we owe. The rest soon."

Scarface reached for the envelope, but Lin Hao pulled it back slightly. "One condition. You stay away from my family. You come to me. Only me."

Scarface laughed, a rough barking sound. "You don't set the terms, kid. We take the money, and we decide when we see them."

Lin Hao felt something shift inside him. Not anger, something deeper and colder. He took a slow breath, and for a heartbeat he let that tiny spark of pressure build, just enough to make the air feel heavier, just enough to make Scarface pause mid-laugh.

"Take the money," Lin Hao said, his voice low and steady. "And tell your boss this is how it works. Or you get nothing."

Scarface stared at him, confused by the change in tone, by the way the young man in front of him did not look scared anymore. He hesitated, then snatched the envelope from Lin Hao's hand and opened it, counting the bills quickly.

"This is half," Scarface said. "And interest went up. Next payment is bigger."

"Tell your boss I said next payment comes when I say so," Lin Hao said. "And if I hear you have been near my mother or sister, you won't like what comes after."

Scarface narrowed his eyes, but he stuffed the money into his pocket and stepped back. "We'll be in touch. Don't make us wait."

The three men turned and walked away, disappearing around the corner.

Lin Hao stood there alone for a moment, letting out a long slow breath. The display had cost him. He felt lightheaded, his reserves of qi almost completely drained. But they had taken the money. And they had not gone inside.

He walked back up the stairs to the apartment, his legs feeling heavier than they should. He needed to rest. He needed to meditate. He needed to find more stones, more sources of energy, more ways to build up his strength and his funds. But as he reached the top of the stairs and put his hand on the doorknob, he paused.

The door was not locked.

He was certain he had locked it when he left. He always locked it. He stood there for a long second, listening, his hand resting on the wood. No sound came from inside. But someone had been there. Someone had gone in while he was at the hospital.

He pushed the door open slowly and stepped inside. The room was empty. Nothing looked stolen. But the stack of bills on the table had been moved. And sitting right in the center of the table, where he could not miss it, was a small folded piece of paper.

He walked over slowly and picked it up. There was no signature, no name, only three words written in neat dark ink:

We are watching.