As if some invisible wall has finally cracked from the inside, Zhang Xi lets her posture relax for the first time since she entered the room. Still seated in the lotus position, she lowers her head slowly, watching her own hands resting on her legs. Her fingers are laced together firmly, as though holding something too delicate to let slip away.

"I..." Her voice comes out lower. "I don’t need the money for myself."

That immediately catches my attention.

In Thirstfall, altruism is an almost extinct disease. Ninety percent of the people here survive by thinking only about their own tomorrow. Even strong friendships tend to be propped up by interest, fear, or convenience, and the rare exceptions usually don’t live long enough to become a pattern. Someone who genuinely wants to build something for others... that’s rare to the point of sounding absurd.

She breathes in deeply before continuing.

"I have a kind of... orphanage."

My eyes narrow without meaning to.

"For children who arrive in Thirstfall with nothing. Teenagers of fourteen... fifteen... sixteen. People who show up here understanding nothing, terrified, with no home, no one to teach them how to survive."

I blink twice, then a third time, pressing my eyes hard to confirm I’m still awake.

’A philanthropist in Thirstfall?’

’Did that even exist?’

I spent years studying this world because of the Codex of Aion. I researched guilds, factions, routes, wars, economic systems, even hidden cults from the entire history of the world and the Deepwarden itself... and I never once heard of an institution devoted to humanitarian aid. Either it was silenced in the other timeline, or the idea simply died before it ever caught fire, smothered under the coming collapse of the tides.

"That’s truly..." I let the air out slowly. "Surprising."

"Equally surprising to hear a Rank D say he’s going to build a guild."

The reply comes without a trace of sarcasm, and that’s the part that throws me most about her. She speaks with such a tranquil sincerity that I can’t pin down attack, provocation, or irony anywhere in it. It’s as if she’s actually taking my idea seriously, and that gives me more chills than hostility ever could.

"Seems like we both have visions too big for our own size," I murmur before facing her again. "But I have to ask you something."

She lifts her gaze slightly, waiting.

"Why?"

It’s an obvious question. Even so, I need to hear the answer come out of her mouth.

Zhang Xi closes her eyes slowly. Her hands shift on her lap until they form a perfectly aligned symbol; the right palm resting over the left, thumbs touching lightly, drawing an incomplete circle.

The room changes. Not physically, but I feel it.

The OXI in the room begins to converge toward the center of that silent gesture, like water dragged into an invisible whirlpool. The noise from the street loses strength. The creak of the wood seems to retreat into the distance.

Then she speaks.

"The lotus flower is born in the deepest mud, young Dryden."

Her voice comes out slow, steady, almost hypnotic.

"This world burns in chaos, it’s true. But if I close my eyes and seek only my own salvation... then I let hell win inside me."

Small luminous lines begin to trace across the skin of her arms beneath the gray fabric, like lit tattoos reacting to the flow of energy.

I can’t understand the technique. I can only feel the absurd peace radiating off her.

"Building this roof isn’t denying the world’s pain. It’s planting peace where only ashes remain. Every child taken in is a small flame lit in the dark."

The OXI around her vibrates gently, unlike any aggressive mana I’ve ever felt.

"We don’t help others because it’s easy or logical." Her eyes open again. "We help because we’re part of the same suffering. To save one life is to pacify your own universe."

She lowers her gaze a little before finishing.

"If we aren’t each other’s refuge... then who will be?"

The silence after those words lingers in the room for several seconds. The energy dissipates slowly, like mist pulling back at dawn, and for the first time since I walked into that room, the inn truly feels quiet.

She’s right.

The system of Thirstfall encourages individualism because it makes everyone easier to manipulate. Isolated people break fast. Desperate people accept anything to survive.

The problem was never unity. The problem is that this world corrupts everything it touches, and the Ocean’s Law encourages it with its absurd taxes and rules. You grow close to someone, and sooner or later you end up betrayed, sold, or buried by them.

That’s exactly what allowed the Deepwarden’s rise in the other timeline. Corruption became the norm. Integrity became the exception.

And maybe that’s why her plan strikes me as so dangerous. Because attacking the foundations of the system means touching the very thing that keeps Thirstfall running the way the people at the top want it to. A girl handing out shelter for free isn’t charity to them. It’s a crack in a wall they spent generations building.

I rest my arms on the low table and watch her for a few seconds before making my decision.

"Ten percent."

She blinks, clearly not understanding.

"I offered you five..." I continue. "But I liked your reason. So I’ll pull another five out of my own share."

Her eyes soften at once. And no... it doesn’t seem to be about the money. It looks more like satisfaction that I understood what drives her.

"First," she says calmly, "you still need to explain exactly what you want me to do." Her posture straightens again, disciplined. "I follow my principles above any reward."

I let a small smile tug at the corner of my mouth.

Fair enough.

Now came the hard part.

Convincing an altruistic monk that my criminally extravagant plan to corner the OXI market isn’t, in fact, the beginning of a brand-new corruption.