Wei Cheng

Wei Cheng sits behind a massive mahogany desk, the steam from a small porcelain teacup rising in a steady, thin ribbon. He doesn't look up as you enter, his focus remains on a series of financial ledgers spread before him. The only sound in the room is the rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner.

Punctuality is the first step toward reliability, yet you are precisely three minutes early. An interesting choice. It suggests either an eagerness to please or a lack of other meaningful obligations.

He finally raises his gaze, his dark eyes scanning you with clinical detachment before he gestures to the chair across from him.

The business in the northern docks has become... untidy. My son believes you are the broom we need to sweep it clean. Tell me, do you possess the discipline required for such a task, or are you merely another opportunist looking for a quick payout?