It wasn't until sunset that the little cultivator returned, looking exhausted.
Xian'er glanced over; the amount of stuff in her hands was a bit less, but not too much. If this continued daily, it would be enough to sell for another ten days or so.
It's not that the quantity is sufficient, the sales are just poor.
Yesterday when she was selling ghosts, she noticed that few people bought spirit soil. Even if sold, it was just worth a bit of spirit crystal, completely incomparable to hanging ghosts, for which inquiries were ongoing.
Xian'er didn't look down on the other person; instead, she felt a sense of shared misfortune.
When she was a maid, she didn't have a monthly salary. The little she saved came from holiday gifts from the young mistress, with the New Year money making up the bulk.
"What are you doing?" The little cultivator spotted her from a distance, standing warily at a distance.
Xian'er stood up from the weeds and patted her little behind: "Want some weeds?"
