Lin Feng had never set foot in the East City's free market before. Though it catered mostly to Qi Refinement cultivators peddling low-tier materials, artifacts, or techniques, it remained beyond the reach of a "pauper" like him—every scrap of spirit stone was devoured by his cultivation. What could he possibly buy?
Stepping into the bustling market for the first time, Lin Feng felt a jolt of awe. It resembled an earthly flea market: no formal shops, just rows of makeshift stalls crammed into an open square. The air thrummed with noise—a sea of bodies bartering, shouting, and haggling.
So many low-level cultivators in Qingyun City… The sheer number struck him.
With only two pitiful low-grade spirit stones weighing his pocket, Lin Feng couldn't afford even to ask the price of most "treasures." Ignoring eager vendors' calls, he drifted through the crowds like a ghost, eyes scanning for specific items.
Grade-One wrought iron and wind-attribute ore were easy finds. But Grade-One Fire Scorpion blood? That was rare. It demanded venturing beyond the city walls to hunt beasts—feats beyond ordinary Qi Refinement cultivators.
After half an hour, he finally spotted it at a stall. A round of haggling later, he parted with one low-grade spirit stone for a fist-sized clay jar.
The other two materials came from a neighboring stall. Another stone vanished.
Having worked at Treasure Pavilion, Lin Feng knew material prices cold. No one cheated him—not that he had stones to be cheated of, anyway.
Just like that, he was truly cleaned out. Two months' wages, gone in a morning.
Yet Lin Feng felt no regret. Clutching his purchases, he hurried home.
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Meanwhile, elsewhere in Qingyun City…
Inside a cluttered room, a muscular figure sat cross-legged at the center, deep in meditation.
This was none other than the muscle-bound thug who'd ambushed Lin Feng the day before—Han Tie, ringleader of the four-man crew. Locally, he was known as "Iron Boss," a minor terror in the South District.
Time blurred. When Han Tie finally stirred, he exhaled a long, gray breath, eyes gleaming with triumph.
"Heh. Looks like… I'll break through to the seventh level of Qi Refinement soon. Entering the Late Stage! Excellent…"
Cultivator realms spanned nine great tiers: Qi Refinement, Foundation Building, Golden Core, Nascent Soul, Transformation Spirit, Void Refining, Body Unity, Great Ascension, and Heavenly Tribulation. Each tier split into nine levels: Early (1-3), Mid (4-6), Late (7-9). Peak attainment within a tier was called "Great Perfection," the threshold to the next realm.
Legends spoke of ascension to immortality after surviving the Heavenly Tribulation. But they were just legends—no one in Mooncloud Continent had succeeded in twenty millennia.
Han Tie, a talentless rogue cultivator, dared not dream of Nascent Soul or Golden Core. Foundation Building alone would be a miracle, gifting him over a century of life. Merely nearing the seventh Qi Refinement level filled him with savage glee.
Instead of rising, he drew a pitch-black ring from his robe. Triumph blazed hotter in his eyes.
"Unbelievable… Han Tie, owning a spirit storage ring?! Is this what they call 'fate's favor'? Hah!" He chuckled darkly, then frowned. "But it's sealed… No wonder that brat couldn't use it. Heh. Means something valuable's locked inside. Once I reach Foundation Building, I'll crack it open. Can't wait…"
Seeking help to break the seal? Foolishness. A treasure like this demanded secrecy. Asking a stronger cultivator risked losing it forever.
His gloating shattered as hurried footsteps pounded outside. The door flung open. A gaunt man burst in.
Han Tie scowled. "Old Fourth? What's the panic? Trouble?"
The man's face was grim. "Boss! Cao Yang just reported—that kid from yesterday isn't dead!! He showed up at Treasure Pavilion this morning, unharmed! Worse… he secretly bought a mid-grade artifact and a talisman. Then he headed for the East City market. Looks like he's preparing… probably coming for us!"
"What?! Alive? And seeking revenge?!" Shock froze Han Tie for a heartbeat. Then a vicious grin split his face. "Heh. Doesn't know when to die! Fine… we'll just kill him 'again'!"
Lin Feng's survival—and his audacity to plan vengeance—reignited Han Tie's murderous intent. That ring would not be reclaimed. Silence was essential.
"He bought a mid-grade artifact AND a talisman? Heh… consider them mine! Round up Second and Third. We raid his hovel!"
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Lin Feng returned home past noon. He'd grabbed a few steamed buns, eating as he walked.
His house occupied decent land, but shifting neighborhoods over a decade had left it isolated—a pocket of mundane dwellings. Now, it anchored a "commoner's quarter," its neighbors all mortals. Lin Feng remained the lone cultivator for blocks.
Cultivation drained resources. Mortals couldn't bear the cost; many lacked spirit roots entirely.
By earthly standards, his home wasn't small: two rooms, a living space, kitchen, washroom, plus a small front yard.
He shut the door firmly, entered his bedroom, and laid out his haul.
Holding the Chain Fireball Talisman in his right hand and the jar of scorpion blood in his left, he hesitated. Then he pressed the talisman onto the jar's lid and focused inwardly:
"Repair…"
Instantly, his spiritual energy began to drain. A strange force gathered before him. A ball of crimson light enveloped the talisman and jar…
Seconds stretched like hours. Was it his imagination, or did the talisman in his grip grow warm? Almost… combustible?
Finally, the energy drain ceased. The red light vanished. Information flooded his mind:
"Repair successful."
"Equipment damage: 0."
"No further repair required."
Joy flashed in Lin Feng's eyes. The talisman now glowed faintly with warmth, its once-faded runes sharp and vivid—as if freshly crafted!
"Incredible…"
He marveled, turning it over. He knew the agonizing precision talisman-making demanded: special paper, spirit-infused brushes, rune tracing, channeling ambient energy… Yet for him? Just materials… and a thought.
After admiring his restored prize, he reluctantly stored it. The jar held surprising news—only about two-thirds of the scorpion blood was consumed. Meaning, unless the talisman was utterly destroyed, this blood could repair it three or four more times!
He sealed the jar carefully and tucked it under his bed. Next, he lifted the Returning Gauntlet and the fist-sized chunk of wind-element ore.
Another silent command: "Repair." Moments later, the ore vanished. The gauntlet gleamed, reborn.
The shortsword followed, restored to pristine edge.
He refastened the gauntlet to his right forearm and sheathed the sword at his hip. Satisfaction settled over him.
"Hah… Repairing three items drained nearly all my energy. My strength's still pitiful…"
Feeling the emptiness within, he sat cross-legged on his bed and began to meditate.
⋯⋯
Roughly thirty minutes later, Lin Feng's eyes snapped open. He exhaled a white stream of turbid air. Vitality surged back into him—along with dawning astonishment.
"My cultivation… advanced slightly?! Does using the Repair Technique boost cultivation like actual training? If so… using it often could accelerate my progress far beyond before!"
Excitement fizzed within him. His cultivation speed had always lagged, likely due to subpar talent—perhaps worse than "average." This discovery felt like sunlight piercing lifelong gloom.
"First, reclaim the ring. Then… I'll strategize using repairs to earn spirit stones. At least then… resources won't choke my progress."
He clenched his fist. The path ahead finally seemed illuminated.
"THUD!!!"
A violent crash shattered the quiet. Lin Feng jolted upright.
It came from his yard gate—kicked open. Heavy footsteps hammered toward his door.
Understanding dawned. Lin Feng surged to his feet and flung open his house door.
Four figures filled his small yard. Seeing them, Lin Feng's pupils contracted. Uncontrolled rage and hatred blazed in his eyes.
Han Tie and his gang.
They'd saved him the trouble of hunting them down. They'd delivered themselves to his doorstep.