Little Cat's tone shifted, losing its laziness and becoming precise, cold, and knowledgeable—like an ancient beast finally revealing a sealed truth.
"First," he said, "you need several items. All of them are extremely fucking rare."
Zhuo Riyan's fists clenched.
"Dragon Blood Ginseng," Little Cat continued. "Shadow Lark's blood. Five Sources Celestial Stone. Red Jade in Bed Shape. And lastly—"
He paused, opening both eyes.
"A powerful Thunder—and we have Thunder."
Zhuo Riyan inhaled sharply.
"And that's not all," Little Cat added calmly. "Second condition—you must reach at least the Synchronize Stage. Below that, even attempting it will kill her instantly."
The room fell silent.
Zhuo Riyan lowered his head, shadows covering his eyes.
Synchronize Stage. Impossible herbs.
Each word felt like a mountain pressing down on his spine.
But then his fingers tightened.
"I'll get them," he said quietly. "Every single one. Even if I have to tear this fucking world apart."
Su Jing looked at him, her eyes soft but filled with concern.
Little Cat smirked slightly, tail flicking.
"Good," he said. "Because if you fail… there's no second chance."
The morning light filtered through the pavilion window, illuminating the three of them—mother, son, and beast—bound by a fate that had just grown far heavier.
Some time later, the Rain Appreciating Pavilion was quiet again.
Su Jing lay resting on the bed, her breathing calm and steady. Little Cat was curled comfortably in her arms, eyes half-closed, tail lazily flicking as he enjoyed the warmth and gentle strokes on his fur.
Zhuo Riyan stood beside the table, carefully arranging the Three Leaf Frozen Grass he had brought back. He had already prepared and fed one portion to his mother, watching closely until her complexion stabilized slightly. The remaining grass was too much for the small wooden table to hold. Several bundles were neatly placed on the floor, their icy aura faintly cooling the entire room.
Seeing that Su Jing had fallen asleep, Zhuo Riyan quietly exhaled.
He turned and walked out of the pavilion, his expression shifting from soft concern to focused determination.
I need techniques. Real ones. I can't keep fighting with just one move like a fucking idiot.
Stepping out of the Su Manor, he headed straight toward Flame City's central market.
Flame Market was already alive.
The streets were crowded with cultivators, merchants, mercenaries, and wandering beasts bound by contracts. Stalls lined both sides of the wide stone road—some crude wooden tables, others polished counters guarded by disciples. Weapons gleamed under the sun. Robes of all colors fluttered in the wind. The smell of roasted meat mixed with incense and metal.
Zhuo Riyan walked casually, hands behind his head, eyes sharp as he scanned everything around him.
He didn't have much money. Just a handful of silver coins tucked inside his pouch.
Still, he wasn't here to waste time.
He passed stalls selling swords, spears, and axes, most of them overpriced trash. He glanced at technique scrolls in larger shops but ignored them immediately—those places were for rich sect brats, not someone like him.
I need something practical. Something that works with my beast qi and purple thunder.
He continued walking, disappointment slowly creeping in, until something caught his eye.
At the corner of the market, almost hidden between two louder stalls, sat a small, shabby stand.
Behind it was an old man.
The man wore plain robes, his back slightly hunched. He slowly waved a white hand fan left and right in front of his face, as if the entire noisy market didn't exist. His eyes were half-closed, expression bored, almost sleepy.
On his stall were several thin technique manuals stacked carelessly.
Zhuo Riyan stopped.
Something about it felt… different.
He stepped closer and looked down at the books, then glanced at the old man.
"Are these techniques for sell?" Zhuo Riyan asked, rubbing his chin.
The old man didn't even open his eyes.
"No," he replied lazily. "I'm eating them."
Then he cracked one eye open and added, "Of course they're for sell, idiot."
Zhuo Riyan blinked, momentarily stunned by the old man's blunt tone.
"…Oh," he muttered. "I'll check if they're useful."
He reached out and picked up the first manual.
It was blue, slightly worn.
Flame Blast.
White-grade, mid-level.
He skimmed through it quickly and shook his head. Fire-source technique. Completely useless for him.
He placed it back and checked another. Then another.
Wind, earth, water—none of them matched his beast qi or purple thunder. His excitement faded with each book.
This is bullshit…
He was about to turn away when his eyes caught two manuals tucked awkwardly into the corner of the stall, almost like they were forgotten.
Zhuo Riyan paused.
He quickly grabbed both.
The first one was plain, with simple lettering.
Thunder Fury Palm.
White-grade, low-level.
His eyes narrowed.
Compatible.
He immediately picked up the second.
Qi Sword.
White-grade, mid-level.
His heartbeat quickened.
A condensed qi blade technique. Flexible. Adaptable.
Zhuo Riyan's disappointment vanished instantly, replaced by excitement.
He looked up at the old man, holding both manuals.
"I want these two," he said. "How much?"
The old man finally straightened slightly and glanced at the books. His eyes flickered once, assessing their grade.
"Twenty-five silver coins," he said calmly. "Ten for the white-grade low-level. Fifteen for the white-grade mid-level."
Zhuo Riyan frowned.
That's almost all my fucking money.
Still, he clenched his teeth and nodded.
Fair price. And I need them.
He reached into his pouch, fingers brushing against the cold silver coins, already calculating how long he'd have to survive on scraps after this.
But power came first.
Without it, everything else was meaningless.
He quickly placed twenty-five silver coins on the table and said, "Here is your twenty-five silver coins."
The old man accepted them calmly and slipped the coins into his sleeve.
Zhuo Riyan turned away at once. His face crumpled as if he were about to cry, and without looking back, he walked toward the Su Manor with hurried steps.