Time flew like a shuttle through a loom.
Half a month passed in the blink of an eye. Lin Mu's days returned to a period of calm.
There were no earth-shattering epiphanies, no sudden face-slapping power-ups—only the daily grind of "nurturing Gu, refining essence, and tempering apertures," wearing away at stone with drops of water.
In the world of Gu Masters, those who relied solely on killing would only walk themselves into dead ends.
Only by cultivating both internally and externally, by polishing one's foundation until it was rock-solid, could one walk further and steadier.
Inside his quarters, Lin Mu poured the last handful of Crimson Iron Sand, mixed with fresh boar blood, into the clay pot that housed his Red Mud Gu.
This Gu worm had rendered great service.
After days of careful nurturing, the mud it secreted had gradually darkened.
The once dark-red sludge, having devoured large quantities of metal slag, had become denser and coarser. When dried, its hardness had improved by roughly thirty percent, and its color had shifted from bright red to a muted rust.
"Harder. More durable. A good change."
Lin Mu glanced at his empty money pouch, and the corner of his mouth twitched.
This thing was a bottomless pit.
The Crimson Iron Sand he'd purchased was being consumed at an alarming rate, driving home the eternal truth that "being a Gu Master means burning money."
As for the Wind-Treading Gu he'd seized from the grey-robed man, Lin Mu had also spent considerable time using the high-grade Primeval Essence refined by his Liquor Worm to slowly and methodically complete its refinement.
He tested it briefly in a corner of the training grounds.
Straight-line speed was extremely fast—breathtakingly so—but turning was extremely difficult. This was a common flaw of Wind Path Gu worms.
With his current level of control, if he activated it at full speed, he'd most likely smash headfirst into a tree.
"Can only be used as a straight-line burst supplement after Swift Ant's explosion."
"Can't keep it active. The essence consumption alone would drain me dry."
Lin Mu made his assessment and stored the Wind-Treading Gu away as a trump card for escape.
Beyond cultivation, Lin Mu could clearly sense subtle changes in his environment over the past half month.
It was a silent adjustment in the clan's ecosystem toward this "promising branch family member."
When he went to the canteen for meals, branch family members might have been casually cut in line by direct lineage members before. Now, when Lin Mu walked up, even the lackeys of direct lineage members would unconsciously shift aside to make room.
When he tested "Earth Ring Body" in the corners of the training grounds, no one dared to make snide remarks anymore. Most looks were either reverent or curious.
But that was all.
It wasn't until he collected his monthly stipend that this probing finally revealed its true colors.
The clansman responsible for distributing supplies wore a jade pendant carved with the character "Wind" at his waist—clearly one of Lin Feng's faction, a trusted member of the Dark Gold Lineage.
When he handed over Lin Mu's Primeval Stone pouch, his fingers pressed down lightly. Two extra stones' worth of weight had been added.
"Lin Mu, your cultivation has improved quite a bit lately."
The clansman smiled warmly, his voice kept deliberately low.
"Young Master Feng is currently forming Hunting Team Two. He's short a deputy who understands the rules and works efficiently."
"The pay is generous—five extra Primeval Stones per month. You might want to consider it."
Lin Mu accepted the pouch.
His expression didn't change—no fawning gratitude, no angry refusal.
He simply smiled with an honest, simple-looking grin, tucked the pouch into his robes, and cupped his hands in thanks.
"Much appreciated for the tip, brother. It's just that my meager skills have only just learned how to butcher boars."
"I'm afraid I'd ruin Young Master's important affairs. Better to practice on my own first, so I don't embarrass him."
The clansman froze for a moment, then gave Lin Mu a long, searching look.
Put that way, it was a polite refusal.
"Fair enough. It's good for young people to practice more."
The clansman didn't turn hostile. But the warmth in his eyes faded noticeably as he waved his hand to signal the next person forward.
The clan wasn't a criminal gang, after all. Both sides understood: declining to engage meant rejection. No need to tear faces openly.
It just meant that any future "conveniences" or "special treatment" would naturally disappear.
Lin Mu turned and left, but his mind was clear as a mirror.
Lin Feng's recruitment had been subtle, but the coldness after being refused was very real.
To avoid being gradually marginalized by staying too long in the stronghold—or being used as a pawn by other factions—he needed to move.
"Resources are nearly depleted. Crimson Iron Sand is gone, Primeval Stones are running low. The Boar King's legacy still hasn't been digested."
"Rather than sitting here being watched, better to leave for a while to let things cool down. And while I'm at it... acquire some real resources."
The next morning. Mission Hall.
The hall was as noisy as ever, thick with the smell of sweat and the sound of arguments.
When Lin Mu walked in, Lin Qiang—seated behind the counter—instinctively shrank back, his pen trembling in his hand.
He quickly lowered his head, pretending to be busy flipping through ledgers, not daring to meet Lin Mu's eyes. That one murderous glance last time had left an indelible psychological shadow.
Lin Mu didn't even spare him a look.
He walked straight to the mission board in the corner.
Most of the postings there were the unpopular kind—"low pay, heavy workload, far from home"—that no one would compete with direct lineage members over.
Lin Mu's gaze swept across the yellowed slips of paper. Finally, he reached out and tore off a mission notice that no one had touched:
"Clear the Ironhide Rat infestation at the western mining district perimeter."
The reward was mediocre, but the freedom was its real value.
"The western mining district borders the western reaches of Black Wind Ridge. The terrain there is complex, rarely visited. Most importantly... it's close to the black market."
This mission was practically tailor-made as cover for his upcoming journey.
Lin Mu carried the slip to another counter and handed it to an unfamiliar steward.
The steward took it, glanced at it, and looked up with some surprise.
"The western mining area is pretty remote. And while Ironhide Rats aren't strong individually, there are a lot of them—very hard to clear completely."
"You're going alone? The round trip alone will take at least three days."
"Confirmed."
Lin Mu was concise.
Thump.
The steward said nothing more and stamped the approval.
Lin Mu collected the mission slip and turned to leave. Cold and professional throughout, without a single unnecessary word.
Once again he walked out through Black Blood Stockade's towering gates, the clamor fading behind him.
Cold wind blew past. Lin Mu tightened the straps of his pack.
He glanced back at the brightly-lit clan compound. His heart held no ripples. This place was only a temporary resupply point. The world outside was his true hunting ground.
"Rank 1 Middle Stage. My realm is now completely stabilized. As for Upper Stage—it'll take some more time, but it's not far off."
Lin Mu touched his chest, feeling the abundant Primeval Essence within his aperture.
"This trip isn't just about clearing the rat infestation to complete the mission. More importantly—I need to visit the black market again and offload these hot spoils of war."
He pulled his bamboo hat low. His figure gradually disappeared at the end of the mountain path leading west.