The morning sun had barely managed to peek above the massive, fortified walls of Black Mist City when Shen Jietian stepped out of his cramped courtyard.
The crude wooden door creaked sharply behind him before settling shut.
For a brief moment, he stood perfectly still in the narrow, shadow-drenched alleyway, letting his gaze wash over the surroundings.
The South District was already fully awake, buzzing with the desperate, frantic energy of the impoverished.
All around him, independent rogue cultivators carrying woven baskets filled with common wilderness herbs hurried toward the massive city gates to catch the morning buyers.
Beast hunters clad in heavily patched leather armor gathered in small, tense groups, checking their weapons and whispering about low-risk hunting boundaries.
Food vendors pushed heavy wooden carts through the uneven streets, shouting out their daily prices to the passing crowds.
The rich, steaming aroma of low-grade spirit rice porridge drifted lazily through the humid morning air-a stark reminder of the basic physical necessities that bound them all.
Life in the slums simply continued its relentless, mechanical rhythm, entirely unbothered by the fact that several human beings had nearly been torn to shreds in the valley just yesterday.
Shen Jietian adjusted the worn leather storage pouch hanging loosely from his waist cloth and began walking forward.
His immediate destination for the morning was simple, yet foundational: he needed resources, but more importantly, he needed to gauge the market.
If material capital was the ultimate mathematical key to surviving the immortal path, then he needed to deduce exactly how expensive that key truly was.
Only by mapping out the precise baseline prices of the local market could he determine whether his main quest of reaching the Seventh Layer of Qi Refinement was a realistic possibility or merely an unattainable, delusional dream.
The vast South District stretched outward for several gruelling miles, acting as a massive human receptacle for the vast majority of Black Mist City’s independent cultivation population.
The buildings were ancient and decaying, the unpaved stone roads were highly uneven, and many crowded courtyards housed three or four desperate cultivators together simply to split the burden of monthly rent.
Everywhere Shen Jietian cast his eyes, he saw mirrors of his own past existence: poor, highly ambitious, and constantly struggling against structural limitations.
A microscopic fraction of these vagrants would eventually stumble upon a grand fortuitous opportunity and somehow force their way into the legendary Foundation Establishment realm, but the vast ninety-nine percent would spend their entire natural lives rotting within the lower layers of Qi Refinement.
Through his newly integrated dual-world perspective, Shen Jietian understood that this structural disparity often had very little to do with raw skeletal talent or individual determination.
The defining variable was resources.
It was always, invariably resources.
As he walked, the distant, majestic silhouette of the geography became increasingly clear against the horizon.
Black Mist City sat pinned tightly against the extreme western edge of the Black Mist Mountains-a titanic, jagged range that stretched endlessly across the landscape.
Dark gray peaks pierced the heavy clouds like broken teeth, and even during the brightest daylight hours, thin, ominous layers of acrid black mist clung stubbornly to the rocky slopes.
The city itself existed purely because of the hazardous bounty hidden within those peaks.
Rare spiritual herbs, exotic beast materials, and untapped spiritual ore veins—everything a cultivator desperately required to advance could be found within the mountain depths, and everything truly worth obtaining carried a devastating probability of death.
Above the city walls, a large, silk banner fluttered proudly in the mountain wind, displaying the insignia of a dark mountain surrounded by stylized clouds.
It was the absolute sigil of the Dark Mountain Sect-the uncontested Golden Core sovereign force that ruled Black Mist City with an iron fist.
Gradually, the cramped mud paths of the slums began to widen into proper, paved avenues as the South District slowly gave way to the affluent western commercial district.
The structural transition was immediate and stark.
The roads became impeccably clean, the surrounding buildings grew significantly taller, and smooth, cut stone entirely replaced the cheap wood and mud construction of the outer ring.
Uniformed guards wearing the pristine robes of the city magistrate patrolled the intersections with sharp, disciplined eyes.
The chaotic, desperate atmosphere of the slums instantly vanished, replaced by a calm, orderly, and exponentially more expensive reality.
Shen Jietian brought his footsteps to a halt before a grand, three-story establishment covered in flowing medicinal banners: Hundred Pill Street.
This was universally acknowledged as one of the most famous merchant zones in the city.
Endless rows of pill dispensaries stretched into the distance, the thick air heavily saturated with the bitter tang of raw herbs and the pleasant, aromatic smoke of alchemical cauldrons.
Young alchemical apprentices carried wide wooden trays of raw ingredients back and forth between the buildings while wealthy customers entered and exited the storefronts continuously.
Stepping inside the nearest prominent shop, a clean-cut young attendant immediately approached Shen Jietian with a polite bow.
“What specific medicinal assistance does Senior require today?”
Shen Jietian completely ignored the flattering title.
He was well aware that he was merely at the Fourth Layer of Qi Refinement; the trained shop attendant simply labeled every single individual who walked through the door a senior to oil the transaction.
“I would like to look over the standard cultivation pills,” Shen Jietian requested, his voice neutral.
The attendant nodded smoothly, and a velvet-lined display tray was quickly brought forward from behind the counter.
Shen Jietian’s analytical gaze swept across the handwritten labels, his mind instantly logging the numbers.
Qi Gathering Pill: Three low-grade spirit stones each.
Spirit Nourishing Pill: Eight spirit stones each.
Blood Recovery Pill: Five spirit stones each.
Meridian Cleansing Pill: Twenty-two spirit stones each.
As he read the final line, Shen Jietian’s expression gradually darkened into a blank mask.
The shop attendant, entirely oblivious to the internal calculations of the youth, continued to maintain a practiced, professional smile.
“These are currently our most popular, high-volume products among independent Qi Refinement cultivators, Senior.”
Most popular…
Shen Jietian almost let out a cynical laugh right then and there.
A single, baseline Meridian Cleansing Pill cost more than a common loose gatherer could realistically hope to earn over months of backbreaking, life-threatening labor in the mountains.
He offered a brief, polite nod of thanks to the attendant and calmly exited the shop, refusing to expose his financial lack.
Outside on the crowded cobblestones, his mind automatically began running a mathematical script, utilizing the logical framework of his Earth memories.
Three stones, eight stones, twenty-two stones…
the numbers continued to flash within his head, compounding into a depressing financial reality.
The more he calculated the total material capital required to cleanly fuel a breakthrough from the Fourth to the Seventh Layer using standard alchemical aids, the worse his mood became.
By the time he navigated his way to the next parallel avenue, his face had become completely devoid of emotion.
He had entered Spirit Treasure Street – the premier weapon, armor, and technique district of the western commercial zone.
Massive storefronts displayed glittering arrays of steel swords, heavy sabers, glowing defensive talismans, reinforced leather armor, and stacked jade slips containing cultivation manuals.
Shen Jietian entered a technique repository.
Unlike consumable pills which vanished after a single use, a high-grade cultivation technique lasted forever; a superior mantra could theoretically shave years, perhaps even entire decades off a cultivator’s accumulation timeline. Enjoying the story? Read on at novelping . com.
An elderly shopkeeper sitting behind a heavy wooden desk looked up, his sharp eyes evaluating the youth.
“Looking for a new foundational technique, young man?”
Shen Jietian nodded respectfully.
“A water-attribute mantra, if you please.”
The old man simply gestured with a lazy finger toward a heavy wooden shelf in the corner.
Shen Jietian walked over, picking up the first handwritten manual that caught his eye, only to freeze mid-motion as he read the title and the price tag:
Azure Wave Art.
Price: One Hundred Twenty Spirit Stones.
His brow furrowed, and he set it down to inspect the next one, which was significantly worse:
Flowing River Technique.
Price: Two Hundred Eighty Spirit Stones.
The third manual he flipped open completely exceeded five hundred spirit stones.
Shen Jietian slowly and meticulously returned the texts to their designated slots on the shelf.
Suddenly, his own basic, dirt-cheap Five Elements Circulation Technique seemed vastly less embarrassing than it had an hour ago.
At the very least, that simple manual had been financially affordable for his family.
The elderly shopkeeper let out a low, knowing chuckle from his desk, noticing the youth’s empty hands.
“Young man, you must understand that the path of immortality is built entirely upon a mountain of spirit stones.
Cultivation is an exceptionally expensive endeavor.”
Shen Jietian forced a polite, empty smile onto his face.
“Indeed.
Thank you for your guidance, Elder.”
Exiting the technique shop, he continued his aimless march.
After leaving the suffocating financial pressure of Spirit Treasure Street behind, his footsteps unconsciously carried him toward the northernmost sector of the city.
The further north he traveled, the quieter and more unnaturally serene Black Mist City became.
The chaotic shouting of roadside merchants entirely vanished, the crowded, mud-stained stalls disappeared, and even the physical layout of the roads underwent a radical transformation.
Wide, pristine stone avenues stretched neatly into the distance, completely cleared of debris on a daily basis by hired mortal servants and low-level cultivators.
Small, tiled water channels lined both sides of the streets, carrying crystal-clear water smoothly through the district.
Decorative, genetically cultivated spirit trees stood at regular intervals, their vibrant leaves glowing faintly with a soothing, ethereal spiritual energy.
The aesthetic contrast was so incredibly jarring that it felt as though he had crossed a boundary into an entirely different city.
This was the North District—the undisputed wealthiest enclave within Black Mist City.
Massive, luxurious estates occupied vast swaths of land behind towering, white-washed stone walls.
Elegant, multi-tiered pavilions rose majestically above carefully manicured gardens and artificial lotus ponds.
Subtle, protective defensive formations shimmered faintly in the air around many of the primary residences, completely invisible unless one possessed a trained eye or paid absolute attention to the warping of light.
At every single iron gate stood heavily armed guards.
Some were elite mortal experts trained to the peak of physical martial arts, while others were genuine, low-level cultivators whose blades gleamed with active Qi.
Through a quick estimation of their armor quality, Shen Jietian deduced that even the weakest, lowliest gate guard standing here likely earned more pure spirit stones each month than he had accumulated over his entire seven years of herb gathering.
Occasionally, luxurious carriages rolled past on the wide avenues, their wheels muffled against the clean stone.
These weren’t ordinary wooden carriages; they were premium spirit beast transports pulled by tamed, high-tier Windhorn Horses or Black Scale Oxen—beasts whose raw purchase price alone easily reached dozens of spirit stones.
The individuals entering and leaving these grand estates were equally impressive: high-ranking clan elders, incredibly wealthy merchant patriarchs, prestigious guests from distant cities, and established Foundation Establishment cultivators—individuals whose words carried absolute weight throughout the registry of Black Mist City.
These were the true elites who had no conceptual need to risk their lives hunting rabid spirit beasts in the mud of the mountains; they were the class who could effortlessly purchase any cultivation resource they desired whenever the whim struck them.
Shen Jietian stood silently in the shadow of a spirit tree, watching a young cultivator step out from the gates of a massive estate.
The luxurious silk robes covering the young man’s frame alone were probably worth several months of Shen Jietian’s maximum possible income.
Two servants followed respectfully behind him, carrying his secondary gear, while an armed guard deferentially opened the iron gate, bowing low.
The young noble simply walked away down the avenue without sparing a single glance or a word of acknowledgment to the people serving him, treating the immense class deference as a completely natural law of gravity.
Shen Jietian slowly looked down at his own coarse, drab clothing.
The sleeves had been crudely patched twice by his own hands, and his heavy leather boots showed severe signs of degradation from years spent traversing the jagged rocks and damp forests of the wilderness.
A faint, quiet smile appeared on his face—not a bitter smile born of boiling envy, and not an angry one born of ideological frustration.
It was merely the detached, quiet acknowledgment of a modern analyst observing a baseline reality.
Every single time he visited the North District, he was forcefully reminded of a core truth: the cultivation world was not a place of equality.
Some individuals were born directly at the finish line with an abundance of resources, while others spent their entire natural lives desperately chasing the starting blocks.
His gaze lingered on the distant, shimmering pavilions for a few moments longer before he turned away on his heel.
There was absolutely nothing for him to harvest here.
Not yet.
The specific markets he could actually afford to participate in were located elsewhere.
With that practical thought anchoring his mind, Shen Jietian headed directly toward the eastern district-toward the chaotic zone where the true mass of loose cultivators gathered, and home to the largest, most volatile market in Black Mist City.
As he traveled, the city around him bustled with endless activity.
Spirit beast carriages rolled through the grand lanes, wealthy merchants shouted their advertisements from storefronts, and low-level cultivators haggled endlessly over coppers.
Everywhere he looked, spirit stones changed hands in a continuous stream.
And yet…
the deeper he observed the micro-transactions of the crowd, the more his Earth-trained analytical mind realized how structurally poor and financially illiterate the vast majority of the population actually was. You are reading on novelping dot com, the official source.
Eventually, he crossed the threshold into the eastern district, and the ambient atmosphere transformed instantaneously.
A near-deafening explosion of pure noise slammed into his ears: chaotic shouting, intense arguments, aggressive bargaining, and rough laughter echoed off the tightly packed buildings.
This was the East Market—the true, uncontested territory of the independent loose cultivation community.
Compared to the hyper-orderly, sterile layout of the western commercial district, this place resembled absolute, unbridled chaos.
Hundreds of temporary stalls filled every single square inch of available space along the muddy thoroughfare.
Some vendors utilized proper wooden tables to display their wares, while others simply spread a coarse piece of cloth directly on the dirt ground.
The merchant mass sold everything imaginable to the passing crowd.
An old, scarred hunter displayed a collection of jagged beast claws, sharp fangs, and blood-stained hides; right beside him, a young woman sold a variety of freshly gathered, unrefined wilderness herbs; further ahead, a frantic talisman apprentice waved stacks of low-grade paper charms while loudly advertising limited-time discounts; an old woman cooked hot spirit rice cakes over a small open flame, the sweet aroma surprisingly potent amidst the grime; and a crippled cultivator sat propped against a stone wall selling wrinkled regional maps whose authenticity was highly debatable.
“Ancient immortal inheritance map!” a loud, booming voice suddenly echoed across the central market square, drawing Shen Jietian’s attention.
“Discovered personally by this one within a hidden crevice of the inner peaks!
Seize your fortune today for the absolute low price of only twenty spirit stones!”
Several passing cultivators simply rolled their eyes, letting out dry snorts before walking away without pausing.
The merchant, entirely unbothered by their disdain, continued to shout his script without a single shred of shame.
Shen Jietian couldn’t help but let out a small smile.
Some fundamental traits of human nature never changed; every single marketplace in every single world across the cosmos seemed to invariably attract the exact same types of opportunistic hucksters.
Then, his analytical attention shifted toward a localized disturbance nearby.
A haggard herb gatherer was locked in a fierce, red-faced argument with a seated merchant.
“What do you mean you’re only offering two spirit stones?!” the gatherer shouted, his chest heaving with palpable anger.
“I spent three full days risking my life dodging venomous vipers to harvest these Moonleaf Grass stalks from the crags!”
The merchant simply offered a lazy, indifferent shrug, leaning back on his stool.
“Take the deal or leave it, friend.
The market is flooded today.”
The gatherer let out a fierce curse, packed his herbs back into his basket, and stormed away into the crowd in a fit of rage.
Shen Jietian watched his retreating figure out of pure curiosity.
Sensing a potential data point, he quietly followed the disgruntled gatherer through the maze of stalls.
A few minutes later, the same gatherer approached a completely different stall located two streets over.
After a brief, quiet conversation, the second merchant inspected the quality of the herbs and smoothly offered a price of four spirit stones.
The gatherer’s expression instantly eased, and he immediately completed the transaction, liquidating his stock.
Shen Jietian blinked, his mind freezing as his analytical faculties parsed the data.
Four stones?
The first merchant had offered a baseline of two stones, while the second merchant, operating within the exact same square mile on the exact same morning, had offered four.
That was double the price—a literal one hundred percent increase in profit margin for the exact same physical herb.
A strange, deeply calculating expression appeared on Shen Jietian’s face.
Was this a mere statistical coincidence?
A temporary anomaly born of individual greed?
Perhaps.
Choosing to gather more data, he continued walking through the chaotic rows of the market for another half an hour.
Eventually, he located a third, larger stall that was actively purchasing Moonleaf Grass from independent harvesters.
He stood within the crowd, quietly listening to the transaction, and discovered that this particular merchant was smoothly offering five spirit stones per stalk.
Five.
The exact same raw product, on the exact same calendar day, within the exact same regional market space—yet it commanded three completely different prices depending entirely on which wooden table the seller happened to approach.
Shen Jietian stopped walking entirely, his body freezing mid-stride as the realization hit his consciousness like a bolt of lightning.
Around him, the market remained a swirling vortex of chaos: cultivators bargained fiercely, merchants argued aggressively, deals were sealed, and deals collapsed into curses.
Yet, absolutely nobody in the entire crowd seemed surprised by the radical price fluctuations.
Nobody questioned the structural variance, and nobody appeared remotely aware that they were being systematically exploited or inefficiently trading their resources.
Everyone simply accepted the baseline uncertainty of the market as an unyielding law of nature.
They relied entirely on fragmented rumours, word of mouth, and blind guesswork to conduct their businesses.
Suddenly, a massive flood of structured memories from modern Earth surged into his mind, perfectly overlapping with the scene before him.
Price index charts, real-time market volatility reports, centralized financial databases, and optimization information networks…
for a brief, transcendent moment, the logic of the two entirely different worlds seemed to seamlessly fuse together within his mind.
Then, the ethereal sensation receded, leaving behind an absolute, crystalline clarity.
Shen Jietian stood silently amidst the ocean of shouting people, his eyes slowly sweeping across the merchants, the cultivators, and the endless stream of inefficient transactions occurring every single second.
A strange, revolutionary thought emerged within his mind—a concept so fundamentally simple, so laughably basic within the framework of his past life, yet entirely non-existent and impossible to ignore within this primitive cultivation world.
The Azure Cloud World wasn’t suffering from an absolute lack of raw resources.
It was suffering from a catastrophic, complete lack of structured information.
Shen Jietian remained standing in the centre of the thoroughfare for a very long time, watching, logging data, and thinking.
And somewhere deep within the brilliant matrix of his re-forged soul, a massive, world-shaking business model was finally beginning to take definitive shape.
End of Chapter 11
I’m a reader trying to become a writer.
If you have any suggestions on how I can improve the story, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!