Shen Jietian woke well before the first rays of dawn could touch the horizon.
For a long moment, he remained seated quietly on the edge of his coarse wooden bed, his eyes fixed on the faint, pale light filtering through the familiar cracks in the mud wall.
His private room remained entirely unchanged.
It was small, weather-beaten, and bore the heavy marks of poverty.
The small table in the far corner stood unevenly on the warped floorboards, the roof was prone to leaking whenever the heavy mountain rains descended, and the timber creaked sharply under his weight every time he took a step.
On the surface, the physical setting of his life remained identical to his earliest days of struggle.
He reached out and opened the heavy clay jar resting beside his small charcoal stove.
Inside was a modest supply of low-grade spirit grain rice—the cheapest, most unrefined spiritual substance available to the independent community.
It possessed barely enough worldly Qi to help poor cultivators maintain their physical vitality and prevent their meridians from decaying, but it offered no real assistance toward cultivation advancement.
Shen Jietian washed the grains with practiced efficiency and set them to boil.
As the thick, hot steam began to rise from the clay pot, his gaze naturally drifted toward a small, reinforced cloth pouch hanging securely from a hidden peg on the wall.
Inside that pouch rested his accumulated spirit stones.
Over the past twelve months, his specialized enterprise of compiling market reports and tracking trade patterns had grown into a remarkably stable venture.
Some weeks brought a heavy volume of customers, while other cycles were slow and quiet, but his average monthly intake had consolidated at around twenty low-grade spirit stones.
For a lone cultivator operating within the lower layer of Middle Qi Refinement, such a steady income was already an enviable luxury.
With that level of capital, he could easily afford to consume premium spiritual beast meat, purchase high-conduction medicinal wines, or rent a spacious courtyard in a cleaner part of this district.
Yet, every single time his mind hovered over the prospect of spending those hard-earned stones on personal comforts, a sharp, instinctual reluctance would clamp down on his heart.
The deep-seated habits of his past years of absolute destitution died hard.
In a world where a single variable could plunge a man back into the mud, he did not wanted to spend anything that urgent.
After consuming his minimalist breakfast, Shen Jietian quickly rinsed his bowl and sticks, organizing his gear before stepping out into the alleyways.
The moment he crossed his threshold, he realized the South District felt unnaturally, strangely empty.
The narrow paths that usually buzzed with independent harvesters were completely vacant, the roadside stalls were unmanicured, and even the notorious street scammers who typically frequented the corners had vanished entirely.
A faint, knowing smile touched Shen Jietian’s lips as he realized the time.
“It seems I truly am the last one to leave the slums today.” He adjusted his storage pouch, lengthened his stride, and increased his pace toward the city center.
The further he traveled along the primary thoroughfares, the denser the human currents became.
Entire generations of families were marching in a singular direction.
Young children were dressed in their finest, unpatched linen clothes, while elderly grandparents shuffled along beside them, their lips moving silently as they muttered desperate prayers for ancestral luck.
The air was thick with tension and ambition.
Eventually, the crowded lanes opened into the massive expanse of Spirit Ascension Square, and the sheer scale of the gathering caused Shen Jietian to pause.
It felt as though the entire population of Black Mist City had been crammed into a single stone plaza.
Thousands upon thousands of people filled every available square inch of the area, their voices compounding into a roaring ocean of sound.
The eastern quadrant of the square had been completely cleared and partitioned by a line of solemn Dark Mountain Sect disciples.
Long, orderly rows of anxious children stood inside the boundary, while their terrified parents leaned heavily against the wooden barriers behind them.
Some of the adults looked frantic with excitement, others were visibly trembling with nervousness, and a few looked ready to faint from the psychological weight of the moment.
Moving smoothly through the crowds to maintain absolute order were the active disciples of the Dark Mountain Sect.
Their uniforms were instantly recognizable across the province: long, dark grey robes made of premium spiritual silk, with a majestic black mountain insignia intricately embroidered across the left breast.
Polished steel swords hung uniformly from their waists, and their expressions were universally indifferent, reflecting the supreme coldness of the ruling class.
They were the undisputed masters of this domain, and every single soul in the plaza treated their presence with absolute deference.
The sect fabricated the rules of survival here, and their authority was entirely unquestioned.
Shen Jietian smoothly navigated the fringes of the gathering, utilizing his agility to secure a stable observation spot near the outer edge of the crowd.
Before he could fully settle his stance, a familiar, boisterous voice erupted right beside his ear.
“Move your lean shoulders over a fraction, kid.
You’re completely blocking my view of the grand stage.”
Shen Jietian turned his head to find a massive, portly figure squeezing his way through the dense press of people, expertly balancing two steaming porcelain cups of tea in his thick hands.
It was Fat Sun—the prosperous owner of the Fragrant Leaf Tea House and the most effective, unofficial collector of street rumors in the East Market.
“You actually went through the trouble of bringing hot tea to a public recruitment assembly?” Shen Jietian asked, a trace of amusement in his voice.
Fat Sun grinned widely, extending one of the cups toward the youth.
“A triennial grand assembly is a special occasion, kid.
One must maintain proper hydration to enjoy the theater.”
The tea was of the lowest house grade—bitter, weak, and stripped of almost all spiritual properties—but Shen Jietian accepted it with a polite nod.
The two men stood shoulder to shoulder amidst the roaring crowd, their eyes scanning the partitioned lines.
“The absolute volume of applicants looks significantly vaster than the turnout from three years ago,” Shen Jietian remarked quietly, blowing the steam from his cup.
Fat Sun let out a short, cynical snort, taking a heavy gulp of his own drink.
“Three years ago, you were still a desperate, starving ghost frantically scrambling for a single piece of Spirit Sand in the mud of the outer valley.
You were far too blind to your own survival to ever notice half of the city’s movements, kid.”
Shen Jietian offered no defense, because the old man’s analysis was entirely accurate.
Three years prior, his consciousness had been completely consumed by the crushing weight of his structural poverty.
Suddenly, a sharp, wave-like commotion rippled through the distant edges of the square.
The tightly packed masses of commoners and rogue cultivators spontaneously began to part, moving toward the stone barriers with immense speed as if an invisible plow was carving through the crowd.
The sudden shift indicated that an entity of immense, undisputed social weight had officially crossed the threshold of the plaza.
“Keep your eyes sharp, kid,” Fat Sun muttered, his playful demeanor instantly vanishing as he nodded toward the eastern entrance.
“The grand carriage of the Lu Clan has arrived.”
Several luxurious, heavily gilded carriages drawn by pristine spiritual beasts slowly rolled into the open clearing.
The lacquered wooden panels were adorned with a flowing river surrounding an ancient spiritual coin—the heraldic sigil of the prominent Lu Clan.
A low, reverent murmur spread through the surrounding spectators like a wind sweeping through dry grass.
“It’s Elder Lu Zhengyuan himself…”
“The old master has actually stepped out of his secluded courtyard for the recruitment…”
“I heard whispers in the trading halls that his personal cultivation has already reached the absolute peak of the late Foundation Establishment stage…”
“It must be true.
Without that level of martial suppression, how could their firm continue to protect their shipping monopolies from the rival syndicates?” Find the original chapter at novelping.com.
Shen Jietian’s analytical gaze locked onto the elderly figure exiting the lead carriage.
The old man wore blue-and-gold silk robes of exquisite craftsmanship, secured by a pure white jade belt that pulsed with a faint defensive light.
His eyes were deep, calm, and entirely unblinking.
He radiated absolutely no volatile, aggressive aura, yet simply by standing motionless on the stone pavement, his presence felt completely, fundamentally different from the ordinary cultivators filling the square.
It was as though he occupied an entirely superior tier of reality, looking down at the world from a high mountain.
Shen Jietian felt an involuntary tightening in his chest as he evaluated the master.
Late Foundation Establishment…
To his current Fourth Layer Qi Refinement foundation, that exalted realm represented an unfathomable tier of cosmic power that he couldn’t even realistically begin to map out.
Stepping out from the secondary carriages behind Elder Lu were several younger members of the clan’s direct bloodline.
Among them, a handsome, sharp-featured youth of about fifteen years old immediately captured the undivided attention of the crowd.
“That young noble…
is that the direct scion, Lu Ming?”
“Who else could command such a premium guard detail?”
“The rumors from the commercial district claim his internal accumulation has already broken through to the Third Layer of Qi Refinement…”
Shen Jietian stared at the young noble, his analytical mind quietly running a comparative script.
The Third Layer of Qi Refinement…
at a mere fifteen years of age.
The terrifying, compounding advantage of clan heritage was visible in a single glance.
While an independent loose gatherer had to bleed for seven years in dangerous valleys just to force open a few meridians, a wealthy scion born within the high walls was continuously nourished from infancy with premium alchemical spirit milks, flawless baseline guides, and a limitless supply of pure spiritual herbs.
They initiated the race from the finish line.
Fat Sun leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low rumble as he watched the Lu family take their reserved seats on the high viewing dais.
“The Lu Clan owns nearly every major warehouse asset along the docks, ninety percent of the regional trading companies, and the premier shipping contracts for the mountain ores.
The common brokers say that if you toss a single low-grade spirit stone into the air anywhere within the city limits, there is a literal fifty-fifty probability that it will land inside a Lu Clan vault before the sun sets.”
Shen Jietian let out a dry, quiet chuckle.
“So, in simpler terms, they possess an absolute monopoly on the city’s commerce.”
“Monopoly?” Fat Sun snorted disdainfully, spitting onto the stone floor.
“Boy, they possess enough raw capital to make a wealthy merchant patriarch look like a common beggar.”
A low-level cultivator standing right behind them suddenly leaned in, his voice tight with caution.
“Isn’t that young master Lu Ming the exact same scion who was violently ambushed by a band of rogue cultivators in the northern lanes last winter?”
“The very same,” an older gatherer whispered back, his eyes darting toward the guards.
“I heard the culprit was never identified by the magistrate.”
“Of course they weren’t.
The clan simply demanded results to protect their reputation, so several innocent loose cultivators operating in the district were rounded up and executed as scapegoats to close the ledger.”
The immediate circle of spectators instantly fell into a deathly, rigid silence.
The dangerous topic was completely dropped in a fraction of a second, and nobody dared to expand on the narrative.
Everyone present in the slums understood the unyielding code of the Azure Cloud World: true justice was a commodity that belonged exclusively to the strong.
Before the crowd could fully settle, a secondary disturbance swept through the western entrance of the square.
This time, the surrounding masses moved aside with significantly greater urgency, their faces tight with instinctual fear.
Even the distant Elder Lu turned his sharp gaze toward the entrance, his eyes narrowing slightly.
A middle-aged man clad in stark, unadorned white robes stepped onto the stone pavement.
A massive, snarling white tiger was intricately embroidered across the entire span of his back, the silver threads woven so masterfully that the beast appeared almost living, ready to leap from the fabric.
It was the absolute sigil of the Bai Clan.
Shen Jietian instantaneously felt a strange, invisible weight press down upon his consciousness.
It wasn’t the standard pressure of a superior cultivation base, but something infinitely more primordial and chilling: the raw, unbridled scent of absolute slaughter.
The man walked with a light, silent stride, but his gaze carried the detached coldness of an executioner who had spent his entire natural lifespan harvesting lives.
A seasoned gatherer nearby instinctively lowered his head, whispering hoarsely to his companion, “Lower your eyes, you fool!
Do not stare at him!”
“Who is he?” the younger man asked, hurriedly looking at the dirt.
“That is Bai Zhentian…
the primary enforcer of their bloodline.”
The young cultivator immediately ceased all movement, holding his breath.
Shen Jietian followed the logic of his survival instincts and subtly shifted his focus away as well, refusing to draw any unnecessary attention to his coordinates.
Walking calmly behind the fierce enforcer was a young girl who appeared to be no older than twelve years of age.
She possessed a delicate, cute countenance that seemed completely harmless, yet a heavy steel greatsword that was significantly larger and wider than her entire physical frame was strapped securely across her small back, the dark metal glinting ominously under the morning sun.
The generic smirk completely vanished from Fat Sun’s face, replaced by an involuntary twitch of absolute, genuine caution.
He lowered his voice to a faint murmur that barely carried past Shen Jietian’s ear.
“Listen to me carefully, kid.
If you ever cross paths with an individual wearing the white tiger crest of the Bai Clan anywhere outside the city gates, you shut your mouth, look directly at the dirt, and walk in the opposite direction.
Do not engage in a debate, do not argue, and do not even make direct eye contact.”
Shen Jietian blinked in mild surprise, analyzing the old man’s intense gravity.
“Why?
Are their business methods truly that ruthless?”
“It’s worse than standard ruthlessness, Shen.
They are completely, structurally insane.”
“The entire clan bloodline?”
Fat Sun paused for a brief moment, rubbing his thick chin as he calculated the family’s history.
“Well… You are reading on g.com, the official source.
perhaps not every single infant born to their households.
Let’s just say it applies to the ninety percent who happen to carry steel weapons.” He took a long drag from his cooling tea before continuing.
“They originally initiated their lineage as primitive monster hunters back when Black Mist City was nothing more than a muddy, fortified outpost in the middle of a monster-infested wilderness.
They fought the savage beast packs, cleared the dense mountain crags, and literally bled for every single square inch of this valley for generations.”
“They have accumulated immense power and influence now, sure, but their direct line never lost that feral, bloodthirsty hunting streak.
They don’t have the patience to talk out their commercial disputes, Shen.
They resolve every single conflict through the absolute use of heavy sabers and brute force.”
Shen Jietian quietly logged the critical psychological profile into his records, making a mental note to never, ever provoke an interaction with anyone bearing the tiger sigil.
The final major clan arrival materialized shortly afterward, and the structural impact of their presence was immediate.
As they crossed the threshold, even the indifferent Dark Mountain Sect disciples stationed along the perimeter visibly straightened their postures, their faces reflecting a deep, professional respect.
An elderly man wearing sweeping, crimson silk robes entered the open clearing.
A miniature, three-legged alchemical pill furnace was elegantly embroidered onto his wide sleeves with gold thread.
It was the absolute crest of the Mo Clan.
More specifically, the individual walking at the forefront was Mo Chenghai—a highly prestigious Tier Two Alchemist.
An absolute avalanche of excited whispers instantly spread through the thousands of commoners filling the square.
“It’s Master Mo…”
“The grand old master has actually made a personal appearance today…”
“My cousin who works in the apothecary district swore that Master Mo successfully refined a high-grade Foundation Establishment Pill in his cauldron last season…”
“Incredible…
if that rumor is authentic, then it’s no wonder the sect disciples treat him with such immense politeness.”
Shen Jietian observed the elderly alchemist with sharp, calculating focus.
Unlike the massive wealth radiating from Elder Lu or the chilling intent bleeding from Bai Zhentian, Mo Chenghai exuded absolutely no sense of physical danger or martial suppression.
He possessed the mild, unhurried demeanor of an ordinary old scholar.
Yet, the absolute deference displayed by every single faction in the square proved that his true status was extraordinary.
In the Azure Cloud World, a true alchemist never suffered from a deficit of respect, nor did they ever lack resource capital.
Walking respectfully behind the old master were two young apprentices—a boy and a girl who appeared to be identical twins, their hands tucked neatly into their smaller crimson sleeves.
This time around, Fat Sun didn’t offer a single mocking scoff or a rough curse.
His voice dropped to an incredibly low, conspiratorial murmur that reflected a deep trace of generational resentment.
“The Mo Clan…
those alchemical bastards don’t even draw a single breath of air unless their metrics calculate a definitive profit in the transaction.”
Shen Jietian raised an eyebrow, a slight smile playing on his lips as he tested the broker’s thoughts.
“Ah.
So, they are merely glorified, high-end merchants who happen to handle herbs?”
“I truly wish that were the extent of the problem,” Fat Sun grumbled, his face souring significantly as he stared into his cheap tea.
“It’s infinitely worse, kid.
They are Alchemists.”
Shen Jietian’s posture straightened instantly, the light smile completely vanishing from his face as his dual-world awareness fully aligned.
Alchemists.
Within the structural framework of the cultivation world, medicinal pills were absolutely everything.
They represented the definitive, mathematical boundary between successfully blasting open a lifelong meridian bottleneck or slowly watching your vitality decay until you died of old age as a nameless failure in a slum.
A master alchemist didn’t need to wield a legendary sword or master a world-shaking martial technique; they held the absolute lifeblood and longevity of every single cultivator in the palm of their hand.
They controlled the gate.
“Nearly every single active pill furnace, spiritual herb farm, and high-end apothecary operating within the boundaries of Black Mist City ultimately answers to the registry of the Mo Clan,” Fat Sun continued, his tone heavy with bitterness.
“They systematically hire desperate, resource-starved fools like us to risk our fragile lives gathering raw spiritual plants in the dangerous mountain peaks for mere spirit stones.
Then, they take those raw ingredients, throw them into a cauldron for a night, refine them into a single, high-purity Qi Condensation Pill, and accumulate more raw spirit stones in a single transaction than a lone gatherer will ever witness across three entire lifespans.”
He paused, clearing his throat before adding a vital piece of structural analysis.
“Don’t misinterpret my resentment, Shen.
The Mo Clan isn’t inherently evil or malicious.
The vast majority of established alchemists have no need for cruelty.”
“The reality is simply that they occupy an entirely different world from people like us.
They possess multiple Foundation Establishment ancestors anchoring their compounds, and they control more than enough spirit stones to hire a small army of independent mercenaries to obliterate any threat.
Absolutely nobody in the province wants to court trouble with their firm.
Besides…”
Fat Sun offered a helpless shrug of his heavy shoulders, his eyes tracking the crimson robes.
“There is an endless supply of desperate cultivators who are completely ready to slaughter their own peers just to perform a small, menial favor for an alchemist, hoping to receive a single discarded pill scrap in return.”
A moment later, a sudden, heavy shift occurred in the environment, and the massive Spirit Ascension Square gradually, systematically quieted down.
The chaotic murmur of the thousands of commoners slowed to a crawl, then stopped entirely.
One by one, the independent gatherers, the merchant agents, and even the arrogant viewing elders of the great clans straightened their sashes, their eyes turning slowly upward toward the vast sky above the city walls.
Fat Sun’s casual expression completely hardened, his voice tightening with a level of genuine reverence he hadn’t displayed for any of the previous factions.
“The true sovereign of this region is finally making their descent, kid.”
Shen Jietian followed the collective gaze of the crowd, lifting his head to look through the clear air toward the high heavens.
A massive, world-shaking spiritual pressure was slowly, smoothly descending over the stone tiles of Spirit Ascension Square like a heavy shroud.
The ambient spiritual energy in the air began to vibrate with intense resonance, and the entire city held its breath as a magnificent shadow cleaved through the clouds.
End of Chapter 19
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