Capítulo 16 — Economy
The black dust of Zhao Ming’s letter still floated in the cold mountain air current when Xue Huang’s voice resonated in Shen Tian’s mind.
"I must admit it, brat, your ability to find resources in garbage is remarkable," said the Blood Empress, materializing her astral figure on the stone balcony. She crossed her arms, observing him with genuine curiosity. "A lower-rank servant, trapped at the base of a sectarian mountain, manages to secure a personal spy within a noble family in Dust Border City. How the hell did you force that boy Zhao’s loyalty?"
Shen Tian shook the ash from his fingers.
"I invented the whole thing," he responded in a monotone tone, his gaze fixed on the dark abyss stretching beneath Clear Wind Peak. "A few weeks ago, the servant Zhao Ming tried to escape with a treasure belonging to the Zhao Family. I subdued him in an alley and made him swallow a mud pill with impurities. I told him it was an esoteric poison that would devour his meridians if he didn’t take a monthly antidote that only I possess."
Xue Huang blinked.
"An imaginary poison?" she asked, and a perverse smile began to draw itself on her lips.
"The antidote I sent him today through the cart drivers’ supply routes is simply rainwater boiled with bitter lotus root," Shen Tian explained, turning to walk back inside his new quarters. "The pain he feels each month springs from his own paranoia. I only told him he would feel an icy burn; his mind does the rest. As long as his fear is real, his loyalty will be absolute."
The ancestor let out a cold, melodious laugh that resonated in the astral plane.
"You are a little devil," Xue Huang murmured, shaking her head. Inside her, a spark of dark respect ignited. She had known demonic patriarchs who required three-day blood rituals to secure a slave. This fifteen-year-old adolescent had achieved it with a piece of mud and pure terror.
Once inside his new quarters in the Alchemy Pavilion—a private volcanic stone room, far superior to the servants’ hut—Shen Tian sat in the lotus position on the bed.
During the past week, between his shifts at the Alchemy Pavilion, Shen Tian had quietly invested two hundred Suppression Points in his alchemical craft: a batch of rare reagent stabilizers from the System Shop, and a minor optimization of his Pill Purification function that improved his success rate with mid-grade pills. The investment had already paid for itself in the Alchemy Pavilion’s productivity quotas.
He had 1,430 Suppression Points in his balance. The time had come to make the qualitative leap.
The System had unlocked two new functions after reaching Level 10, and this was the moment to put them to use. The first was "Break the Mortal Bottleneck," which allowed him to force an advance by paying Suppression Points, though the cost was astronomical. The second was the expansion of Pill Purification to "Material Purification," which now extended beyond medicines to minerals, herbs, and other spiritual materials.
He closed his eyes and connected his consciousness to the blue interface.
[Command received: Break the Mortal Bottleneck.]
[Cost: 1,000 Suppression Points.]
[Confirm?]
"A thousand points for a single advance," Xue Huang whistled in her mind. "Your tool is not cheap, brat. I hope it’s worth it."
Shen Tian accepted.
Instantly, an invisible and crushing force descended upon his Sea of Consciousness. The process of condensing Qi into spiritual liquid usually took years of meditation for elite disciples, and half of them died or went mad from the pressure of the energy destroying their blood vessels. But Shen Tian possessed the Tenth Hidden Meridian.
The System’s pure energy flowed like a torrent through the nine regular meridians, expanding them, pushing them to the limit of rupture, before being violently sucked by the tenth channel. There, under the extreme compression of "Great Perfection," the gaseous Qi collapsed upon itself.
A drop of silver liquid fell to the bottom of his Dantian. Then another.
The pain was atrocious, as if they were replacing his spinal marrow with boiling lead, but Shen Tian’s expression held steady. After one hundred and thirty-five years of torture and failures in his past life, this pain was an old friend welcoming him back.
[!Breakthrough Successful!]
[Current Cultivation Base: Foundation Establishment — Level 1.]
[Current balance: 430 Suppression Points.]
Shen Tian exhaled a cloud of grayish vapor. He felt the density of the spiritual liquid coursing through his body; his physical strength had multiplied tenfold, and his senses could now capture the movement of an insect a hundred meters away. He had left behind the realm of common mortals.
Martial power, however, answered a different question than the one before him. The Black Market auction on Shadow Street required massive funds. Bursting in with drawn blade would only summon cultivators of the Golden Core Realm, and Dust Border City operated under the indirect jurisdiction of several sects. He needed to play the game. He needed money.
Stealing ingredients from Master Tang was too risky. The elder controlled the inventory with a sickly paranoia. Yet one thing escaped Tang Songyang’s obsessive inventory: the garbage.
Shen Tian pulled a coarse cloth sack from under his bed. During the afternoon, he had collected depleted spirit stones, crystallized slag, and burnt jade fragments that Master Tang discarded after stabilizing the extreme temperatures of the alchemy furnaces. To any cultivator, these stones were dead rocks.
To Shen Tian, they were raw material.
He dumped the darkened stones onto the stone floor. Dozens of them covered the ground. He invoked the System’s Material Purification function, expanded after his advance to Foundation Establishment.
[Mass purification cost calculation: 300 Suppression Points.]
[Remaining balance: 130 Suppression Points.]
[Executing...]
A flash of immaculate light bathed the dead rocks. The soot and thermal impurities disintegrated into the air, and the residual Qi in the atmosphere was abruptly sucked into the cores of the stones. When the light dissipated, what remained on the floor was a mound of hexagonal crystals of a resplendent blue, pure and cut with impossible geometric precision.
"Purify garbage?" Xue Huang narrowed her eyes. "Interesting. Your tool can turn waste into gold. That is more useful than it seems."
Shen Tian took one of the crystals and evaluated it by candlelight.
As he calculated his new wealth, he mentally reviewed the economic structure of the Deep Heaven Continent. The mortal world operated with the Yuan Fang—the classic copper or bronze coins with the square center—and the Tong Qian. For light dealings with sects, there was the Ling Tong, copper fused with infinitesimal traces of Qi. Those were the coins of the plebeians.
In the real world, that of cultivators, the currency was power itself.
At the lowest stratum operated the Ling Qian, simple spirit stone coins. At the middle level dominated the Ling Jing, the Qi Crystals, which were exactly what he had just synthesized. A single crystal of this purity was equivalent to the salary of ten years of an entire mortal family. In the upper strata, transactions were made with Xian Sui (Immortal Marrow) and the Yin Ling (credit Seals of the great sects). Above all existed the Yong Jing, the Eternal Crystal, but that was territory of kings and venerables.
He drew a black silk pouch from his tunic and stored the crystals in it. Now he possessed the necessary capital to financially crush any minor family.
Shen Tian looked at the remaining balance on his interface: 130 Suppression Points. A miserable figure. It could stretch to one more purification at most, or a minor purchase in the Shop, and nothing beyond. He would need to obtain more points soon, or the System would become an unreachable luxury.
"Do not worry about the numbers, brat," Xue Huang said, guessing his thoughts. "Points are like Qi: they accumulate with patience and are spent with precision. Now you have something more valuable: information. And information, well used, is worth more than a thousand crystals."
Hundreds of kilometers away, in the opulent Clear River City, rain pounded the enameled porcelain roofs of the Lin Clan’s main estate.
In a hall illuminated by night pearls, the atmosphere was tense. Lin Zi Pang, the clan patriarch, a man with broad shoulders and a scar crossing his jaw, paced back and forth in front of a black sandalwood table.
Sitting lazily in a chair carved with tiger motifs was Lin Xiao.
The young master wore white silk tunics embroidered with gold threads. His face was aristocratic, with sharp features and eyes full of languid arrogance. He twirled a jade wine cup between his fingers, listening to his father with feigned interest.
"Our spies confirm that the object will be the centerpiece at the Black Market auction on Shadow Street, at the border," said Lin Zi Pang, stopping and placing both fists on the table. "I don’t care how many crystals it costs. That object is the key to the inheritance our family has tracked for three generations. If we obtain it, the Lin Clan will no longer have to pay homage to the local sects. We will become a power that the sects will respect."
Lin Xiao took a sip of wine and smiled, showing perfectly white teeth.
"Father, you have been repeating the same thing since I was a child. ’The Sword Elder’s inheritance,’ ’the legacy that belongs to us by right,’ ’the future of the clan’..." He set the cup down on the table with an elegant gesture. "Don’t you think it’s time you stopped obsessing over a map that isn’t even complete?"
Lin Zi Pang stopped dead. His face, weathered by decades of intrigue and minor wars, tensed.
"It is not an obsession, Xiao’er. It is our only opportunity. The Lin Clan has been stagnant at the Golden Core frontier for three generations. We have money, we have land, we have reputation... but we do not have real power. The sects treat us like merchants with delusions of grandeur. The capital clans look down on us. Do you know what that means? It means that if tomorrow a sect decides to annex our lands, no one will lift a finger to help us."
"And you think an incomplete map will change that," Lin Xiao murmured, in a tone bordering on disdain.
"That map leads to the secret cave of the Sword Elder," the patriarch responded, striking the table with his palm. "A cultivator of the Nascent Soul Realm who disappeared eight hundred years ago. His legacy includes sword techniques, longevity pills, and, according to the records we have gathered, a fragment of the Immortal Heart Manual. If we obtain that, our clan will be able to produce a Golden Core expert in less than a generation. Perhaps even a Nascent Soul."
Lin Xiao raised an eyebrow, interested for the first time in the conversation.
"A fragment of the Immortal Heart Manual?" he repeated, letting out a soft laugh. "Father, if that were true, we would not be talking about an auction at the border. We would be talking about a war between major sects."
"That is precisely why we must move quickly and in silence," said Lin Zi Pang, lowering his voice. "The auction is in Dust Border City, a location beneath the great sects’ notice. The Zhao have organized everything. They are a dying family, but they have contacts in the black market. They have offered us the information in exchange for protection."
"The Zhao," Lin Xiao repeated, with a disdainful smile. "That family of rats that cannot even control its own territory. And you trust them?"
"I trust no one," the patriarch responded, harshly. "But I need them. They have the map. We have the money. And after the auction, if they try to betray us..." He paused, and his gaze turned icy. "...we will crush them."
Lin Xiao remained silent for a moment. Then, he stood up with a fluid movement, smoothing the folds of his silk tunic.
"Fine, father. I will not go to that rat auction myself," he said, with a smile that did not reach his eyes. "I will send my personal envoy. He knows how to negotiate with merchants and how to keep his mouth shut about clan business. Let him be the face of the Lin Clan at the border."
Lin Zi Pang frowned, visibly displeased.
"Xiao’er, the map is the key to our future. This is not a minor errand. Sending an envoy to a nest of rats without proper protection is an insult to the gravity of the situation."
"Which is precisely why I will send Elder Mo with him," Lin Xiao responded, with a cutting tone. "Father, I have spent a decade attending auctions and tournaments. I have seen young masters of minor clans be humiliated for not knowing when to retreat. Presence wins where brute force fails. My envoy will be that presence. And Elder Mo will be the wall behind him."
The patriarch looked at him in silence for several seconds. Then, he let out a sigh charged with resignation.
"You have always been as stubborn as your mother," Lin Zi Pang murmured. "Fine. Elder Mo will accompany the envoy, with four elite guards at the pinnacle of Qi Condensation. Their purpose is to signal to others that the Lin Clan does not send its heir alone into a nest of rats."
Lin Xiao inclined his head, accepting the compromise.
"Elder Mo and four guards. Nothing more. And if the auction gets complicated, I have given the envoy orders to withdraw. I am not so arrogant as to die for a map I never held in my hands."
"You had better not be," the patriarch said, with a mixture of pride and concern. "You are the future of the clan, Xiao’er. I cannot allow..."
"I know, father," Lin Xiao interrupted, in a softer tone. "I know."
He turned toward the door, but before leaving, he stopped and looked over his shoulder.
"One more thing. Have you heard anything about the Zhao Family in recent months? Rumors, disappearances, something unusual."
Lin Zi Pang frowned, surprised by the question.
"Why do you ask?"
"Simple curiosity," Lin Xiao responded, with an enigmatic smile. "I heard they lost an important jade fragment. An object of incalculable value. And I wondered if that had anything to do with the auction."
The patriarch shook his head.
"I do not know. But if the Zhao are desperate, better for us. Desperate people make mistakes."
"True," Lin Xiao murmured, opening the door. "Desperate people make mistakes."
He left the hall, leaving his father alone with his thoughts. The rain continued to pound the enameled porcelain roofs, and the cold night wind slipped through the cracks in the windows.
Lin Zi Pang remained staring at the wine cup his son had left on the table. It was empty.
"My envoy will bring the object, father," Lin Xiao had said. "It will be mine, just like everything I desire in this world."
The patriarch hoped that confidence rested on something firmer than pride.
Back on Clear Wind Peak, Shen Tian faced a logistical problem.
He had the level and the crystals, but time was against him. The auction in Dust Border City was less than a week away. As the second personal assistant of the Alchemy Pavilion, his prolonged absence would immediately raise alarms. Master Tang Songyang would not tolerate the disappearance of his new prodigy, and Deacon Zhang would interpret any escape as a betrayal, sending trackers to hunt him down.
He needed to be in two places at the same time.
Shen Tian sat on the edge of his stone bed, elbows resting on his knees, fingers interlaced before his mouth. The candle on the nightstand cast a wavering light over the volcanic walls. In his mind, the pieces of the board arranged and rearranged themselves with the cold precision of a man who had spent a century calculating survival.
’Think, Shen Tian. Think like the servant they believe you are, not like the cultivator you have become.’
The first option was the most obvious: request a leave of absence. A personal errand, a family matter, a minor ailment requiring a visit to the mortal healers of the valley. But Tang Songyang had just promoted him. The old alchemist’s paranoia would interpret any request for absence as a sign of weakness, or worse, as preparation for theft. A servant who asks for permission to leave is a servant who has something to hide. Discarded.
The second option was to flee without warning. Cross the mountain paths at night, reach Dust Border City in three days, attend the auction, and return before anyone noticed. But the distance was vast, and the sect patrols covered the main roads. Even at his new Foundation Establishment speed, a cultivator of his rank moving alone at night would leave traces. And if Deacon Zhang discovered his absence, the old man would not simply send a reprimand. He would send hunters. Discarded.
The third option was the most dangerous, and the one his instincts whispered was correct: do not attend the auction in person. Send someone in his place.
Shen Tian’s fingers tightened around each other.
He had Zhao Ming inside the Zhao Family, but Zhao Ming was a terrified servant with trembling hands and no combat capability. Sending him to bid against Lin Xiao would be the equivalent of throwing a lamb into a den of wolves. The boy would be recognized, interrogated, and broken before the first lot was called.
He needed another piece. A piece that could move in Dust Border City without raising suspicion, carry his instructions, and execute them with absolute loyalty. He needed someone who owed him everything and feared him more than death.
Shen Tian closed his eyes and reviewed his ledger of debts.