Chapter 5: Unexpected News

Insight points could be used to enhance his understanding of talismans. Divine comprehension points could be used to improve his spiritual root scale.

That night, Shen Lian allowed himself the rare luxury of imagining the future.

Yes, he couldn’t sleep.

There was no other reason; he simply felt that immortality was finally within reach.

Dawn.

A blood-curdling scream shattered the pre-dawn silence.

The shrill cry jolted Shen Lian awake, sending a tremor through his body.

All his beautiful daydreams were swept away, and the scream yanked him back to reality.

He was all too familiar with that hoarse, desperate sound.

After more than half a year here, he’d heard it dozens of times.

Someone must have been gutted again.

Shen Lian got up, but didn’t open the door.

Instead, he crouched by the doorway, prying loose a wooden slat to reveal a small crack.

He’d made this himself—a little peephole, his own lookout post.

He’d spent plenty of time spying on the outside world through it this past half year.

His eyes darted back and forth as he took in the scene outside.

Across the way, a dozen or so figures clustered around a house, ten yards away.

“So Friend Feng fell victim to a devil cultivator too.”

“These fiends are like vermin lurking in the shadows—impossible to guard against!”

The cultivators outside cursed and swore.

Listening to their complaints, Shen Lian pulled his clothes tighter around him.

The Biyue Sect had recruited itinerant cultivators without regard for background, which naturally meant all sorts of people had slipped in among them.

The most vicious of the lot were the devil cultivators.

They were the lowest of the low.

Ordinary rogue cultivators might rob you for your possessions, maybe kill you if they were ruthless.

But devil cultivators coveted your very body.

Anyone targeted by a devil cultivator faced the very real risk of having their heart and organs ripped out.

Before long, the Biyue Sect’s law enforcement team arrived, late as usual.

No one was surprised.

The bigwigs of Biyue Sect couldn’t care less about the life or death of some itinerant cultivators.

“The next batch of talismans I craft—I can’t sell them all. I’ll have to keep a few for self-defense.”

After watching the commotion through the crack, Shen Lian made up his mind.

In the past, he’d been dirt poor, so down-and-out he didn’t care what happened—he had nothing to lose.

But now things were different—he at least had shoes on his feet, so he couldn’t wallow in the mud any longer.

The law enforcement team came and went quickly, taking away what was left of Friend Feng’s body.

The crowd dispersed.

Shen Lian returned to his bed, took out a Miasma-Clearing Pill, and swallowed it.

In the blink of an eye, half a month went by.

During this time, Shen Lian’s routine remained unchanged.

Sleep.

Gnaw on sweet potatoes.

Craft talismans.

Apart from going out to relieve himself, he almost never left his room.

The twenty sheets of talisman paper he’d bought last time had all been turned into Fire Talismans.

Now, his talisman brush could last for another twenty uses or so, but both his spiritual ink and talisman paper were completely used up.

Thanks to the system’s inheritance of the Talisman Dao, Shen Lian had already mastered the production of first-grade low-level talismans.

When making them, he used less spiritual ink than other talisman crafters.

Where others could squeeze at most fifteen talismans from a bottle, he could get eighteen.

With the dregs from his previous bottle, he managed to make twenty this time.

Moreover, after finishing a whole bottle of Miasma-Clearing Pills, most of the miasma in his body had been expelled.

His spiritual power now flowed more smoothly than before.

With one more bottle, he estimated he could purge all the miasma.

Then he’d be able to buy cultivation pills to improve his strength.

Ever since he’d transmigrated here, he’d barely cultivated at all—a prospect he now looked forward to keenly.

After tidying up, he opened his door and stepped outside.

Coincidentally, the tenant next door stepped out as well—a middle-aged cultivator.

Shen Lian nodded and hurried away.

He remembered that last month, his neighbor had been a young woman.

But that was nothing new.

The month before, it had been a gaunt old man.

His neighbors had changed several times in the past half-year—more frequently than the reaping of leeks.

They were little more than nodding acquaintances.

This time, as he walked through the market streets, Shen Lian’s expression was quite different from before.

Yes, there was light in his eyes.

“Ah, the devil cultivators are at it again—someone in the alley died last night.”

“The elders of Biyue Sect arrived late again; the devil cultivator got away.”

Snatches of conversation drifted by, and Shen Lian quickened his pace.

After passing beneath the stone archway, he glanced at the surrounding shops.

He finally settled on the Treasure Pavilion.

The shop was busy today.

He found a quiet corner to wait for the steward to finish his business.

“Friend Shen, thank you for waiting.”

Weng Xia saw off a customer, then came over to greet him.

It had been half a month, but Weng Xia still remembered that the last time Shen Lian had come to sell talismans.

“Please, this way.”

They went to a small counter, and Weng Xia asked, “Are you here to sell talismans again?”

Shen Lian nodded, taking out fourteen Fire Talismans from his storage pouch.

Weng Xia examined them closely.

“It seems you’ve improved your talisman-making skills, Friend. Longevity is within reach.”

He recalled that last time, Shen Lian had sold twelve Fire Talismans, and bought twenty sheets of talisman paper.

Now he was selling fourteen.

No wonder Weng Xia was so deft with words—he always made people feel at ease.

Even a poor, low-grade five-spirit-root cultivator like Shen Lian felt a little lightheaded from the praise.

No wonder Weng Xia could be a steward, while Shen Lian had been rejected even for a menial job at the Treasure Pavilion.

Shen Lian returned a polite smile. “Please, Steward, could I have another bottle of spiritual ink, two packs of talisman paper, and a bottle of Miasma-Clearing Pills?”

Weng Xia moved quickly, handing over the requested items along with six extra spirit stones.

“Friend Shen, do you happen to know how to make Miasma-Clearing Talismans? If so, our pavilion will buy them for five spirit stones each.”

Shen Lian was taken aback. How could he not know about Miasma-Clearing Talismans?

He’d wanted to make them from the very start.

They always sold well in the market for five low-grade spirit stones apiece.

Now Treasure Pavilion was offering five spirit stones to buy—demand must be high.

A single Miasma-Clearing Talisman cost about two and a half spirit stones to make and required two to three times the effort of crafting a Fire Talisman.

Given his former consumptive state, there was no way he could have managed it.

That’s why, when choosing which talismans to make, he’d put the Miasma-Clearing Talisman aside for the time being.

“Friend Shen, you’ve been so focused on crafting, you probably haven’t heard the big news.

Thirty-six miles outside Yunmeng Market, a new mineral vein was discovered.

Many cultivators in the Qi Refining stage have had good fortune there; someone even found a second-grade Red Iron Ore.”

“That’s quite a stroke of luck,” Shen Lian said, unable to suppress a twinge of envy.

Second-grade ore was material for forging Foundation Establishment artifacts.

Even an ordinary fist-sized chunk was worth more than five hundred spirit stones.

He nearly ground his back teeth to dust—why couldn’t he be the one to stumble upon such a prize?

“Would you be interested in seeking some fortune yourself?” Weng Xia asked with a chuckle.

“I’m not much of a runner—I won’t join the scramble,” Shen Lian replied without hesitation.

What a joke. In the past, he had no other choice.

Now that he’d finally become a talisman master and could make a living selling Miasma-Clearing Talismans, why risk life and limb?