The looming sect mission weighed on Wang Ba’s mind like a stone.

It didn’t help that Yu Changchun, who had solemnly vowed to arrange a simple task for him, turned out to be completely unreliable. The man hadn’t brought back a single scrap of useful information.

Amidst these days filled with anxiety, Wang Ba finally welcomed the great hatching wave of his Rare Fowl.

One by one, the eggs began to tremble. Tiny beaks, pink and determined, pecked at the shells from the inside, creating small, spiderweb fractures. Slowly, the cracks expanded until the shells broke open.

Little creatures, resembling fluffy white glutinous rice balls, stumbled out. Their beady black eyes peered through the jagged holes of their prisons, surveying the world for the first time.

The process was slow, usually taking anywhere from half a day to two full days.

If a chick took longer than that, Wang Ba had to intervene personally, peeling away the shell to prevent the chick from suffocating. Even with his vigilance, a few chicks didn’t make it, dying inside their shells before he could reach them.

There was simply no other way. There were too many eggs. Even with his heightened cultivator senses, he couldn’t monitor every single one of the thousands of struggling lives.

The mother hens, however, looked as if a great burden had been lifted.

For the past twenty days, they had barely moved from their nests, leaving only to snatch a quick bite of food before returning to ensure the eggs remained evenly heated. They were exhausted. Their bodies, once round and plump, had visibly deflated, leaving them haggard and thin.

But their hard work yielded a bountiful return—Wang Ba harvested nearly 3,000 Rare Fowl chicks.

Wang Ba was pleased. Truly pleased.

To reward the mothers for their sacrifice, he specially prepared a feast of extra spirit insects and spirit grain bran. His generosity, however, was calculated. He planned to fatten them up so he could use the ‘Prime Yang Inversion Technique’ in a few days to inject them with fresh Prime Yang and start the cycle all over again.

Unaware of Wang Ba’s sinister, capitalist intentions, the mother hens clucked happily, leading their army of chicks toward the feed troughs with eager, wobbly steps.

The scene in the chicken farm was nothing short of spectacular.

Thousands of creamy, fluffy balls of down followed behind the large hens. They tottered along, occasionally tripping over their own feet, only to flap their tiny, useless wings and scramble back up…

It was almost too cute. Wang Ba couldn’t bear to watch. It softened his heart, which was dangerous for a pragmatist.

He turned his attention to business.

Over the recent period, he had gathered over ten thousand ordinary Rare Fowl eggs. He kept a portion to boil for the Yellow-throated Spirit Turtles, but the vast majority were carefully packed into crates.

He made several trips to the South Lake Market, selling the bulk to the ‘Spirit Chow Shop.’

The haul netted him 9 Spirit Stones.

Pocketing the stones, he took a stroll around the market. Having not visited for over a month, the changes were obvious. The streets were bustling, filled with unfamiliar faces.

A designated ‘Stall Area’ had even appeared.

However, it was sparsely populated, with only a dozen or so cultivators displaying their wares.

Wang Ba’s heart stirred. Why don’t I set up a stall and sell Spirit Poultry directly?

Although he was only at the first layer of Qi Refining, he was still a cultivator. Peddling chickens wouldn’t be too out of place.

He found the middle-aged deacon managing the area to inquire about a spot. The answer he received was a splash of cold water.

“Only Heavenly Gate Sect disciples or Outer Sect Left-Path Cultivators of Grade Five or higher have permission to set up stalls,” the deacon stated flatly.

“Grade Five Outer Sect Left-Path Cultivator?” Wang Ba blinked, confused. “When was this system established?”

“It’s on your Heavenly Gate Token. Inject your Spiritual Power into it and look,” the deacon replied with evident impatience.

Wang Ba hurriedly infused his Spiritual Power into the token at his waist. A small light screen projected into the air. In an inconspicuous corner, he found his ranking.

Grade One.

“This…” Wang Ba put on his best sycophantic smile. “Dare I ask, what must one do to rise to Grade Five?”

The middle-aged deacon glanced at him sideways, his eyes dripping with disdain. “You? Don’t even dream of reaching Grade Five in this lifetime!”

Wang Ba didn’t get angry. He had seen this kind of arrogance too many times. A little mockery couldn’t even scratch the surface of his Dao Heart.

Maintaining his smile, he discreetly slid a Spirit Stone into the deacon’s hand.

The deacon felt the smooth texture of the stone. His expression softened instantly.

“Ahem. Well, reaching Grade Five isn’t necessarily impossible.”

It was only one Spirit Stone, but free money was free money. The deacon’s attitude shifted from dismissive to informative.

“Although Outer Sect Left-Path Cultivators are not truly part of the sect, you work for us, and your labor has merit. To give those with aspirations for longevity a sliver of hope, the previous Sect Master established a path for promotion.”

“Grade One is the lowest; Grade Five is the highest. Surpassing Grade Five allows you to formally enter the Heavenly Gate Sect, where your status will be determined by cultivation and merit.”

“Each grade grants different privileges,” the deacon explained, pocketing the stone. “Grade One allows you to stay within the Heavenly Gate Sect’s territory and enjoy our protection. Aside from lacking the welfare benefits of true disciples, it’s mostly the same.”

“Grade Two grants minor discounts in sect markets. Grade Three allows use of the teleportation arrays to travel between the five outposts. Grade Four… and Grade Five allows you to set up stalls in the market. Of course, there is a tax. Fifty percent of your income.”

“As for raising your grade, it’s simple. Three paths: complete missions assigned by the sect, earn merit during wartime conscription, or make other significant contributions.”

Wang Ba was internally screaming at the sheer black-heartedness of the Heavenly Gate Sect.

Even at Grade Five, after clawing your way up, they take a fifty percent tax on your stall?

That’s more ruthless than a blood-sucking landlord!

Does no one just barter privately to avoid this?

“Oh, right,” the deacon added, as if reading his mind. “When trading with Spirit Stones, it’s best to record the transaction using your Heavenly Gate Token. Economic activity counts as ‘contribution value’ and can help raise your grade faster.”

“Of course, this only applies to transactions with official shops in the market. Private deals aren’t recognized.”

Wang Ba was speechless. He should have known. The Heavenly Gate Sect wouldn’t leave such a massive loophole. If you wanted to climb the ladder, you had to feed the beast.

He pointed at the cultivators in the stall area. “Did they reach Grade Five so quickly? It’s only been a month. There haven’t been any missions or conscriptions yet, right?”

“Them?” The deacon didn’t even look up. “They’re from the other outposts. The teleportation array was just completed a few days ago. They probably couldn’t make it out there, so they ran here to try their luck.”

Wang Ba nodded slowly.

He bid farewell to the deacon and wandered over to the stall area.

Upon closer inspection, he realized why the deacon was so dismissive. These cultivators all bore a thick aura of ferocity. Their eyes were sharp, their postures guarded—these were people who had seen blood.

Looking down at their wares, Wang Ba noticed faint, dried bloodstains on the Magical Artifacts and pill bottles they were selling.

War loot.

If he didn’t know that violence was strictly prohibited inside the market, he would have turned around and ran as far as possible.

He stopped in front of a gray-robed cultivator who sat meditating with closed eyes.

Next to his wares, the man had hung a piece of cloth with crude writing: Buying large quantities of low-grade spirit beasts. Species irrelevant.

Wang Ba’s eyes, however, were drawn to a Storage Bag on the stall. It was stained with a smudge of dark blood, but it was exactly what he needed.

Just as he was about to speak, the middle-aged manager of the stall area stormed over. His face was dark as he barked at the gray-robed man.

“Yang Cheng! Do you have a death wish?! How dare you collect goods here!”

The gray-robed cultivator, Yang Cheng, snapped his eyes open. He forced a stiff, ingratiating smile. “Ah, Deacon Zhong. Hehe, rest assured, my purchase prices are lower than the shops. I won’t steal their business.”

“That is not the point!” Deacon Zhong roared. “If the inspectors see this, they’ll blame me for poor management! Take it down immediately! If I see that sign again, don’t even think about stepping foot in this market!”

“Yes, yes, yes! I’ll listen to you!”

Yang Cheng hurriedly ripped the cloth down.

Satisfied, the deacon stomped away.

The moment his back was turned, the smile on Yang Cheng’s face vanished instantly. A flicker of pure, unadulterated malice flashed in his eyes.

Wang Ba saw it all.

The thought of trading his Spirit Poultry for that Storage Bag evaporated instantly.

That is a dangerous man.

A man like that held grudges and knew how to hide his intent. Wang Ba wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.

He continued to circle the market. The things he wanted were too expensive; the cheap things were useless. In the end, he didn’t spend a single stone on goods.

He hesitated for a long while before approaching the ‘First-Rank Cultivation Chamber’ located at the very center of the market.

He asked about the price, and the answer nearly made him choke.

“10 Spirit Stones for one hour. This is a one-time-only trial price per person!”

“Next time, it will be 30 Spirit Stones per hour!”

“This chamber is built directly atop a First-Rank High-Grade Spirit Vein,” the bald cultivator on duty pitched, his voice flowing like a river. “The concentration of Spiritual Qi is immense. It allows for uninterrupted, high-efficiency cultivation.”

Wang Ba was swayed.

His primary fear was the upcoming mission. If it turned out to be dangerous, his low cultivation base would be a death sentence. He needed every advantage he could get.

Gritting his teeth, he took out the Spirit Stones he had saved, combined with the 9 he just earned from the eggs. He activated his Heavenly Gate Token to record the transaction and purchased one hour.

He set two hourglass timers—one outside with the attendant, and one he carried in with him.

The chamber was tiny, less than three meters wide and long.

There was nothing inside but a single meditation cushion. No decorations, no comforts.

Wang Ba didn’t care. The moment the door sealed, he scrambled onto the cushion, crossing his legs and activating the Ren Water Four-Defense Art.

The instant he began his cycle, his eyes snapped open in shock.

The difference is night and day!

Rich, heavy Spiritual Qi swarmed him from all directions.

Back at the chicken farm, absorbing Qi was like trying to drink from a damp rag—he had to drag, pull, and strain to extract even a drop.

Here? It was like being waterboarded with energy. The Spiritual Qi didn’t need to be pulled; it jammed itself into his pores and flooded his Dantian.

He didn’t need to spend time filtering impurities or guiding the flow. The density was so high it did the work for him.

The efficiency gap was more than ten times greater.

In mere moments, a strand of gaseous Spiritual Power condensed in his core.

Every pore on his body opened wide, greedily drinking in the omnipresent energy. His body and mind felt a sense of sublimation, a euphoric high that nearly made him moan aloud.

So satisfying!

He finally understood why Lin Yu back in Ding Ninth Village endured the rumors and mockery just to mooch off others’ spirit veins.

Honestly? For this feeling, Wang Ba would be willing to lose some face too.

Time lost all meaning. Before he knew it, the hour was up.

The flow of Spiritual Qi abruptly cut off.

Wang Ba jolted, feeling a jarring sense of incompleteness. It was an awful sensation, like being left hanging in mid-air right before a climax.

He checked his Dantian. Forty new strands of gaseous Spiritual Power swirled within.

A satisfied smile broke across his face.

If I calculate it at the standard price of 30 Spirit Stones per hour… it’s actually not as cost-effective as eating Spirit Poultry.

But he could only eat one Spirit Poultry a day, and one male bird only provided about 5 strands of Spiritual Power.

He would need to eat for eight days to match what he just accomplished in one hour.

Money could buy time. It was expensive, but undeniably fast.

He walked out of the cultivation chamber, his money pouch empty but his Dantian full. As he oriented himself, he saw a heavily made-up old woman standing not far away.

She caught his eye and waved a handkerchief, smiling suggestively.

“Fellow Daoist, would you like to come see our cultivation rooms? We have spirit veins here too… and other services to help you relax.”