Time was running out.

Deacon Li was scheduled to arrive tomorrow.

Despite the looming deadline, Wang Ba moved with methodical calm. He fermented the chicken feed, fed the flock, and swept the coop, ensuring every chore was completed to his usual standard.

By the time he finished, evening had set in.

The market would be closing soon.

Yet, Wang Ba wasn’t anxious. In fact, this was a calculated move.

During the day, the markets were crowded. Too many eyes. Carrying a large shipment of Spirit Poultry in broad daylight would inevitably attract unwanted attention.

If a cultivator happened to pass by, there was a chance they might see through his disguise. Wang Ba wasn’t arrogant enough to believe his “Yin Spirit Power” was impenetrable.

Going just before closing time significantly reduced the risk.

But the most critical factor was the mechanics of the ability itself.

The more people I need to deceive, the faster the Yin Spirit Power drains, Wang Ba reminded himself. Deceiving Old Hou and Niu Yong only consumed about one-twentieth of my reserves. That was manageable.

But if he had to maintain a disguise in a bustling market, shielding his true form from hundreds of gazes at once? A single drop of Yin Spirit Power wouldn’t last five minutes.

He had to avoid the human tide.

After a moment of hesitation, he hoisted the bamboo basket containing thirteen Spirit Poultry onto his back.

He had kept the male Spirit Poultry—the one that had successfully mated—as a breeder to replace “Jia Er,” which he had sold previously.

That left four Spirit Poultry hidden in the villa: the two roosters, Jia Yi and Jia Er (the replacement), and two hens, Jia San and Jia Si.

Tonight, his destination wasn’t the nearby West Garden Market. Instead, he headed in the opposite direction, toward the ‘South Lake Market.’

Situated in a valley beside the South Lake, the market was nestled against mountains and water, boasting superb scenery.

Although it was still part of the Sect’s Laborer District, it was on the extreme periphery. A few miles further south, and one would leave the territory of the Eastern Sage Sect entirely.

Of course, the borders were patrolled by Outer Sect Disciples. A lowly laborer like him had no hope of slipping past their Immortal methods.

Not that Wang Ba intended to leave.

Despite the restrictions, this place was his sanctuary. Outside the Sect, where would he find a safe haven to raise Spirit Poultry and harvest Lifespan? Where else could he get free sacks of chicken feed?

Besides, he needed the market to restock his supply of Rare Fowl.

Perhaps due to the empowerment from the Third Layer of the Physique Strengthening Scripture, Wang Ba moved swiftly, his steps light despite the heavy load of thirteen magical chickens.

He stuck to the shadows, avoiding head-on encounters with other travelers. Every person he passed was a waste of Yin Spirit Power.

Fortunately, his timing was impeccable. The road was nearly deserted. South Lake Market was remote, and few cultivator clans lived in this vicinity.

He arrived at the market entrance without incident.

Unlike the bustling commercial hub of West Garden, South Lake Market was quieter, with noticeably fewer storefronts. There were only two grain depots in the entire settlement.

A few pedestrians hurried along the narrow, bluestone-paved streets. Some glanced at Wang Ba, but their gazes slid off him indifferently.

In their eyes, they saw a middle-aged man in a nondescript brown robe, hunched under the weight of a large bamboo basket. The basket was silent, likely filled with herbs or firewood.

Inside his mind, Wang Ba could feel the droplet in his Yin Spirit Abode shrinking.

He quickened his pace.

He had scouted the route beforehand. He navigated the winding alleys with familiarity and soon arrived at his destination.

[Burning Blade Grain Shop]

Wang Ba let out a silent breath of relief. Apart from the shopkeeper and a young assistant tidying up the shelves, the shop was empty.

The drain on his Yin Spirit Power immediately slowed to a crawl.

Good. I still have nearly seven-tenths left.

“We’re closing soon. Look quickly if you’re buying,” the shopkeeper called out lazily.

He was a well-fed, middle-aged man with a small, neatly trimmed mustache. He glanced at Wang Ba, categorized him as a poor laborer, and immediately turned back to directing his assistant.

In his eyes, the customer was a nobody. A mud-legged peasant with a worn-out basket.

Wang Ba read the dismissal in the man’s eyes instantly. He didn’t have time for games.

“Shopkeeper,” Wang Ba said, cutting straight to the point. “Do you buy Spirit Poultry here?”

“Sorry, we don’t buy Rare Fowl… wait. Spirit Poultry?”

The shopkeeper whipped his head around, his eyes widening in surprise. He reassessed the peasant standing before him.

Then, his eyes darted around the empty street, and he cleared his throat.

“You’re selling Spirit Poultry?”

“Exactly,” Wang Ba said, offering a polite, cupped-fist salute. “Dare I ask if your esteemed shop accepts them? And at what price?”

The shopkeeper’s demeanor shifted instantly. He flashed a warm, professional smile and raised his hand in a welcoming gesture.

“Erhu, serve tea! Come, come, honored guest, please take a seat.”

Wang Ba was anxious to finish the transaction, but he forced himself to sit calmly.

The shopkeeper scanned him again, his gaze lingering on the tattered bamboo basket. His smile widened, but his tone became slow and deliberate.

“We naturally buy Spirit Poultry. I mistook you for a Rare Fowl seller earlier.” He leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “But you might not know, guest. Lately, Rare Fowl is worthless. Even Spirit Poultry is barely holding its value. How many do you have?”

Wang Ba blinked, confused.

Spirit Poultry is barely holding its value?

Since when? Had the market crashed? Or was his perspective just too narrow—did the Immortals consider these birds trash?

He hesitated, then decided to test the waters. “One. A rooster. First-grade, low-tier.”

“Oh… first-grade low-tier. And a male…”

The shopkeeper stroked his mustache, drawing out his words with a pained expression. He chuckled softly.

“Guest, you might not be aware, but male Spirit Poultry aren’t worth much. The price is, at most, half that of a hen.”

“Plus, with the recent dip in market value…” The shopkeeper sighed, shaking his head.

Wang Ba nodded along. He knew males were cheaper—they couldn’t lay eggs. But for him, this was a zero-cost business. He was willing to take a slight hit to offload the inventory.

“Shopkeeper, just give me a price,” Wang Ba urged.

“Good! I like a straightforward man. For this Spirit Poultry, I’ll give you this number…”

The shopkeeper held up five fingers.

“Five Spirit Stones?!”

Wang Ba was stunned.

Had the shopkeepers at West Garden Market been price-fixing? Was this the true value?

Truly, all merchants were profiteeers!

“What Spirit Stones?” the shopkeeper scoffed, looking offended. “Five thousand taels of silver!”

Wang Ba froze. He couldn’t believe his ears.

“How much? Five thousand… silver?”

“That’s right. Back in the day, they went for seven or eight thousand. But recently, a large batch of Spirit Poultry leaked out from the Ding Section. The market is flooded. They aren’t worth what they used to be…”

The shopkeeper rambled on, weaving a tale of market economics.

Wang Ba stopped listening.

Since the shopkeeper lacks sincerity, there’s no point talking.

He wasn’t an idiot. He knew the exchange rate. Ten thousand taels of silver could barely buy a single low-grade Spirit Stone. Offering five thousand silver was offering half a Stone.

Lu’s Grain Depot had paid him 3.4 Stones per bird. This man was offering less than a sixth of that value.

He was being fleeced. Treated like a fat sheep ready for slaughter.

Wang Ba didn’t waste another second. He grabbed his basket and stood up to leave.

“Hey! Guest, don’t go! If you don’t like the price, counter-offer!” the shopkeeper called out, surprised by the abrupt departure.

“Three Spirit Stones!” Wang Ba threw the number over his shoulder.

It was his psychological floor. He was desperate to sell, so he’d accept slightly less than Lu’s rate.

The shopkeeper laughed, shaking his head vigorously. “Three? Impossible! Far too much! At most, eight-tenths of a Spirit Stone!”

0.8 Stones.

It was an insult.

Wang Ba didn’t look back. He marched out the door, ignoring the drain on his Yin Spirit Power.

“Eh? Guest! Don’t walk away! If you think it’s low, give me another number! Hey! Hey!”

The shopkeeper stood on his tiptoes, shouting after him.

But Wang Ba didn’t stop. He headed straight for the other grain shop down the street.

Watching him leave, the shopkeeper’s anxious expression vanished, replaced by a cold sneer.

“Hah!”

“A mud-legged peasant gets lucky and thinks he can demand Spirit Stones?”

“He’ll be back. Once he walks out of here, does the owner of ‘Liu’s Shop’ dare to touch his goods?”

“He thinks eight-tenths is low? Heh. Just wait.”