The shantytowns of the White Jade Market were a far cry from the squalid slums of Wuji. Here, the dwellings of the loose cultivators were arranged in orderly rows, each modest home boasting its own private courtyard. There was a sense of established dignity in the air; one could look through an open gate and see mortal maidservants bustling about, attending to the mundane needs of their immortal-seeking masters.

Qin Lu drew in a deep breath of the crisp, clean air. It was a stark contrast to the persistent stench of waste that had defined his early days in Wuji. A wry smile touched his lips as he thought of the wide gulf between the two regions.

“Truly,” he murmured, “comparing one man’s lot to another is the quickest way to die of fury.”

The disparity was born of simple geography. Nestled in the heart of the Demon Slaying Sect’s territory, the White Jade Market was buffered by prosperous mortal dynasties that funneled a steady stream of labor and resources into the city. Without the looming threat of demon-infested forests, trade flourished and the scarcity that bred desperation was nowhere to be found.

He moved through the outskirts, weaving past the last of the neat cottages until the voices of the market faded. In a secluded thicket, Qin Lu summoned his Flying Cloud Paper. The artifact hummed as it took flight, carrying him swiftly into the azure sky.

From his vantage point, the world below transformed into a tapestry of pastoral peace. Clusters of farmhouses dotted the landscape, surrounded by emerald paddies where smoke curled lazily from chimneys in the midday sun. Mortal farmers labored in the soil while children and village dogs chased each other down winding dirt paths.

These were the clan settlements—refuges for the families of cultivators who couldn’t afford the exorbitant prices of land within the market walls. In this world, every inch of soil within the market was as precious as gold. Those without the means were forced to build their lives in the shadow of the peaks, hoping for a fragment of their kin’s protection.

Qin Lu dipped his altitude, banking the Flying Cloud Paper over several villages. He activated the Heavenly Eye Technique, his vision shimmering as he scanned the crowds below for the telltale flicker of spiritual roots. He hoped to find a diamond in the rough, but after several passes, he saw nothing but the dull aura of the mundane.

Shaking off the slight disappointment, he steered his artifact toward the deeper wilderness. The peaceful hamlets gave way to ancient, gnarled forests and jagged stone ridges. He touched down in a silent clearing, the silence only broken by the rustle of leaves.

He checked his mental interface. The proficiency of his most trusted spell sat on the precipice of a breakthrough.

[Finger Flick Technique (Legend): 9958/10000]

“Forty-two more times,” Qin Lu whispered, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. This humble spell had been his lifeline for a year. It had evolved from a trick that could barely startle a bird into a lethal, invisible strike.

He raised his hand and began to fire. Puh! Puh! Puh!

Fierce bursts of compressed air whistled from his fingertips. Each strike struck the surrounding boulders with the force of a battering ram, sending birds screeching into the sky. His spiritual sea was vast now; he could fire a hundred such shots without feeling the strain that once would have left him gasping.

As the forty-second shot echoed through the woods, he hurriedly pulled up his attribute panel. He expected another tier—perhaps something divine or world-shaking. Instead, his heart sank.

[Finger Flick Technique (Max Level): MAX]

“Max level?” he groaned, the excitement draining out of him. “I haven’t even finished grinding! Where is the move that destroys heaven and earth?”

The sense of finality felt like a cold drenching. He had expected an endless path of evolution, not a ceiling. But as his eyes drifted down the panel, he froze. A section that had been stubbornly blank for over a year had finally flickered to life.

[Talent: Wind Affinity]

The frustration vanished, replaced by a surge of heat in his chest. A talent. He had finally unlocked a fundamental affinity. He suspected that the sheer repetition of a wind-based spell had finally carved a path for the element within his own meridians.

“Let’s see what ‘Max Level’ really means,” Qin Lu said, his voice dropping to a low growl.

He turned toward a massive mountain face ten meters away. He didn’t just flick his finger; he funneled his spiritual qi with the precision of a master craftsman, feeling the new ‘Wind Affinity’ pull the atmosphere itself into his strike.

BOOM!

The explosion was deafening. The invisible projectile didn’t just hit the rock; it bored through it. When the dust settled, a crater three meters wide and ten meters deep had been gouged into the mountainside as if by a giant’s drill.

Qin Lu looked at his trembling hand, then at the peak of a nearby ridge. He flicked his wrist casually. A blade of air, sharper and faster than anything he had ever produced, sheared the entire top off a stone spire.

The stone crumbled, raining debris down the slope. Qin Lu’s grin returned, wider than before. He was no longer just a cultivator who could survive a fight with the Foundation Establishment realm. He was a predator who could end one.