“Seven hundred and ninety Mid-grade Spirit Stones. Going once, going twice… Sold!”

The final price fell just shy of eight hundred. Old Ghost Liu, unable to out-curse his rival and lacking the funds to out-bid him, glared venomously at Wang Xiang before storming off, his back stiff with indignation.

It was a simple transaction: pay the money, take the goods.

The moment Wang Xiang laid his hand on the [Filthy Earth Scale], his knees buckled. The sheer density of the Earth Qi within nearly rattled his old bones apart. He hurriedly shoved the heavy crystal into his Storage Bag, a look of profound relief washing over his wrinkled face. “With this… I finally have a chance.”

With that, the dissection of the five-hundred-year-old Earth Dragon was complete. Skin, flesh, bone, marrow, essence blood, stomach sac, and the core scale—every scrap of the great demon had been converted into wealth.

In a single afternoon, the [Descending Tiger] demon-hunting team had raked in over a thousand Mid-grade Spirit Stones.

For the second-ranked team in Green City, their usual monthly net profit—after deducting the cost of pills, talismans, and healing injuries—hovered around a mere ten stones. This single kill had just earned them eight years’ worth of income in one go. Even after splitting the pot among the members, it was a windfall beyond imagination.

As the crowd began to disperse, the air rippled with a high-pitched hum.

Several flying shuttles burst forth from the canopy of the Green Trees nearby. Jiang Chen looked up, his eyes narrowing. The quality of these vessels was superior, bordering on the standard issued to sect disciples. Standing atop them were young, immaculately dressed men and women—handsome, beautiful, and radiating an aura of superiority.

The leader, a female cultivator in fluttering white robes with a face like sculpted jade, steered her shuttle to hover directly above the square. She looked down at the blood-stained hunters with cold imperiousness.

“Wang Tianba,” she demanded, her voice cutting through the noise. “What is the meaning of this?”

Jiang Chen felt the shift in atmosphere immediately. This smelled like trouble. High-level trouble.

“Time to go,” he muttered to himself. Without a second of hesitation, he turned on his heel and melted into the departing crowd, having zero desire to be swept up in a power struggle between local factions.

Wang Fada, the shifty-eyed talisman maker, blinked as he watched Jiang Chen vanish. A knowing, playful grin spread across his face. “Heh… a man after my own heart.”

Jiang Chen didn’t head straight for the [Fragrance Pavilion]. Instead, he took a winding route through the city’s alleys.

His spiritual sense, sharpened by the [Green Lotus Domain], picked up several tails trailing him. It wasn’t surprising; purchasing the Earth Dragon’s stomach sac had drawn attention. Greed was a common affliction in the loose cultivator market.

He led them on a chase for a few blocks before using a simple diversion to shake them off completely. Once he was certain he was clear, he decided against visiting the brothel. Caution was the mother of longevity. He returned directly to the ‘Homesick’ Inn.

Safe in his room, Jiang Chen placed the small Storage Bag on the table and retrieved his prize.

The Earth Dragon’s stomach sac was massive, the length of an adult’s arm, bulbous and heavy. It looked like a giant, diseased bladder filled with sludge. The surface was slick with viscous fluid that wasn’t quite mud, emitting a pungent, sulfurous stench reminiscent of rotten eggs left to bake in the sun.

Jiang Chen frowned and immediately threw open the wooden window to let the draft in. Only when the air circulated did the nausea-inducing odor fade slightly.

He drew a sharp dagger and began to slice it open.

Squelch.

As the sac parted, the stench intensified tenfold. It was a physical assault on the senses.

“Who the hell is cooking shit?!”

“By the heavens, did someone die in there?!”

“Fuck your ancestors! Close the window!”

Curses and creative insults erupted from the neighboring rooms and the street below. Jiang Chen remained impassive, his focus entirely on the gray, slurry-like contents of the stomach. He didn’t care about the neighbors or the smell; he only cared if his eighteen Mid-grade Spirit Stones had been wasted.

He sifted through the muck with the tip of his blade.

Moments later, the knife clinked against something hard.

Jiang Chen’s eyes lit up. He fished the object out. It was a seed.

It was roughly the size of a thumb, shaped like a sunflower seed with one pointed end and one round end. The shell was pitted and corroded by the powerful stomach acid of the great demon, stained a dull yellowish-brown. Despite its sorry state, it pulsed with a faint, tenacious trace of Earth Spirit Qi.

“There really is one,” Jiang Chen whispered, a satisfied smile touching his lips.

He continued to sift through the slurry, but the rest was just waste. A single seed.

If this turned out to be a common spirit plant, he had made a massive loss. Even a standard rare plant would be a break-even at best. To make a profit, this seed had to be something extraordinary.

He glanced out the window. The shouting had died down, likely because the neighbors had fled the smell. Jiang Chen quickly cleaned the seed, sealed the stinking remains back into the bag, and stored everything away. He wouldn’t know its true value until he planted it back at the sect.

Now, his business in the market was nearly concluded. All that remained was the opening of the wine shop.

The next day passed quickly. Jiang Chen spent the morning lying in bed, mentally reviewing the mnemonic chants of the [Mystic Wood Golden Body Art].

Around noon, a Communication Talisman flared to life. It was Shen Peng.

“The signboard is ready. Do you want to pick a lucky hour, or should we just start the trial operation now?”

Jiang Chen didn’t want to linger in Green City any longer than necessary. “ The sooner, the better.”

The Shen family had already done the legwork. Rumors had been seeded, curiosity piqued. Now, it all depended on the product. And Jiang Chen had absolute faith in his Masterwork-grade Spirit Wine. In this market, it wasn’t competition; it was a dimensional downgrade attack.

He left the inn and made his way toward the shop.

The street was already packed. A significant portion of the crowd was undoubtedly hired shills paid to create buzz, but there were plenty of genuine onlookers, drawn by the prospect of a new establishment on such a prime street.

“The Shen family is really going all out for this.”

“I wonder if the wine lives up to the hype?”

From the far end of the street, a procession appeared. Shen Rong walked at the front, flanked by his son Shen Peng, his daughter-in-law Lei Yunna, and Manager Shen Yun. They walked with the pomp and circumstance of a deeply established clan, drawing the gaze of every cultivator on the street.

They arrived at the storefront, where the entrance was draped in celebratory red silk.

Servants rushed forward, lighting long strings of firecrackers.

Crack! Crack! Boom!

The deafening noise echoed through the market, sending plumes of red paper and smoke into the air. The crowd swelled, craning their necks to see the spectacle.

Shen Rong stood on the steps, a beaming smile on his face. He waved a hand. “Raise the signboard!”

Across the street, on the second floor of the ‘Awaiting Spring’ teahouse, Jiang Chen sat by the window. He held a cup of Blood Vine Tea, his expression calm as he watched the ceremony below.

The signboard was hoisted up, covered by a heavy red cloth.

Once it was secured, Shen Rong shot a glance at his son.

Shen Peng nodded. He looked up, his gaze locking with Jiang Chen’s across the street. A silent acknowledgement passed between them—the invisible owner and the public face.

With a sharp tug, Shen Peng pulled the red cord.

The cloth fell away, revealing a slab of heavy black wood engraved with four gilded, ancient characters that shimmered in the sunlight:

[Evergreen Wine Shop]