Cultivation: I Can Steal Lifespan from Spirit Beasts

Chapter 176: The Art of Yan Sheng

The second floor of the Exquisite Ghost Market was a sea of moving figures.

Between the tightly packed stalls, Foundation Establishment cultivators moved in a steady stream, many leaning down to whisper inquiries over various wares. Benefiting from the density of the crowd, it wasn’t long before a female cultivator of pleasant features stopped at Wang Ba’s stall, her curiosity piqued.

“This is Spirit Chow,” Wang Ba explained smoothly. “Processed entirely from First-Grade, Low-Grade Spirit Poultry. The effects are comparable to medicinal pills, yet it is entirely free of pill toxins.”

The woman’s eyes lit up instantly. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. May I sample it?”

Wang Ba hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. Most rogue cultivators were strangers to the art of the Spirit Chef, having tasted nothing more sophisticated than Spirit Rice or Spirit Wine. Their ignorance was to be expected.

She took a delicate sip, and her expression immediately shifted to one of pleasant surprise. “It’s true! Though the potency is lower than a concentrated pill, it is far easier to refine. With enough volume, this could indeed match a pill’s benefits.” She looked up, eager. “How much for the basin of Spirit Poultry Essence?”

Wang Ba considered his margins. “Forty Middle Grade Spirit Stones.”

Back on the first floor, he had moved these for thirty stones apiece. However, knowing that Foundation Establishment cultivators generally possessed deeper pockets, he felt the premium was justified.

He was right. The woman didn’t even attempt to haggle. After a brief mental calculation, she straightforwardly produced forty stones and handed them over.

Soon after, another passerby stopped to inspect the essence.

“The price is too steep,” the man countered, shaking his head. “A single Earth Element Pill costs only ten stones. This basin provides the equivalent of perhaps three pills at most.”

Wang Ba remained unmoved. “The price is firm.”

“Hmph. Then keep your junk until it rots!” The man scoffed and vanished into the crowd.

Wang Ba remained unbothered. Commerce was a dance of mutual consent; he had no intention of forcing a sale. Besides, he had only prepared ten basins. He was confident the market would provide.

As the hours passed, he sold two more basins. Deciding to clear out his inventory, he emptied his Storage Bag of various unused Magical Artifacts, Talismans, and Pills. The sight of standard adventuring gear drew a crowd—after all, these were the staples of a cultivator’s life.

Because his prices were fair, the miscellaneous items vanished almost instantly, padding his Storage Bag with an additional three hundred Middle Grade Spirit Stones. The heaviest contributor was a Second-Grade, Middle-Grade hammer-type artifact he had “acquired” from the late True Cultivator Gao.

Despite the profit, Wang Ba felt a nagging dissatisfaction. The specific items he truly sought remained elusive. Suddenly, he noticed the foot traffic beginning to dwindle.

He frowned. The second floor is supposed to stay open for half a month. Why is it thinning out so soon?

A one-eyed middle-aged cultivator at the neighboring stall, finally catching a break from his own customers, sat down to rest. Noting Wang Ba’s confusion, he gave a hearty laugh.

“Fellow Daoist, this must be your first time. Every day on the second floor, a Golden Core True Cultivator holds a public lecture on the Dao. One only needs a few stones to listen in. Someone must have started their sermon; once they finish, the crowd will come rushing back.”

“I see. My thanks for the enlightenment, Fellow Daoist,” Wang Ba said, cupping his hands.

He was genuinely impressed. The Ghost Market was run with more discipline than some actual Sects. In the Heavenly Gate Sect, he had never heard of a Golden Core Elder deigning to teach—at least, not to those on the “Left Path.”

An itch of curiosity took hold. Since embarking on his cultivation journey, Wang Ba had largely been a blind man feeling an elephant, with only Zhao Feng providing occasional guidance. He had never heard a true master speak.

He packed up his stall, shared a parting word with his neighbor, and headed in the direction of the lecture hall.

A large courtyard soon came into view, packed to the brim. High upon a raised platform, a Golden Core True Cultivator was speaking with such eloquence that it seemed as though lotuses were blooming from his words—though, thanks to a silencing formation, Wang Ba couldn’t hear a syllable from the outside.

“Who is speaking?” Wang Ba asked a nearby cultivator.

“That is True Cultivator Yu Ji,” the man replied. “He achieved the Golden Core in a mere hundred and twenty years. He is lecturing on rapid cultivation and how to shatter bottlenecks.”

Wang Ba’s interest sharpened. To reach such a height in just over a century was staggering for a rogue cultivator. It implied that Yu Ji had glided through bottlenecks as if they didn’t exist.

“Fellow Daoist, why aren’t you inside?” Wang Ba prodded cautiously.

The man merely offered a cryptic smirk and said nothing.

Undeterred, Wang Ba approached the gate, paid a single Middle Grade Spirit Stone, and stepped through the formation.

Ten minutes later, he regretted it.

He finally understood the smirk. True Cultivator Yu Ji was a silver-tongued huckster. He was actively encouraging his audience to consume high-potency, high-toxin pills. He even suggested a “balance of poisons,” where one would take multiple toxic pills simultaneously to let the toxins “counteract” one another.

Yu Ji used pseudo-scientific alchemical jargon to break down pill components, making his “theory” sound remarkably well-reasoned. To a rogue cultivator desperate for progress but lacking funds, the idea that cheap, toxic pills could be just as effective as premium ones was like music to the ears.

Then came the grand finale.

Yu Ji sighed, his face a mask of weary compassion. “I was once where you are. I too worried if these toxins would ruin my chances of becoming a Nascent Soul True Lord… Heh, long-term planning is noble, but we rogue cultivators are of low aptitude and live on borrowed time, despised by the great Sects. If we cannot survive today, what use is tomorrow?”

His voice grew grave. “Furthermore, the State of Yan—no, the surrounding nations—are on the precipice of a great cataclysm!”

The crowd stirred uneasily.

“Have you heard? The State of Wei, separated from us only by Qiao and Xu, was recently annihilated by a rising power!”

A roar of shock erupted. “What? Wei is no smaller than our own State of Yan!” “Was it the Great Chu Dynasty?”

Yu Ji raised a hand for silence. “You don’t know because your vision is restricted to this small corner of the world. This power is known as the Myriad God Kingdom. They have already swallowed the Great Wu Dynasty and forced even Great Chu to retreat. In less than a century, they will march west. Sects will fall, and you will be homeless wanderers, despised by all under heaven.”

The courtyard fell into a deathly silence. A hundred years was a long time, but for a Foundation Establishment cultivator, it was a future they would likely live to see.

Wang Ba felt a cold shiver down his spine. When he had searched Ji Lin’s soul, the Myriad God Kingdom was still several states away from Wei. Their expansion was accelerating. The Incense Path was a plague.

“I know how hard it is for us,” Yu Ji continued, his voice dripping with false benevolence. “So, I have secured a batch of highly effective pills from a master alchemist friend. I must warn you—the toxins are heavy. Purchase them only if you are prepared. My disciples will handle the transactions…”

Panic-stricken cultivators immediately rushed forward, stones in hand.

Wang Ba shook his head and quietly retreated. Yu Ji was simply harvesting these men like leeks, using fear to sell industrial waste.

As the lecture ended, the market regained its bustle, but the atmosphere had changed. Many cultivators now looked cash-strapped and anxious. Even late-stage Foundation Establishment experts looked at Wang Ba’s essence with longing before walking away dejectedly. Forty stones was suddenly a king’s ransom.

Just as Wang Ba was about to close shop and find Zhao Feng, a young cultivator with a strange accent stopped.

“Fellow Daoist, what is the price for this essence?”

“Forty Middle Grade Spirit Stones. No haggling,” Wang Ba said flatly, tired of the back-and-forth.

The youth looked embarrassed and prepared to leave, but then his eyes caught the sign Wang Ba had posted. “You… you accept techniques in trade?”

Wang Ba nodded. “Specifically those regarding the soul or powerful water-attribute spells.”

The young man perked up. “I have a technique called the Art of Yan Sheng. Would that suffice?”

Wang Ba paused. The Art of Yan Sheng was a rare, double-edged school of mysticism used both for warding off curses and inflicting them.

“Let me see the jade slip.”

The youth produced a copy. Wang Ba scanned it and felt a jolt of excitement. The technique’s true name was the Hundred Lives Soul-Desecrating Curse.

It was a niche, brutal spell. By sacrificing one hundred living beings of the same cultivation grade as the target, one could inflict a persistent soul-curse. While it rarely killed outright, it saddled the victim with debilitating negative states.

Crucially, if cast upon oneself, it acted as a soul-shield. Any attacker attempting a mental intrusion would be instantly contaminated by the curse.

For a normal cultivator, killing a hundred Foundation Establishment beasts just to inflict a debuff was a massive waste of resources. But for Wang Ba?

I have a Golden Core Elder trapped in a chicken, he thought, a dark smile playing on his lips. As long as Lin Xiwen keeps breeding, I will have a steady supply of Second-Grade Spirit Poultry. He will be my ‘battery’ for this curse.

“Accepted,” Wang Ba said, handing over a basin of essence.

The youth was stunned. “This… this is too much. The technique is considered quite impractical. I feel I am overcharging you.”

“The value is in the eye of the beholder,” Wang Ba replied graciously. “Take it.”

The young man, touched by Wang Ba’s sincerity, sat down. “Then let me at least explain the nuances of the mantra. It is the least I can do.”

As they talked, Wang Ba realized the youth was no mere rogue; his grasp of magical theory was far too methodical. Eventually, the truth came out.

“You are from a Sect in the State of Wei?” Wang Ba asked, shocked.

The youth’s face clouded with bitter grief. “The Myriad God Kingdom… they are monsters. They wiped out our nation in a few short years. My Sect fought to the last man to let the ‘seeds’ like me escape. Golden Core, Nascent Soul… it didn’t matter. They all fell.”

“Is there no way to stop them?” Wang Ba frowned.

“My Sect Leader said the Great Chu is in civil war and the Great Qi is fading. There are only two powers left with the strength to resist,” the youth whispered. “The Great Jin in the west, and the Great Yan in the north.”

Wang Ba looked toward the horizon, the weight of the coming storm finally beginning to feel real.