Jiang Chen tallied his harvest mentally.

Blood Evil Wood. Kun Earth Prison Dragon Vine. Green Wood Reviving Spring Ginseng. Geng Metal Demon-Breaking Bamboo.

He let out a slow, satisfied breath. Fortunately, his recent business ventures had been lucrative, and his body could handle the strain of high-intensity crafting.

Otherwise, purchasing even one of these treasures would have bankrupt an ordinary cultivator. To buy all four was a feat of financial dominance.

Just as the transactions were concluding, Zhu Fuxian’s voice cut through the hum of the crowd.

“Nether Spring, that Yellow Springs Pill you’ve been refining lately… is it related to the Return to Ruins Secret Realm?”

The question acted like a silence spell.

Instantly, every head in the garden turned.

Jiang Chen, along with every other alchemist and spirit farmer, locked his gaze on Nether Spring. The casual atmosphere vanished, replaced by intense, hungry curiosity.

Nether Spring chuckled, a smug sound from beneath his black mask. “Sharp eyes. Yes, the Yellow Springs Pill is indeed connected to the Return to Ruins.”

A cultivator standing nearby—Jiang Chen recognized the voice as Zhao Wuqing—spoke up in a low, excited tone. “Rumor has it that Secret Realm is restricted to Foundation Establishment and Golden Core cultivators. It only opens once every hundred and one years. They say it’s a paradise of Extreme Yin treasures and spirit plants.”

“The timing…” another voice muttered. “It opens right after the Grand Competition for Formal Disciples?”

“Could it be arranged by the sect’s upper echelons?”

“If so, we have to try our luck. The harvest could be life-changing.”

The crowd buzzed. The people gathered here were unique—mostly Spirit Farmers and niche Poison Alchemists. To them, an environment filled with Extreme Yin energy wasn’t a danger; it was a gold mine.

Nether Spring raised a hand, basking in the attention. “I have two reasons for mentioning this. First, business as usual. Second, I’m giving you a heads-up: the Return to Ruins Secret Realm is opening. Seize the opportunity.”

“How do you know this so far in advance?” someone asked skeptically.

Nether Spring’s voice dropped an octave, dripping with implication. “Because this Yellow Springs Pill… I refined it for a certain someone on an Immortal Peak.”

The crowd fell silent.

An Immortal Peak. That was the domain of the high-ranking Elders, places blessed with Spirit Eyes and overflowing with Qi.

But the real confirmation lay in the nature of the pill itself.

The Yellow Springs Pill was a sinister counterpart to the Rebirth Pill. While the Rebirth Pill forcibly extended life, the Yellow Springs Pill specialized in repairing a damaged Divine Soul.

However, as a poison pill, it came with a terrifying price.

It required two main ingredients: River of Forgetfulness Dew and Netherworld Mud.

Both materials were highly corrosive to a cultivator’s Spirit Root.

For anyone below the Nascent Soul stage—Qi Condensation, Foundation Establishment, or even Golden Core—consuming it was a gamble with one’s foundation. Only a Nascent Soul Grandmaster, or someone with access to supreme protective arts, could suppress the backlash.

If Nether Spring was brewing this for an Elder, that Elder was at least a Golden Core Perfected Master preparing for a dangerous venture—or dealing with the aftermath of one.

While the others whispered excitedly about exploring the realm, Jiang Chen’s mind raced down a different track.

Exploration? Too dangerous.

But if Nether Spring wasn’t lying, the Sect was about to send a wave of disciples into the Return to Ruins.

It was a land of Extreme Yin. That meant the cold and corruption would be severe.

Which means… Jiang Chen’s eyes lit up behind his mask. Every cultivator entering that place will have a desperate need for Extreme Yang items. Yang-attribute pills, warming medicinal herbs, fire-based Spirit Tools…

He had been wondering what his next move would be after the Grand Competition.

Selling spirit meat and barbecue seasoning had been profitable, but the market was reaching saturation. He needed a new revenue stream.

The opening of the Return to Ruins Secret Realm wasn’t a call to adventure. It was a signal flare for his second great fortune.

Don’t dig for gold. Sell shovels.

The trading session continued for a while longer.

Although the group was small—barely twenty people—the volume of trade was high. Everyone was scrambling to prepare.

Jiang Chen, however, stepped back. He had already secured everything he needed.

He waited patiently as the sun dipped below the horizon and the valley plunged into darkness.

Zhao Wuqing, Lin Nong, and the others left one by one. Jiang Chen remained, waiting for Zhu Fuxian.

Finally, Nether Spring swept his gaze over the stragglers. “The Medicine Garden is closing. Until next time.”

Jiang Chen nodded and fell in behind Zhu Fuxian.

Navigating the exit required the specific spiritual guidance of the entry talisman. As they walked toward the misty boundary, Jiang Chen felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck.

He glanced back.

Nether Spring was staring directly at him.

The gaze behind the mask was heavy, containing something undecipherable. It wasn’t hostility, exactly, but it was piercing—as if the alchemist was trying to peel back Jiang Chen’s disguise with his eyes.

Jiang Chen turned back around, suppressing a frown.

Moments later, the poisonous mist swallowed the view behind them.

They exited the valley safely. Once clear of the formation, they removed their black robes and masks, breathing in the fresh, cold night air.

Zhu Fuxian looked back at the pitch-black valley, his expression solemn. “Junior Brother Jiang. A word of advice.”

“Please, Senior Brother.”

“Don’t let curiosity kill you. Do not enter the Return to Ruins Secret Realm.” Zhu Fuxian’s voice was grim. “Countless cultivators have died in that place. The Sect will send disciples in like fodder.”

Jiang Chen waved his hand, his tone sincere. “Senior Brother worries too much. I wouldn’t dare go in there.”

He had practically infinite lifespan. Why would he risk his life fighting for scraps?

Steady development was the only true Dao.

“However,” Jiang Chen added, a gleam in his eye, “Senior Brother Zhu, don’t you think the opening of the realm is a massive business opportunity?”

Zhu Fuxian looked at him, a faint, weary smile playing on his lips. “I… am no longer interested in money.”

Jiang Chen laughed awkwardly. “Ah. Right.”

He realized his mistake. Zhu Fuxian was likely over a hundred years old and owned a massive Spirit Farm. His annual income in Mid-grade Spirit Stones alone probably exceeded ten thousand.

For a wealthy hermit like him, more money was just a number.

Zhu Fuxian retrieved his Green Spirit Hidden Void Tube, tapped it, and summoned the Jade Green Shuttle.

They boarded the vessel and shot into the night sky, heading back toward the sect’s Spirit Farms.

The flight was quiet.

They had talked enough for one day. Though their bodies weren’t tired, their social batteries were drained.

When they arrived at Zhu Fuxian’s farm, the older man offered a polite invitation. “Junior Brother, care to come in for a nightcap?”

Jiang Chen shook his head. “It’s late. Next time.”

“Fair enough. Safe travels.”

Jiang Chen hopped off the shuttle and summoned his Giant Leaf. He waved goodbye, then surged into the air, disappearing into the vast, dark night.

Ten minutes later, he touched down at his own Spirit Farm.

The grounds were silent. Da Huang the dog, the pearl chickens, and even the ‘Fortress’ spirit house seemed to be sleeping.

The first floor was dark, windows sealed tight.

Only the door to the second-floor balcony was left slightly ajar, spilling a soft, hazy light into the darkness.

Jiang Chen steered the Giant Leaf onto the balcony and slipped quietly into the bedroom.

On the large nanmu bed, Yu Caiqing was waiting.

She lay there, watching him enter, her eyes shimmering with a sultry, spring-like warmth that instantly melted the chill of the night.