Spells Grinding: From Basic Sparks to Divine Arts

Chapter 223: Returning to the Market

The Desolate Wilderness.

A flying Magical Artifact cut through the air, leaving a faint contrail against the blue sky.

Miao Lao San stared at the familiar landscape rolling beneath them, his heart hammering against his ribs. Cold sweat slicked his palms. Every mile closer to White Jade Market brought a fresh wave of nausea.

Specifically, the terror of facing Kong Mengli.

He reached out and tugged frantically on the sleeve of the young cultivator piloting the artifact.

“Hai Zhu Zi, are you absolutely sure you aren’t lying to me?”

Hai Zhu Zi rolled his eyes, adjusting his grip on the controls. “Third Brother, for the hundredth time, why would I lie? The Tao Family is gone. Disintegrated. Scattered like dust. No one is looking for you.”

“But…” Miao Lao San swallowed hard, his face pale. “That guy… Qin Big Mouth. Is he really that fierce? He actually killed Kong Mengli?”

“Hah! Killed him? That’s old news,” Hai Zhu Zi scoffed. “While you were hiding in the mud, the world turned upside down. Nowadays, White Jade Market belongs to Senior Qin.”

“This… how is that possible?”

Miao Lao San slumped back, his mind reeling.

He had been an ordinary Loose Cultivator once, scraping by until he landed a cushy job as a guard for the Tao Mansion. The pay was good, the work light. He had been content.

Until that night.

He had been escorting the young master of the Tao family on a “treasure hunt” just outside the market. It was supposed to be a simple excursion. Instead, they ran straight into a Green-Eyed Tiger—a late-stage First Rank Demon Beast.

It was a slaughter. Everyone died except him.

Panicked and fearing the wrath of Kong Mengli—the Foundation Establishment powerhouse backing the Tao family—Miao Lao San had fled. He ran far, ending up in a mortal dynasty where he used his cultivation to become a State Preceptor. He lived like a king, surrounded by wealth and women.

But for a cultivator, mortal luxury was hollow. Eventually, the itch to pursue the Dao returned.

He had planned to find a new market, start over. But then he bumped into Hai Zhu Zi, an old drinking buddy, who told him the unbelievable news: Kong Mengli was dead. The Tao family was destroyed. And the killer was none other than Qin Lu—the man everyone used to call “Qin Big Mouth.”

So here he was, flying back into the lion’s den on the word of a friend.

As the market came into view, Miao Lao San gasped.

The ancient city walls were battered and broken. Gaping holes marred the stone, and dark, rusty stains—dried blood—coated entire sections of the fortifications.

“What happened here?” Miao Lao San whispered. “It looks like a war zone.”

“Hehe.” Hai Zhu Zi chuckled, guiding the artifact down for a landing. “Third Brother, you have no idea. You missed the show of a lifetime.”

“A show?”

“A war. Do you know how many Foundation Establishment cultivators fought here?”

Miao Lao San swallowed. “Five?”

“Pfft!” Hai Zhu Zi snorted. “Try fifty.”

Hiss—!

Miao Lao San sucked in a cold breath. Fifty Foundation Establishment experts? That was enough power to wipe a small sect off the map.

They landed outside the gate. As they walked toward the entrance, Hai Zhu Zi filled him in on the details—the Demon Beast siege, the evil cultivator invasion, the betrayal, and the desperate defense.

Miao Lao San listened, mouth agape, as Hai Zhu Zi described Qin Lu’s exploits.

“And then,” Hai Zhu Zi said, his eyes shining, “Senior Qin held back an entire squad of evil cultivators by himself. He cast giant fireballs—thirty meters wide, mind you—like he was throwing pebbles. Hundreds of them.”

“Thirty meters?” Miao Lao San stopped walking. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Believe what you want,” Hai Zhu Zi shrugged. “But stop gawking. I didn’t bring you back just to sightsee. I have a job for you.”

Miao Lao San straightened up. “A job?”

Hai Zhu Zi gestured to the surrounding shops. “The war left a mess, but it also left a lot of loot. Demon Beast carcasses, materials, salvage… the market is flooded with it. Prices here have tanked.”

“So?”

“So, my boss wants to transport a shipment to the Wazi Market where prices are stable. He needs reliable Qi Condensation guards for the caravan. The pay is good—three hundred Spirit Stones per person.”

“Three hundred!”

Miao Lao San’s eyes lit up. That was a fortune. It was enough to live comfortably for a year.

“Who’s the boss?” he asked, lowering his voice.

Hai Zhu Zi grinned, puffing out his chest. “My boss is Nie Feng.”

“Nie Feng?” Miao Lao San frowned. “Never heard of him.”

“Hehe.” Hai Zhu Zi leaned in, a conspiratorial glint in his eye. “Boss Nie is a lieutenant in the Qin Sect. So, in a way… I’m practically working for Senior Qin myself.”