Evening. South Lake Market. The Vendor District.

Gou Mu, his back permanently hunched, skillfully swept the scattered assortment of books from his stall into a wooden chest. The miscellaneous volumes fit perfectly, filling the container to the brim without a gap.

Though he was over fifty years old, Gou Mu still hauled this heavy box of books to the market every single day. Few people were willing to buy his wares, yet he seemed to endure the hardship with a strange sense of contentment.

Just as Gou Mu struggled to hoist the chest onto his back, preparing to leave as usual, a towering, burly figure stepped into his path.

“Apologies, honored guest, but I’ve closed up for the day,” Gou Mu said, bowing low. He flashed a humble, ingratiating smile, but combined with his beady, mung-bean eyes and crooked posture, the expression only made him look like a rat that had learned to walk on two legs. “If you wish to buy books, pray come earlier tomorrow.”

Unexpectedly, the large figure leaned in, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial rumble.

“Do you have… that kind of book here?”

A flicker of vigilance darted through Gou Mu’s eyes, though his face maintained its foolish chuckle. “What kind of book might the honored guest be referring to?”

“The kind with… illustrations.”

The burly man brought his thumbs together, tapping them against each other in a crude, suggestive gesture. A knowing, ambiguous smile—the kind every man understood—spread across his face.

Gou Mu’s expression cleared instantly. He nodded and bowed with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Naturally, naturally! We have those. What price range is the honored guest looking for?”

As he spoke, his beady eyes darted over the customer. Tall, muscular, a face full of unkempt beard, and dressed in the standard grey robes of a Laborer Disciple. A stranger.

However, the man’s next words made Gou Mu drop his guard entirely.

“I want the book worth one hundred seventy-two taels and three wen.”

Gou Mu relaxed. He quickly recited the counter-phrase of the procedure. “I fear I have nothing so precious here. I only have books worth ten taels. Will that suffice?”

“Make it cheaper! How about five taels?” the burly man haggled.

Gou Mu frowned, feigning offense. “These are all ‘freshly caught winds’—new arrivals! The beauties are like jade, the artistry exquisite. I cannot go lower than nine taels and five wen!”

“Six taels!”

“Nine taels and two wen!”

“Seven taels!”

“Nine taels and one wen! If the honored guest is unwilling to pay the price for quality, then please move along.” A trace of genuine impatience crept into Gou Mu’s voice.

The burly man hesitated, looking torn, before finally muttering sheepishly, “Fine. Nine taels, then?”

“Deal!”

The transaction was settled.

The burly man produced a black leather pouch. clutching it with reluctant fingers for a moment before pressing it into Gou Mu’s hand.

Gou Mu reached inside, his fingers dancing over the contents. A satisfied smile broke across his face.

He set down his book chest and began removing volumes one by one until he found a specific thin booklet. He handed it to the burly man, then methodically placed the other books back into the chest.

Strangely, even though a book had been removed, the chest appeared completely full once repacked. Not a single gap remained.

The burly man’s eyes widened in astonishment at the subtle trick, but Gou Mu offered no explanation. He shouldered his box and scurried away into the twilight.

The burly man tucked the booklet into his robes and quickly exited the market, heading for the desolate outskirts.

Once he was sure the four wilds were empty of people, the burly man’s posture relaxed. The rugged disguise melted away, revealing his true face.

It was Wang Ba.

But right now, his face was twisted in pain—financial pain.

“This lousy map actually cost me nine Spirit Stones!” he groaned inwardly. “If this thing doesn’t get me out of the Sect safely, I’m going to die of heartache before anything else kills me!”

Wang Ba had always possessed a crystal-clear understanding of his own nature.

He was just an ordinary Laborer Disciple with zero combat ability.

Yes, he could manipulate Lifespan and possessed infinite Potential, but Potential could not be instantly converted into the strength needed to survive a sword to the gut. He needed time to cash in on that Potential.

And that required a prerequisite: staying alive.

The Eastern Sage Sect, however, had become a treacherous mire of unpredictable twists and turns. Even the Senior Brother of the Outer Sect—the very face of the younger generation—could die a sudden, violent death. What chance did a lowly laborer like Wang Ba have?

Moreover, both Shopkeeper Lu and the Outer Sect disciple Zhao Feng had given him dire warnings.

Listen to advice, eat a full meal.

Although leaving the Sect meant abandoning his lucrative monopoly on Rare Fowl and the unlimited supply of free chicken feed, Wang Ba had made his decision.

He was leaving.

However, entering the Sect was hard; leaving it was a nightmare.

Over the past few days, Wang Ba had been making discreet inquiries around the market. The reality was grim.

Under normal circumstances, a Laborer Disciple needed a rock-solid reason and layers of approval from the External Affairs Hall to leave the mountain. For someone in the Myriad Beast Department like Wang Ba, he also needed his specific department head to sign off on the release.

That alone made it nearly impossible.

Wang Ba’s position in the Ding Section was a case of “one radish, one hole.” There was no redundancy. Farmstead Ding Eighty-Seven was manned solely by him. If he left, the Sect would need to find a replacement immediately.

They wouldn’t let him go.

Exceptions were rare—like Old Man Sun retiring due to old age, or disciples sent out for procurement missions. Even then, rumor had it that the Sect placed certain restrictions or seals on those who left to prevent the leakage of Sect secrets or texts.

Wang Ba believed the rumors. It explained why the Physique Strengthening Scripture was famous in the mortal world, yet no authentic copies ever circulated.

Of course, looking back, that “fame” was likely just bait. A lure to trick delusional immortality-seekers into serving as beasts of burden for the cultivators.

In short, the official exit was closed to him.

The unofficial exits were even more perilous. What kind of heaven-defying luck would a mortal need to sneak past the layers of formations and patrolling cultivators unnoticed?

But nothing in this world is absolute.

After exhausting his efforts and connections, Wang Ba had found a third option.

“Rat-Head” Gou Mu.

The man was a descendant of a Sect disciple. Though not a cultivator himself, rumor held that he possessed a unique ancestral skill for burrowing. He could allegedly dig tunnels hundreds of feet underground, bypassing the Sect’s formations to connect the inside and outside worlds.

However, Gou Mu had a peculiar rule.

A tunnel could only be used once.

If you left the Sect and wanted to return, you had to buy a new map. And to ensure repeat customers, any used tunnel was immediately collapsed or destroyed behind the user.

The price was staggering, but there were always wealthy laborers desperate enough to pay it.

“I hope this doesn’t disappoint me,” Wang Ba muttered.

He carefully opened the booklet.

To his surprise, the pages were genuinely filled with “freshly caught winds”—explicit, high-quality erotic art.

The brushwork was exquisite, the proportions bold and innovative. It was the kind of material that would make an ordinary man’s blood boil.

Unfortunately, Wang Ba was no ordinary man. After months of drugging chickens, forcing roosters to mate, and watching the process with clinical detachment, he was completely desensitized. He flipped through the explicit scenes with a heart as calm as still water.

Finally, after flipping through the entire volume, he found the hidden cipher.

The map wasn’t on the pages themselves. It was hidden in the microscopic details—specifically, etched into the red-painted toenails of the beauty in the centerfold.