“Brother, what’s the price on this Gold-Infusing Grass?”

“Two fragments of Spirit Stone a stalk. Two-year vintage. Hey! Hands off if you aren’t buying!”

At the herb corner of the South Lake Market, the stall owner reached out and slapped the back of a customer’s hand.

The customer—a man so emaciated he looked like skin stretched over a skeleton—quickly retracted his hand. He offered a sheepish, ingratiating smile, shrinking back.

Just then, a bald, burly giant of a man stepped up, pointing a thick finger at a pile of herbs. His voice boomed like a broken drum.

“Brother, how much for the South Scarlet Grass?”

Seeing the newcomer’s imposing physique, the stall owner’s tone softened considerably. “South Scarlet Grass. Two fragments, six li per stalk. One-year vintage.”

The burly man frowned deeply. “One year? That’s steep. Sell them for one fragment, seven li.”

“Well… how many do you want? If you’re buying in bulk, we can talk.” The stall owner hesitated.

“I want everything on your mat,” the burly man declared, radiating the arrogance of new money. “Wrap it up. Wait here, I’ll head back and grab the Spirit Stones.”

The stall owner’s face bloomed into a greedy smile. “Deal! That’s a deal! I’ll wait right here for you, sir!”

“Good. Don’t wander off.”

The burly man turned to leave, then paused as if struck by a passing thought. “Hey, by the way… on the road here, I saw a few Immortals flying toward South Lake Village. Did something happen over there?”

The stall owner shook his head. “Beats me. I don’t live around here. Who knows what the Immortals are up to?”

The burly man nodded, seemingly uninterested, and turned to go.

“I actually know a bit about that,” the skeletal customer chimed in, eager to be part of the conversation.

“The higher-ups are digging out that Grade 3 Spirit Spring, right? They sent a ton of Laborer Disciples to work on it. I heard the Sect is short-handed, so they’re recruiting a fresh batch. The new laborers who haven’t been assigned tasks yet are being warehoused in South Lake Village.”

He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “The Immortals are probably there to keep the rabble in line.”

“Is that so? Thanks for the insight!” The burly man clasped his fists in a gesture of gratitude.

“No problem. heard it from my elders. But South Lake Village is going to be chaotic for a while. Settling that many people… it’ll take at least eight to ten days.”

The burly man nodded, thanked him again, and strode away.

Once he was well clear of the market and sure no one was watching, Wang Ba’s expression darkened.

“Eight to ten days? That’s trouble.”

The bald, burly giant was, of course, a disguise fabricated by his Yin Spirit power to gather intelligence safely. But the intel he got was grim.

“Ten days… I can’t stay out here for ten days.”

“It’s not just the Ascension Society. With that much activity, the Sect will be sweeping the area constantly.”

Could he evade a dedicated search by cultivators?

Wang Ba had zero confidence in that.

Even if the Yin Spirit power could fool their senses, his fuel tank was limited. Without his flock of Spirit Poultry to drain for Lifespan or energy, he would run dry long before the ten days were up. And his natural regeneration was a trickle compared to the flood he was spending.

“I can’t stay in the wild. But the escape tunnel is currently sitting under the nose of a Foundation Establishment cultivator…”

Wang Ba fell into deep contemplation.

It was the classic dilemma: a wolf in front, a tiger behind.

But he had no choice. As a mortal trying to maneuver in a world of cultivators, hitting walls was inevitable.

In that moment, a fierce, burning desire to become a cultivator ignited in his chest.

If he were a cultivator, these problems would crumble like dry clay.

Wait.

Become a cultivator?

A sudden, electrifying thought jumped into his mind. It made him shudder.

The more he turned it over, the more he realized that this idea—insane and dangerous as it seemed—might be his only viable path.

He analyzed it rapidly, checking for fatal flaws.

Finally, Wang Ba grit his teeth. Decision made.

Maintaining the Yin Spirit disguise, he turned and sprinted back toward Ding Eighty-Seven Manor.

Back to the lion’s den. Back to the surveillance of the Ascension Society.

Along the way, he retrieved the dung bucket he had hidden in the grass.

The Physique Strengthening Scripture at the Sixth Layer granted him boundless stamina and speed. In no time, he was back at the perimeter of the manor.

He stopped, taking several deep breaths to regulate his heart rate and cool his flushed skin. He had to look normal.

He picked up the bucket.

He stepped back into the surveillance zone.

Instantly, the Yin Spirit power in his mind began to spin violently.

But unlike the panic of his first attempt, Wang Ba was calm. He knew the limits now.

He moved efficiently, slipping into the blind spot of Old Man Sun’s room.

He reached out and stroked Alpha-Seven’s feathers, grounding himself.

Then, he dissolved the visual disguise. He returned his appearance to that of Wang Ba, the humble laborer. However, he kept a subtle layer of Yin Spirit power active—not to change his face, but to mask his physical condition, making him appear like an ordinary mortal rather than a martial artist with robust vitality.

He strode out of the room.

The Yin Spirit power spun again, but the rotation was sluggish—much slower than when he was simulating invisibility.

So, the consumption rate scales with the difficulty of the lie.

Wang Ba filed this crucial data point away.

He spent the rest of the afternoon pantomiming chores around the manor, looking for all the world like a diligent servant, before retiring to his own room.

In a mountain hollow overlooking Ding Eighty-Seven Manor.

Yu Changchun sat cross-legged, eyes closed in meditation. Sensing movement, he cracked one eye open and glanced at the water mirror floating before him.

Seeing Wang Ba back in his room, seemingly winding down for the evening, Yu Changchun relaxed. He closed his eyes again, resuming the rhythmic cycle of inhaling and exhaling spiritual Qi.

Monitoring Wang Ba to prevent a leak was important, yes. But for a cultivator, cultivation was life.

Yu Changchun knew this truth better than anyone.

Besides, he didn’t believe for a second that a lowly laborer could resist the temptation of immortality. Why did these ants toil and suffer in the Sect if not for a shot at eternal life?

If the higher-ups hadn’t strictly ordered him to watch for leaks regarding the Ascension Society, he wouldn’t waste his time babysitting a mortal.

“Give him three days. The kid will come crawling to me.”

Yu Changchun sneered. Then, remembering a loose end, he twitched a finger.

Beside him, the motionless body of Old Hou suddenly shuddered. Life flooded back into the old man’s dull eyes.

He blinked, looking dazed.

Seeing Yu Changchun, Old Hou’s confusion spiked, but instinct took over. He bowed clumsily, terrified. “Greetings… Greetings, Manager.”

“En. Dispense with the formalities. Go do your work.” Yu Changchun waved a dismissive sleeve.

“Yes! Yes, my Lord!”

Old Hou stumbled out of the formation, crossing the boundary marked by triangular flags. As he looked at the familiar scenery of the hills, his face went blank.

“Eh? Why am I here…?”

“Right! My donkey! Where is my donkey?!”

Panic set in. “Crap! I still have to deliver the chicken feed! That bastard at Ninety-Two Manor is going to chew my ear off again!”

Muttering curses, he hurried off to find his cart.

The next morning.

Wang Ba stepped out of his hut. He felt the familiar, low-level spin of the Yin Spirit power warning him of the gaze from above.

Yu Changchun is still watching.

Good. It means he didn’t catch my excursion yesterday.

Wang Ba felt a modicum of relief.

But that relief was short-lived. Before the morning mist had even cleared, news arrived that sent a chill through the manor.

“What did you say?”

“Niu Yong… the Dung Tyrant is missing?”