“Fellow Daoist…”

Startled by the heavy knock, Wang Ba cracked open the wooden door.

A gray-robed figure stood in the corridor. His features were obscured by a shifting haze, and his presence was so faint that without visual confirmation, Wang Ba’s spiritual senses would have registered nothing but empty air.

The discrepancy between sight and sense sent a jolt of alarm through Wang Ba. He tightened his grip on the Spirit Beast Bag hidden in his sleeve.

“Dare I ask what business brings you here, Fellow Daoist?”

“Hehe… good business,” the figure rasped. The voice was distorted, dull and hoarse, stripped of any identifying cadence. “Has Fellow Daoist completed the mandatory mission yet?”

Wang Ba hesitated. His mind flashed back to the rumors Zhang Qi mentioned—a black market dealer selling proof of kills.

He chose his words carefully. “I have not. Does Fellow Daoist have a solution to offer?”

“Hehe. Ten Merit Points… interested?”

The gray-robed cultivator raised a hand, extending three pale fingers.

“Thirty Spirit Stones?” Wang Ba hazarded a guess.

The figure didn’t speak. He simply nodded.

Wang Ba suppressed a sigh of relief. The price was lower than he had anticipated. In preparation for this extortion, he had scraped together over seventy stones.

But on second thought, the price made sense. The market was depressed; most Outer Sect Left-Path Cultivators were destitute refugees. Thirty Spirit Stones was already a fortune for the average tenant here.

Wang Ba didn’t haggle. “Agreed.”

The dealer paused, tilting his head slightly as if surprised. It was rare for a Stone Cave Dwelling tenant to produce such a sum so readily. Usually, anyone with liquid capital lived in the Wood Tower Dwellings.

“Payment first,” the dealer grunted.

Wang Ba stared at him. Underneath his calm exterior, he funneled a thread of Spiritual Power into his Spirit Beast Bag, ready to summon Alpha-Seven at the first sign of treachery.

Externally, he remained placid. He retrieved thirty Low Grade Spirit Stones from his Storage Bag and tossed the pouch to the stranger.

The dealer weighed the pouch, nodded in satisfaction, and fished a small Storage Bag from his sleeve, tossing it over.

“Take the item. Return the bag.”

Wang Ba caught the bag and opened the drawstring. He probed inside with his senses.

He froze.

Inside the cramped magical space, a body was folded and twisted into an unnatural shape. The face, pressed against the fabric of reality, was young, immature, and all too familiar.

It was Zhang Qi.

The young talisman maker who had stood at his door just days ago, eyes bright with hope. Now, he was meat in a sack.

Wang Ba’s heart hammered against his ribs, but his expression remained granite. He calmly extracted the corpse, laid it in the corner of his room, and handed the empty bag back to the dealer.

“This person…” Wang Ba said, feigning casual curiosity. “He looks familiar. I think he lived nearby with a group of other young cultivators. Are they all dead?”

The dealer’s obscured eyes seemed to bore into him. “Fellow Daoist… curiosity shortens lives. Do not ask what you do not need to know.”

The figure turned to leave.

“Wait!”

Wang Ba called out. “Do you have any more… merit points? I have a friend who is also looking to buy.”

The gray-robed cultivator stopped. He slowly turned back, his gaze lingering on Wang Ba for a long, uncomfortable moment.

“Naturally.”

He produced a second Storage Bag from his sleeve—this one noticeably more ornate than the first. He held it open.

Wang Ba peered inside.

It was a charnel house. Corpses were stacked like firewood, limb over limb.

To his relief, he didn’t recognize any of the faces.

“Fellow Daoist…” the dealer’s voice dropped an octave, the air around him growing cold. “Have you not chosen yet?”

Sensing the rising killing intent, Wang Ba quickly pointed to a random body near the top. “Him. I’ll take him.”

He painfully counted out another thirty Spirit Stones.

Transaction complete.

The dealer stared at him for three full breaths, burning the image of this wealthy customer into his memory, before turning and dissolving into the shadows of the corridor.

Wang Ba slammed the door shut and engaged the lock. He slumped against the wood, exhaling a breath he felt he’d been holding for minutes. It felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted.

He walked over to the corner and looked down at the first corpse.

“Zhang Qi…” he muttered, shaking his head.

Three days later.

Bu Chan and her group finally returned.

As they stumbled toward the Stone Cave Dwellings, they saw a familiar figure waiting for them.

“Senior Brother Wang?” Bu Chan rasped, surprised.

Wang Ba leaned against the rock wall, scanning them.

When they left, there had been seven or eight of them. Now, only four remained.

Bu Chan, Shen Fu, Su Lingling, and Yun Caixiang.

All were battered, their robes stained with dried blood and mud. Their eyes held the haunted, thousand-yard stare of soldiers who had seen their friends butchered.

Wang Ba shook his head internally. He had warned them.

It was a waste. He had genuinely hoped to collaborate with them, especially Zhang Qi. Talismans were a force multiplier for low-level cultivators, and Wang Ba had planned to trade Spirit Poultry for defensive charms.

Now, that potential was gone, reduced to cold flesh in his living room.

“It’s all my fault…” Yun Caixiang sobbed, clutching a wounded arm. “If I hadn’t insisted on that ambush spot… Zhang Qi, Shi Jin, Jiang Ke… they would still be…”

The other three hung their heads, overwhelmed by grief and survivor’s guilt.

Wang Ba had no patience for their self-pity party. Their reflection was useless because their fundamental premise was wrong.

“Save the tears,” he said quietly. “Come with me.”

Bu Chan and the others looked up, confused, but the authority in his voice made them obey. They limped after him into his dwelling.

The moment they stepped inside, they froze.

Lying on the floor was a pale, stiff body.

“Zhang… Zhang Qi?!”

“How?!” Shen Fu staggered back. “We saw him die days ago… how is he here?”

A horrific thought crossed someone’s mind. “Senior Brother Wang… were you among the attackers that day?!”

“Impossible!” Bu Chan snapped, cutting off the accusation immediately. “Senior Brother Wang never leaves his cave. Besides, look at his cultivation! He is at the Second Layer. The people who ambushed us were all at least Third Layer. The power doesn’t match.”

Logic prevailed, but the mystery remained. Why was their friend’s corpse in Wang Ba’s room?

“Are you really that dense?” Wang Ba scoffed from the shadows. “I bought him. From a corpse peddler selling ‘proof of kills’ for the sect mission.”

“What?!”

The group gasped, horror washing over them.

Bu Chan’s eyes widened in realization. “So… the people who ambushed us… they weren’t Eastern Sage Sect remnants. They were other Left-Path Cultivators hunting us for merit?”

Wang Ba looked at them with pity. “You are all First Layer novices. To a hunter, is there a difference between a ‘remnant’ and a ‘Left-Path Cultivator’? You are just walking merit points.”

Silence descended on the room. It was a heavy, suffocating silence as the naive youths finally understood the true nature of the world they had entered.

Shen Fu gritted his teeth, tears streaming down his face. “Senior Brother Wang… can we have Zhang Qi’s body?”

He looked at his fallen friend. “He was a good talisman maker. He didn’t have to come with us… he only died because we dragged him along…”

“Please,” Su Lingling added. “We want to give him a proper burial.”

Wang Ba didn’t get angry. He simply looked at them.

“And what will you give me in exchange?”

The question hung in the air.

“I paid Spirit Stones for this body,” Wang Ba continued coldly. “It is my ticket to passing the mandatory mission. If I give it to you, I fail. If I fail, I get a demerit. Why should I sacrifice myself for your sentimentality?”

“This…”

The four looked at each other, helpless. They were destitute.

“How… how much was it, Senior Brother?” Su Lingling asked hesitantly.

“Thirty Spirit Stones.”

Wang Ba quoted the exact price. He didn’t markup, but he didn’t discount.

The group gasped.

Thirty Spirit Stones!

Back in the glory days of the Eastern Sage Sect, they could have pooled that sum together. But here? Now? They were barely scraping by, earning a few stones a month doing menial labor, most of which went to rent and food.

Thirty stones was an insurmountable mountain.

“That’s… that’s too much,” Su Lingling whispered. “Senior Brother Wang, can you make it cheaper?”

Wang Ba smiled. It wasn’t a warm smile.

Shen Fu stepped forward, his face twisting with frustration. “Senior Brother Wang… we are all fellow disciples from the same sect. We are really tight on funds right now. Can’t you show some mercy…”

“Stop.”

Wang Ba cut him off, his voice hard.

“You still don’t understand your position.”

“Even if I lower the price, can you pay it? Do you have ten stones? Five?”

Silence.

“Furthermore, why should I show you mercy? I already went above and beyond when I warned you not to leave the sect. I told you it was a death trap. You ignored me. You were blindly confident.”

“And now you come to me, defeated, asking for charity? What value do you bring to me?”

Shen Fu’s face burned red with shame. He opened his mouth to argue, but the words died in his throat. Wang Ba was right. They had been arrogant, and they had been crushed.

Bu Chan, however, was listening. She caught the pragmatic undertone in Wang Ba’s refusal. He wasn’t asking for Spirit Stones; he was asking for value.

She stepped forward and bowed deeply, her expression solemn.

“Senior Brother Wang. I have no money. But I am a Spirit Plant Master. If I can be of service to you, please give me a chance to work off the debt… Zhang Qi died because of our incompetence. If we cannot even secure his remains, our Dao Hearts will never be at peace!”

Her sincerity broke the deadlock.

Su Lingling and Yun Caixiang realized the play immediately. They bowed as well.

“Senior Brother Wang! I can organize and condense Spirit Veins for mountains and water. Please, give me a chance!”

“I… I can identify and process Spirit Grass!”

Shen Fu hesitated, his pride warring with his guilt. Finally, he bowed his head. “I… I can set up basic Formations.”

Wang Ba watched them, keeping his face stern. Internally, he heaved a sigh of relief.

Finally. Took you long enough.

He maintained his troubled expression for a moment longer, letting them sweat, before nodding slowly.

“Fine. Since you are sincere, I will agree.”

He held up a finger.

“You will work for me for one year. After one year, the debt of thirty Spirit Stones is wiped clean.”

“If we cooperate after that, we will trade at fair market rates.”

“One year?”

The four exchanged glances, stunned.

They didn’t think it was harsh. On the contrary, they felt Senior Brother Wang was practically a saint.

Given the exploitative wages in the Heavenly Gate Sect, it would take them at least three years of grueling labor to save thirty Spirit Stones. Wang Ba was offering to clear the debt in a third of the time.

Gratitude welled up in their eyes. Even Shen Fu looked at Wang Ba with newfound respect.

He is tough, they thought, but he is fair.

Wang Ba, naturally, did not correct their misconception.

In his view, securing four skilled technical talents—especially a Spirit Plant Master—for a measly thirty stones was the bargain of the century. With Bu Chan, he could finally grow high-quality feed for the Yellow-throated Spirit Turtles.

He wanted to drag them to the chicken farm immediately, but the timing wasn’t right.

“Deal,” he said.

Three days later.

Wang Ba submitted the second corpse—the stranger’s body—to the Merit Hall, successfully clearing his mandatory mission.

With his record clean and his new “employees” bound by contract, he led the four survivors to the empty plot of land next to his chicken farm.