The morning sunlight filtered through the window, illuminating the figure seated cross-legged on the bed in silent cultivation.
—Lin Feng had spent the entire night in meditation.
Suddenly, his eyelids twitched. He slowly opened his eyes, their brightness flickering like stars, and exhaled a long, ribbon-like stream of white turbid air. Uncontainable excitement surged in his gaze.
"Finally…I've reached the fourth layer of Qi Refining…"
He marveled at the nearly doubled qi within his meridians. Though the fourth layer was still humble, it marked another step forward—a tangible boost to his strength.
At twenty years old, achieving the fourth layer would invite mockery if made public. Even average cultivators typically reached the mid-stage of Qi Refining by fifteen and the late stage by twenty. Those with superior talent might already be building their Foundation by now.
The term "average cultivators" referred to those outside elite sects. The optimal age to begin cultivation was ten, when one's spiritual roots solidified and mental acuity blossomed. Most sects recruited mortal disciples between ten and twenty.
Of course, the cultivation world had its prodigies: those born with rare spiritual roots, divine blessings, or into privileged lineages. Such individuals, often core disciples of major sects, enjoyed elixirs and resources from infancy, their starting lines leagues beyond ordinary folk.
Moreover, high-grade cultivation techniques dictated a cultivator's progress. Techniques ranked as Heaven, Earth, and Mortal, each subdivided into upper, middle, and lower tiers. A high-tier technique accelerated cultivation and granted superior combat prowess, even at the same realm.
Lin Feng's technique, however, was a nameless, Mortal-lower-tier, attribute-less manual. Not only was it sluggish, but its ceiling capped at the Golden Core realm. To advance further, he'd need to discard it and relearn a higher-tier method—a grueling process.
As a child, Lin Feng had begged to cultivate. His mother promised to let him start "when he was older" and gift him a powerful technique. But then…
A pang of grief stabbed his heart as memories surfaced. He clenched his jaw, burying the sorrow beneath steely resolve.
No use dwelling on the past. Keep striving. Low-tier technique? So what? With my restoration ability, I'll earn mountains of spirit stones. I'll buy a better technique someday!
"Alright!! Time to…keep making money!!"
Lin Feng slapped his cheeks, reigniting his fervor, and declared his next move with a grin.
...
After packing, he left with his remaining spirit stones. Overnight cultivation had consumed thirteen stones, leaving seventy-seven—far more "capital" than last time. Enough to buy plenty of broken artifacts.
Before heading to the free market, Lin Feng stopped at the Treasure Pavilion to resign. Under Manager Li's stunned gaze, he turned and walked away.
Though indifferent to the Pavilion, he believed in closure.
Soon, he navigated the familiar alleys of the free market. Luck blessed him with a jar of first-grade Frostgrass Sap. He claimed a spot, spread a cloth, and added a smaller banner beside it:
"Buying artifacts damaged beyond 80%! No lightly damaged items! Premium prices for residual chain talismans!"
Clearing his throat, he began his pitch:
"Hear ye, hear ye! Recycling ruined artifacts! Only the most battered! Whether it's magic tools, treasures, spirit artifacts, or dao weapons—if it's broken and useless, sell it here! Why hoard junk? Trade it for stones and buy something better!"
His shouts drew immediate attention. As before, curious gazes swarmed him.
"Who's this lunatic buying trash? What's the point?"
"Wait—isn't this the 'junk collector' from two days ago? He's back?!"
"Ha! It's him! Same spiel! The legendary 'scrap enthusiast'!"
"Perfect! I've got two near-dead low-tier tools. Better pawn them for a few stones."
...
Lin Feng's eccentricity had already sparked gossip. His return magnetized onlookers. Within minutes, a crowd of low-level cultivators encircled him, and his "recycling empire" resumed.
...
By noon, Lin Feng halted his purchases. Shouldering a bulging sack of scrap, he exited the market—unaware that shadowy figures trailed him.
He ducked into a side alley, quickening his pace. The pursuers sped up, only to find the corridor empty.
"Tch! The brat's slippery. Weak cultivation, sharp instincts. He must've noticed us," growled the oldest stalker, a scowl etching his face.
His squint-eyed companion hissed, "Who is this fool wasting stones on garbage? That sack alone cost fifty or sixty stones! His money pouch must be fat…"
The leader's eyes glinted. "That sack's hard to miss. Let's keep searching. If we lose him, we'll ambush him next market day. He's come twice—he'll return. Move!"
They charged ahead, oblivious to the cloaked youth watching coldly from a nearby stall…
...
Once the trio vanished, Lin Feng stood and veered toward another street.
He'd spotted the tail the moment he left. At the alley's bend, he'd stashed his haul into his spatial ring and donned a disguise. The stalkers, blind to the ring's existence, fixated on the "sack-carrier," never suspecting their mark stood right there, eavesdropping.
"Need to be more careful. My methods are too flashy…but after selling this batch, I'll have enough stones to cultivate in peace. Once I grow stronger, these street thugs won't dare touch me…"
He doubled back to the market, avoiding his earlier spot, and splurged on materials.
An hour later, Lin Feng lugged his purchases home, plotting his next rise from obscurity.