The heavy wooden gates of the Jiang residence groaned shut behind us, the solid thump as they closed momentarily swallowed by the sudden, overwhelming wave of sound and sensation that was Qingshan Town's main thoroughfare. Stepping from the curated, almost sterile tranquility of the compound, with its meticulously tended gardens and silent, deferential servants, into the sun-baked, chaotic reality of the street was like plunging headfirst into a roiling, muddy river of noise, smell, and raw, unfiltered human life.
The afternoon sun, beginning its slow descent towards the western hills, cast long shadows across the well-maintained street outside the Jiang gate. Here, in what passed for Qingshan Town's affluent quarter, the road was paved with smooth, fitted flagstones rather than rutted earth, minimizing dust. The whitewashed walls of the neighboring compounds – likely belonging to other prosperous merchants or perhaps minor town officials – were clean and well-kept, adorned not with peeling paint or simple paper charms, but occasionally with carved wooden eaves or protective symbols etched subtly above lintels. It wasn't the grandeur of Yuhang City, but it was a clear step above the grime and chaos of the common market districts.
As our impromptu procession steadily got closer to said main market district, the hustle and bustle of the city increased in prominence. The air itself became a living entity, thick with fine dust kicked up by passing carts, scurrying pedestrians, and the occasional scrawny dog darting through the crowds. It carried a bewildering, almost suffocating miasma of scents that assaulted the senses: the sharp, savory aroma of lamb skewers sizzling over charcoal fires from a nearby stall warred aggressively with the pungent, sickly sweetness of overripe melons piled high on another cart, their rinds buzzing with flies; the acrid, metallic tang of a blacksmith's forge down a side alley, punctuated by the rhythmic clang of hammer on steel, mingled unpleasantly with the questionable, stagnant odor drifting from a nearby open drainage ditch choked with refuse; the earthy, dusty scent of dried medicinal herbs hanging in bundles outside an apothecary competed fiercely with the cloying, cheap floral perfume worn by a passing merchant's richly dressed wife, who wrinkled her nose in disdain at the general squalor.
Voices shouted, haggled, laughed, cursed, and gossiped in a constant, overwhelming, multi-layered din – vendors hawking their wares with practiced, rhythmic cries ("Fresh river fish! Straight from the Azure Serpent River!" "Strong linen cloth, best price in town!" "Lucky talismans, ward off misfortune!"), children shrieking in some incomprehensible game near a fountain, heavy wooden cartwheels rumbling and groaning over the uneven ground, the occasional indignant braying of an overloaded donkey or the frantic clucking of chickens escaping a broken coop. It was vibrant, undeniably alive, chaotic, teeming with a raw, messy, striving energy utterly absent within the pristine, ordered walls of the Jiang residence.
And into this turbulent river, we waded, an island of conspicuous, jarring otherness. Me, leading the way, clad in the blindingly ostentatious crimson silk robes, the nine golden dragons embroidered upon them seeming to writhe and coil with impossible life under the intense sunlight. The heavy jade pendants carved into snarling qilin and pixiu thumped rhythmically against my chest with each deliberately measured step, a soft, percussive beat announcing my passage. On my fingers, the large, crudely cut but undeniably impressive gemstones set in heavy gold rings flashed emerald, ruby, and sapphire fire, scattering fractured, dazzling rainbows across the dusty road and the stunned faces of onlookers.
To my left and slightly behind me, walking with precise, controlled steps, was Lin Ruolan. Her beautiful face was a carefully constructed mask of professional deference, her Stage Six Qi Gathering signature a tightly controlled knot of energy held close, but the bewildered apprehension, the sheer what is he doing now confusion, couldn't be entirely hidden from her expressive dark eyes as they scanned the bustling, chaotic street with visible unease.
And behind her, completing our bizarre procession, came the two sweating, straining household guards. Their faces were grim with the physical effort of carrying the large, securely sealed wooden chests between them, their knuckles white, their expressions a mixture of dutiful obedience and profound nervousness as they navigated the uneven ground and the parting crowds, acutely aware of the priceless cargo they carried and the unprecedented attention it drew.
Our arrival, needless to say, did not go unnoticed. It was like dropping a lit firecracker into a flock of pigeons.
Heads turned instantly, conversations died mid-sentence, haggling ceased. The cacophony of the street seemed to momentarily stutter, a ripple of silence spreading outwards from our position, quickly replaced by a rising wave of hushed whispers, pointing fingers, and wide-eyed, incredulous stares. Mortals, vendors and customers alike, instinctively pressed themselves back against shop fronts or stumbled out of the way, clearing a wide path, their expressions a volatile cocktail of awe at the display of wealth (the robes alone screamed 'money' – as they were meant to, of course!); fear of offending someone clearly important; and intense, undisguised curiosity.
Even the few low-level Qi Gathering cultivators scattered sparsely through the crowd – likely scions from minor noble families running errands, identifiable by their slightly cleaner clothes and more confident bearing – paused in their tracks, their eyes narrowing with professional assessment as they took in my ostentatious attire, my steady Stage Four Qi Gathering signature, the unexpectedly high-level cultivation radiating subtly from my attendant steward, and, most perplexingly, the two heavy chests being carried like common luggage through the marketplace.
We were certainly a spectacle to behold: an anomaly, a walking, glittering, baffling question mark dropped suddenly into the mundane flow of their provincial afternoon.
Perfect.
Exactly the reaction I was hoping to see.
"Where first, Master?" Lin Ruolan murmured beside me, her voice a low whisper, carefully keeping any judgment or disapproval from her tone, though her eyes continued to scan the bustling, somewhat grimy street with visible unease. She clearly found this public display distasteful and potentially dangerous.
"First?" I echoed, turning to her, letting a wide, perhaps slightly manic grin spread across my face, fully embracing the role of the unpredictable, newly empowered, possibly unhinged young master enjoying his newfound lease on life.
"First, Steward Lin," I declared, my voice loud enough to carry to the nearest onlookers, "we remind this quaint little town of Qingshan what truegenerosity looks like! We remind them of the Jiang family's magnanimity!"
Ignoring the more established, reputable shops clustered further down the street for the moment, I strode directly, purposefully, towards the nearest, densest cluster of food stalls, the guards and a reluctant Ruolan hurrying to keep pace, carving a path through the parting sea of onlookers. The combined aroma of roasting spiced meat, sweet fried pastries, steaming dumplings, and bubbling pots of unidentifiable stew filled the air, thick and savory. The first vendor, a stout, bald man sweating profusely over a grill laden with sizzling lamb skewers dusted with some kind of red spices, looked up in wide-eyed alarm as my considerable shadow, elongated by the afternoon sun, fell over his humble stall.
"You!" I declared, my voice ringing out, intentionally loud, drawing even more attention from the nearby stalls and the rapidly gathering crowd. "Your skewers smell… adequate!" I sniffed the air theatrically. "A passable aroma for this backwater town! How many do you have prepared at this moment?"
The man blinked rapidly, clearly intimidated by my blinding robes, my authoritative tone, and the two grim-faced guards flanking me with heavy chests. "P-perhaps fifty or sixty ready, Young Master? Freshly grilled!" he stammered, frantically wiping his greasy hands down his stained apron.
"Fifty?" I scoffed dramatically, making a show of looking utterly unimpressed. "Pitiful! A mere snack! I require five hundred! Prepare them immediately! Speed is of the essence!"
Before he could even begin to protest the impossibility of grilling four hundred more skewers instantly, I turned imperiously to one of the guards. "Pay the man," I commanded, gesturing towards the first chest with a flick of my jewel-laden wrist. The guard, his face impassive but his eyes betraying a flicker of disbelief at the absurdity of it all, stepped forward, unsealed the chest with practiced ease (Captain Feng must have drilled them well), revealing the shocking, warm gleam of gold within to the nearby onlookers. He reached in, scooped out a handful of gleaming gold coins – enough to buy the vendor's entire stall many, many times over, – and slapped them down onto the vendor's greasy wooden counter with a heavy, definitive thud.
The vendor stared at the pile of gold, then at me, his jaw working silently, his eyes bulging. The crowd nearby gasped audibly, murmurs rippling outwards. Gold coins? For skewers?
"And furthermore," I announced loudly, addressing the stunned vendor but projecting my voice to the rapidly gathering onlookers, my tone taking on an even grander, more outrageous quality, "this gold is far more than payment for your current stock. Consider it... seed money." I gestured expansively, encompassing his stall and the neighboring ones.
"Use it to hire some help, or buy out several more stalls like this one – meat, buns, vegetables, whatever is needed! Expand your operation! Then, starting today and continuing for one entire year," – a collective gasp rose from the crowd at the timeframe – "distribute food freely! To anyone who asks! Ensure no one within the sound of my voice today goes hungry for the next year! Tell them," – my voice boomed, resonating with Qi and sheer audacity – "it is all compliments of Jiang Li of the esteemed Jiang family!"
I didn't wait for his stammered thanks or bewildered agreement, already moving with purpose to the next stall – a plump woman pulling steaming hot meat buns from a large bamboo steamer, her face wary. "Madam!" I hailed her, adopting a slightly more charming tone. "Your buns look… passable! Edible, at least! How many can your ovens produce by nightfall?"
"M-maybe two hundred, Young Master?" she whispered, clearly terrified by the commotion at the previous stall and my sudden attention.
"Two hundred? Is that all?" I sighed theatrically, shaking my head as if deeply disappointed by the lack of productivity in this town. "Hardly enough for a proper snack for my household! Very well. I shall purchase one thousand! But that's not all."
I leaned in, making sure the crowd could hear my magnanimous decree. "This gold," – I gestured as the guard dispensed another absurd amount – "is also seed money! Just like with the skewer vendor! Use it well, Madam! Expand your business! And for the next full year, distribute your delicious buns freely to any who ask! Let no one go hungry! Let everyone taste the generosity of Jiang Li!" We left the woman speechless, tears welling in her eyes as she stared at the impossible fortune that had just landed in her lap.
On I went, a whirlwind of ostentatious, seemingly nonsensical spending. I swept through the market like a benevolent tornado of wealth.
I bought out a stall selling candied fruits – hawthorn berries, plums, melon slices – demanding enough to give an entire army a toothache, paying in gold, and decreeing they be given away freely for a year.
I purchased every single brightly colored paper lantern from a bewildered, elderly craftsman, declaring I needed to illuminate my entire courtyard like the midday sun for tonight's feast, paying a thousand times the asking price -- in gold.
I bought bolts upon bolts of plain, coarse blue and grey cloth from a stunned, weeping weaver, proclaiming loudly that my loyal servants deserved new uniforms immediately…
With each transaction, the guards would dramatically open a chest, reveal the blinding gold within, pay vastly, insultingly more than required, and I would loudly dedicate the purchase to the benefit of the townspeople or the glory of my household, ensuring maximum visibility, maximum gossip fodder.
The crowd swelled around us, pressing closer now, their initial fear replaced by a heady mixture of disbelief, burgeoning awe, and raw, naked greed. They followed us like seagulls trailing a fishing boat, a murmuring, jostling sea of faces. Whispers spread like wildfire, mutating in increasingly outrageous ways as they traveled –
"Young Master Jiang is giving away mountains of gold!"
"He bought out the entire skewer stall for a thousand gold!"
"He's paying for free food for a YEAR!"
"He must have found his family's hidden ancestral treasure!"
"Did you see those robes? Fit for an Emperor!"
Internally, I monitored the System, a satisfied smirk hidden behind my mask of flamboyant generosity. A constant, dizzying stream of notifications flickered at the edge of my consciousness:
[Belief Meter +1 (Mortal Onlooker)]
[Belief Meter +2 (Vendor Belief - Wealth)]
[Belief Meter +1 (Mortal Onlooker)]
[Belief Meter +1 (Mortal Onlooker)]
[Belief Meter +2 (Vendor Belief - Generosity)]
[Belief Meter +1 (Mortal Onlooker)]
Tiny increments, almost exclusively "BQT Level 1" (whatever that meant) belief derived from the awe and gossip of mortals… But they were accumulating at an astonishing rate, dozens per minute, fueled by the sheer, overwhelming spectacle.
And subtly, almost unconsciously now, I kept an internal check on the chests the guards carried. Though handfuls of gold coins were being regularly dispensed -- enough to cause a riot of spending in any normal circumstance – the actual level of gold within the chests seemed… utterly unchanged. It was as if the coins were subtly, magically replenishing themselves, sustained by the growing, pervasive belief of the crowd that my wealth was indeed bottomless. Limitless. The System didn't stop at just manifesting the initial amount required by my servants' belief; it seemed capable of continuously manifesting more -- as long as belief held.
Fascinating.
Powerful.
And incredibly useful for the continued performance!
"…Master," Lin Ruolan murmured nervously beside me again, her voice barely audible amidst the growing din of the excited crowd pressing around us, "is such expenditure truly…wise? This amount of gold..."
"Wise?" I laughed again, turning to beam at her, playing the magnanimous, slightly unhinged fool to perfection.
"Steward Lin, practicality is the hobgoblin of small minds! Wealth is like Qi – it stagnates if not circulated vigorously! And today, we shall circulate it! Let the good people of Qingshan Town rejoice in the Jiang family's boundless fortune!"
My gaze swept over the awestruck, greedy, hopeful faces surrounding us, locking eyes with individuals, projecting overwhelming confidence, reckless generosity, and perhaps just a touch of benevolent madness that kept them both enthralled and slightly terrified. Believe it, I silently commanded them, focusing my will, my performance. Believe I am wealthy beyond reason. Believe I am powerful beyond measure. Believe it all!
After nearly an hour of this chaotic, exhilarating performance, having bought enough mundane goods to supply a small army for months and having distributed enough free food to cause near-riots of gratitude and jostling, I decided it was time for the next, more… nuanced act. The widespread belief in my wealth was likely reaching saturation point among the mortals. Now, to add another layer to the burgeoning legend: perception, honor, and… hidden depths.
I steered our conspicuous, gold-dispensing entourage towards a dustier, less-trafficked side alley branching off the main market square, where stalls sold less savory or more questionable goods – cheap, possibly fake protection talismans, rusty farm tools piled high, chipped pottery of dubious origin, and miscellaneous scrap metal. Here, amidst the general detritus and neglect, sat a stall run by a man whose shifty, darting eyes, greasy homespun tunic, and ingratiating, false smile practically screamed 'con artist'. Piles of genuine junk – broken ploughshares, cracked roof tiles, tarnished brass fittings – were artfully arranged, interspersed with items he likely claimed, with practiced lies, were 'ancient relics unearthed from forgotten tombs' or 'damaged artifacts from fallen sects'.
I grinned silently to myself.
Perfect.
He saw us coming – the ridiculous crimson and gold robes that seemed to suck all the light from the narrow alley, the two grim guards struggling with heavy chests overflowing with gold, the beautiful, high-cultivation steward, and the sizable crowd of curious onlookers still trailing us at a distance – and his shifty eyes lit up with a sudden, intense flash of avaricious calculation, instantly masked by a veneer of fawning, humble deference. He practically threw himself into a low bow as we approached, nearly tripping over a pile of rusty chains.
"Young Master Jiang! Your esteemed presence honors my humble, unworthy stall! Destiny has surely guided you here! Perhaps seeking a unique, overlooked treasure today? I have recently acquired several items of… profound and mysterious origin!" He gestured with a flourish towards a cracked ceramic vase missing a handle and a piece of heavily corroded bronze that might once have been part of a bell.
My two household guards instinctively moved forward, their expressions disdainful, ready to brush the obsequious charlatan aside as unworthy of my attention.
"Wait," I commanded again, holding up a hand adorned with flashing rings, halting them in their tracks. My eyes, guided partly by Leo Maxwell's ingrained analytical curiosity about props and details, and partly by a deliberate desire to stage the next scene for maximum impact, scanned the cluttered piles of genuine junk. Then, as if drawn by an unseen force, I let my gaze land, seemingly by chance, on a particularly unremarkable object half-buried under a pile of broken, dusty roof tiles in a shadowed corner of the stall: a sword.
Or, rather, what was left of one. It was rusted almost beyond recognition, the simple crossguard bent, the hilt wrapped in strips of decaying, moldy leather, the blade itself was deeply pitted, chipped along the edge, and coated in thick, flaky orange-brown rust. It looked like something pulled from a battlefield centuries ago and subsequently used as a pry bar before being discarded into a swamp… for about a thousand years. It radiated absolutely zero Qi, not even the faintest residual trace.
It was pure, worthless scrap metal.
"That," I said slowly, deliberately, pointing a single, jewel-encrusted finger towards the pathetic excuse for a sword.
The vendor's shifty eyes flickered towards the object, then back to me, a quick, almost imperceptible calculation occurring behind his greasy smile. He likely hadn't even noticed it was there before.
"Ah! That thing?" he exclaimed, his voice adopting a tone of manufactured reverence. "Indeed, it is a true relic, Young Master! A blade from the glorious Age of Heroes, I am certain! I found it myself near the treacherous Black Mire just last month. Doubtless wielded by a great general in a legendary battle! A weapon of destiny! Yours," he paused, sizing me up, likely assuming my gaudy appearance equated to utter gullibility, "for a mere… fifty silver coins! A bargain for such a piece of history!"
It was a truly ridiculous price for obvious scrap, clearly testing the depths of my foolishness.
I ignored his attempts completely. Stepping closer, I reached out – deliberately not touching the sword yet, but hovering my hand directly over the rusted hilt, creating a sense of mystical connection. I closed my eyes dramatically, tilted my head back slightly as if listening to unseen whispers, and adopted an expression of intense, almost pained concentration. Simultaneously, I subtly flared my Stage Four Qi, not enough to seem aggressive, but creating a distinct pressure, a palpable wave of energy that washed over the vendor, Lin Ruolan, and anyone else nearby with cultivator senses, making them subconsciously aware of my presence, my power.
"Incredible..." I breathed, my voice dropping to a hushed, reverent whisper filled with manufactured awe. "This aura... so faint, so deeply hidden... sleeping just within the corrupted metal... like a dragon slumbering beneath centuries of dust..." I opened my eyes slowly, fixing them on the pathetic excuse for a sword with an expression of feigned, profound reverence.
"My divine sense,"
– I dropped the term, casually, confidently, knowing it was something able to be used only by Foundation Establishment cultivators and higher -- but counting on the ignorance of the mortals and the potential confusion of Ruolan regarding the nature of my 'hidden strength' –
"detects the lingering spirit of a peerless weapon! Dormant, yes, weakened by time and neglect, but undeniably… magnificent!"
The crowd, which had followed us even into this dusty alley, murmured again, pressing closer, their earlier excitement about gold now replaced by intrigued whispers. Divine sense? Peerless weapon? From that piece of utter rust? It was baffling, intriguing.
"How much did you say it was again?" I asked the vendor again, my tone suddenly sharp, almost accusatory, as if offended by his initial lowball offer (which was actually highway robbery).
The vendor, completely caught off guard by my intense performance, the palpable Qi pressure, and perhaps starting to genuinely doubt his own assessment under the force of my conviction, stammered, visibly sweating now despite the alley's shade. "F-fifty taels of silver, Young Master? Or perhaps… perhaps just ten silver taels, if Young Master truly fancies such a… rustic piece?"
He was backpedaling frantically, no longer sure if he was scamming me or… accidentally underselling a genuine priceless artifact he hadn't recognized.
"Nonsense!" I roared, the sound echoing in the narrow alley, startling him, the crowd, and even making Ruolan jump slightly. "Ten silver taels? For this?"
I gestured dramatically, almost reverently, at the rusty blade. "Do you take me for a fool, vendor? Or are you truly blind to the dormant power sleeping within this vessel? Why, let me tell you about what I see when my senses brush this magnificent artifact..."
I launched into a full-blown, impassioned, theatrical monologue, pacing back and forth before the dusty stall, my voice ringing with conviction, my gestures expansive. I wove a completely fabricated, ridiculously detailed history for the sword – epic battles fought against ancient, slavering demons in the primordial era, blessings bestowed upon it by long-forgotten celestial smiths, the tragic sorrow of its last heroic master who fell defending the innocent. I described the faint, heroic aura only I could perceive, the subtle vibrations of power humming just beneath the rust, the potential waiting to be awakened. I poured every ounce of Leo Maxwell's twenty years of stagecraft, every trick of voice modulation, emotional projection, and physical storytelling, into the performance. I projected absolute, unshakeable conviction, painting a vivid, compelling picture for the bewildered vendor, for the captivated crowd, for the increasingly confused – and intrigued -- Lin Ruolan…
As I spoke, gesturing, emoting, completely lost in the role, fueled by the growing, almost tangible belief radiating from the crowd who were getting completely swept up in the drama, and perhaps by the vendor's own dawning, greedy, desperate hope that he'd somehow stumbled upon a legendary fortune… I subtly watched the sword out of the corner of my eye.
And then, I saw it.
Or rather, I felt it first.
A faint, almost inaudible hum, like a plucked string vibrating at the edge of hearing. Then, a subtle warmth began to radiate from the corroded metal, pushing back the cool afternoon air, a warmth that seemed to resonate with my own Qi. Looking closer, focusing past my performance, the deep pits of rust seemed… fractionally shallower? The aggressive orange-red color seemed slightly less virulent, perhaps? It was almost imperceptible, but slowly, ever so subtly, the sword was becoming different.
I risked a quick glance at Lin Ruolan. Her expression was a mask of utter, profound confusion. Skepticism still warred with the undeniable shift in my aura and the sheer force of my conviction. But then, her eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Her head tilted slightly, her own cultivator senses, far sharper than the mortals', picking up something. A change. An anomaly emanating from the sword. The faint hum, the subtle warmth – she could sense it too now!
Her skepticism visibly wavered, eroded by the impossible evidence unfolding before her own eyes, replaced by shocked, dawning disbelief. Her own high-quality belief, BQT Level 3, likely became the crucial tipping point, the catalyst needed to truly ignite the manifestation.
The System responded instantly, a triumphant cascade of confirmations flooding my mental space.
[Qualified Belief Detected: Junk Vendor (Mortal - High Conviction). BQT Level 1 Met!]
[Mass Qualified Belief Detected: Onlookers (Mortal – High Conviction). BQT Level 1 Met!]
[Mass Qualified Belief Detected: Onlookers (Qi Gathering – Stage 1). BQT Level 2 Met!]
[Qualified Belief Detected: Lin Ruolan (Qi Gathering Stage 6). BQT Level 3 Met!]
[Analyzing Belief: Object possesses 'Peerless Spirit Sword' attributes]
[Threshold Met! Manifestation Initiated! Target Object Transformation in Progress...]
[Attribute Updated: Rusty Sword -> Awakening Spirit Sword (Low-Grade)]
[Belief Meter: +450 (Mixed Quality Belief Acquired)]
The warmth radiating from the sword intensified slightly, becoming noticeable even to those standing nearby. The hum grew fractionally louder, a low thrum of contained power. The rust seemed to loosen further, flaking away slightly at the edges as if shrugging off the constraints of time. It wasn't a dramatic, instantaneous transformation – yet -- but the change was now undeniable to anyone paying close attention.
The sword felt… alive.
"This blade," I declared, my voice filled with righteous indignation, reaching the climax of my performance, "is worth far more than mere silver! It resonates with history! With dormant power! To offer less than one thousand gold coins for it would be an insult to its noble spirit and its heroic past!"
I spun towards the guards, who were watching the proceedings with barely concealed awe. "Pay that man his money! One thousand gold! Not a copper less!"
The vendor's jaw dropped completely, his eyes rolling back in his head. One thousand gold? He stared, utterly speechless, trembling, as the guard beside him, without hesitation now, counted out a small mountain of gleaming gold coins onto his dusty, rickety stall. The sheer weight of the gold made the flimsy wood creak ominously, threatening to collapse.
Ignoring the vendor's near-catatonic state and the renewed roar of astonishment and disbelief from the crowd, I carefully, almost reverently, reached down and picked up the sword.
It certainly looked and felt different now. Heavier, yes, but perfectly balanced in my hand, settling into my grip as if made for it. The warmth was distinct, pulsing faintly like a slow heartbeat against my palm.
"Such magnificence," I murmured, my voice filled with a hint of genuine wonder, loud enough for all to hear, "should not remain hidden beneath the grime of ages."
Holding the sword aloft, letting the crowd see the subtle changes, the faint hum, I drew a clean, folded silk handkerchief from the ridiculously opulent sleeve of my robe – a prop I hadn't expected to need but was suddenly immensely glad to have. Infusing the fine silk subtly with my Stage Four Qi – not enough to be obvious as a technique, just enough to act as a catalyst, a polisher – I began to gently, carefully wipe away the thick, flaky layers of rust and accumulated grime from the blade, starting near the hilt.
The effect was instantaneous, dramatic, and breathtakingly beautiful. Where the Qi-infused silk touched, the centuries of corrosion didn't just get wiped away; they seemed to dissolve, to vanish like morning mist, flaking off in showers of reddish-brown dust that disintegrated before hitting the ground, revealing the true metal beneath.
And that metal… it wasn't dull iron.
It was a gleaming, silvery-blue steel, impossibly bright, seeming to capture and refract the afternoon sunlight, humming now with a clear, latent energy. As I wiped further down the blade, intricate, flowing patterns emerged – not rust, not damage, but engraved formations, ancient and complex, covering the surface like captured starlight, glowing now with a soft, steady, internal blue light. The hilt, once wrapped in rotting, moldy leather, now felt smooth and cool to the touch, revealed to be crafted from some unknown, dense, dark wood that seemed to absorb the light around it, perfectly fitted to my grip. The entire sword pulsed with a faint but undeniable spiritual energy, a low thrum of power that resonated up my arm.
It was certainly no longer junk. It was, as the System had confirmed, an Awakening Spirit Sword (Low-Grade) – a genuine cultivator's weapon, worth no less than several hundred low-grade spirit stones back in Yuhang City.
A collective gasp, louder and more profound than any before, ripped through the crowd. The junk vendor, who had started to stir, seeing the transformation, seeing the glowing formations, realizing he had briefly possessed a true spirit weapon, a genuine cultivator's treasure, and sold it for what now seemed like less than dust, let out a final, strangled cry of ultimate regret and promptly fainted dead away again amidst his worthless wares, unnoticed by the awestruck crowd.
The crowd erupted again, but the tone was utterly different now. The earlier excitement about mere free food or gold was gone, replaced by hushed reverence, by fearful awe.
"He knew! Young Master Jiang knew all along!"
"Such incredible perception! Divine sense! He saw the treasure within the trash!"
"And so honorable! He could have taken it for coppers, maybe even just taken it outright, but he insisted on paying a thousand gold!"
"Truly, the Jiang family's bloodline is profound! He is no trash, he is actually a genius! A hidden dragon!"
My reputation, I felt with absolute certainty, was undergoing another seismic, fundamental shift, solidifying into something entirely new.
The System confirmed it with another satisfying ping:
[Mass Qualified Belief Acquired (Crowd, Ruolan)! BQT Levels 1-3]
[Analyzing Belief: Discerning Eye, Hidden Knowledge, Honorable Nature, Profound Background, Potential Genius]
[Reputation Update: 'Locally Perplexing (Positive Lean)' -> 'Honorable & Enigmatic Prodigy']
[Belief Meter: +800 (High Quality Perception Belief)]
Honorable & Enigmatic Prodigy.
Now that had a nice ring to it. Much better than Abysmal or Locally Perplexing. I allowed myself another small, genuine smile, hefting the newly manifested spirit sword. It felt light, perfectly balanced, humming faintly in my hand as if eager to be used. This System… it was truly something else entirely. The power to reshape reality itself through performance… it was intoxicating.
I could get used to this.
Instead of tucking my new prop away, I turned and presented the humming, faintly glowing sword to Lin Ruolan, handle first.
"Steward Lin," I said, my tone serious now, "hold this for me. But be careful," I added, lowering my voice slightly, "its spirit seems... more active now. I can sense a profound and unfathomable aura within."
She looked startled by the request, her eyes darting from the sword to my face and back again. Hesitantly, she reached out with both hands, taking the weapon gingerly, almost fearfully. Her common sense was undoubtedly screaming at her about the energy thrumming within the blade -- an energy that hadn't even been there mere moments ago. She held it carefully, her knuckles white, feeling its unexpected weight, the subtle warmth radiating through the dark wood hilt, the low, resonant hum vibrating up her arms. Her gaze dropped to the blade itself, examining the intricate, glowing blue formations that had emerged from beneath the rust.
Her breath hitched.
"Amazing..." she breathed, her voice barely a whisper, filled with genuine awe, forgetting her earlier confusion for a moment as she traced the glowing blue lines with her gaze, utterly mesmerized.
"I've... I've never seen formations like these before. So intricate... they feel..." She trailed off, unable to articulate the feeling of profound power emanating from the weapon. Her close examination, her direct sensory input confirming the impossible transformation, solidified her belief completely.
The System pinged again, reacting to her focused, high-quality belief.
[Qualified Belief Detected: Lin Ruolan (Qi Gathering Stage 6). BQT Level 3 Met!]
[Analyzing Belief: Object is an 'Ancient & Powerful Spirit Sword']
[Threshold Met! Manifestation Upgrade Initiated!]
[Attribute Updated: Awakening Spirit Sword (Low-Grade) -> Awakening Spirit Sword (Mid-Grade)]
[Belief Meter: +120 (High Quality Belief Upgrade)]
As Ruolan held it, staring in wonder, the sword seemed to respond. The faint blue glow of the formations brightened subtly, becoming even clearer, more defined. The low hum intensified, becoming a steady, resonant thrum of power that seemed to harmonize with the surrounding Qi. The blade itself seemed to gain a sharper, more profound edge, its silvery-blue surface almost seeming to ripple with contained energy. It now felt distinctly more powerful, more potent, than it had just moments before when I first wiped it clean. I watched the transformation unfold, fascinated.
Ruolan's belief had upgraded it further. The implications were staggering.
"Indeed," I said calmly, masking my own internal astonishment. "A remarkable find."
With the sword now secured, I decided the market spectacle had served its purpose admirably. Time for the final act of today's grand performance, the visit to the establishment that represented the peak of commerce in this town.
"Steward Lin," I commanded, gesturing for the guards to secure the remaining gold chest (which, impossibly, still looked just as – if not, somehow, even more full – as when we started), "Lead the way. To the Myriad Treasures Pavilion."
+++
The transition from the dusty, chaotic, now reverently silent open market alley to the imposing facade of the Myriad Treasures Pavilion was jarring, like stepping between worlds. This was clearly the most luxurious and most powerful commercial establishment in Qingshan Town, a towering four-story building constructed from gleaming, polished dark redwood and expensive, precisely cut grey granite blocks, its architecture grand and slightly imposing compared to the surrounding structures.
Large, clear windows, free of dust or imperfections, displayed tantalizing glimpses of genuine treasures within – glowing artifacts, rare herbs, exquisite silks. Two imposing guards, clad in matching black uniforms embroidered with the Pavilion's golden coin insignia, stood flanking the wide, heavy entrance doors. Significantly, both were cultivators, their Qi signatures steady and disciplined, both nearly at the threshold of mid-stage Qi Gathering (Stage 2-3 or so, by my rough estimation), radiating an aura of professionalism and lethal capability far exceeding the town guard or typical family retainers – at least, around these parts. They eyed my flashy robes, the humming spirit sword in Steward Lin's hand, and the chest-carrying guards with initial surprise, their gazes sharp and assessing. But seeing the Jiang family crest subtly embroidered on the sleeve of Lin's robe, and perhaps sensing my own steady Qi Gathering Stage Four aura, their expressions shifted to professional respect. They bowed crisply, simultaneously pulling open the heavy doors to allow us entry.
The interior of the first floor was even more opulent than the exterior suggested. Thick, plush crimson carpets, woven with intricate golden patterns, muffled our footsteps completely, creating an atmosphere of hushed reverence. Soft, magical light emanated from glowing pearls set into the ceiling beams, illuminating gleaming glass display cases arranged with artistic precision. Inside, exquisite jewelry shimmered – lustrous sea pearls the size of pigeon eggs, fiery rubies, deep green jades carved into intricate phoenixes, gemstones of every hue set in delicate, masterfully crafted gold and silver settings. Racks along the walls held shimmering silk brocades in a rainbow of vibrant colors, their textures looking impossibly fine. Crystal bottles of exotic perfumes, stoppered with jade and gold, perfumed the air with subtle, complex fragrances – a world away from the cheap floral scents outside. And on pedestals and wall mounts, decorative weapons gleamed – swords with hilts carved from spirit beast bone, daggers inlaid with mother-of-pearl, axes with polished obsidian heads – beautiful, certainly, but clearly non-functional, meant merely for display by wealthy mortals seeking status symbols. Several wealthy-looking mortal merchants, identifiable by their fine but non-cultivator robes, and their elegantly dressed wives browsed quietly, attended by demure, silent shop assistants in neat uniforms.
The air hummed with quiet wealth and exclusivity.
The floor manager, a slender, middle-aged man in impeccably tailored fine silk robes, whose own cultivation was only around Stage 2 Qi Gathering but whose demeanor radiated smooth, practiced professionalism, hurried forward as we entered, his eyes briefly widening at my attire before his professional smile clicked firmly into place.
"Young Master Jiang," he began, his voice smooth as oiled silk, his bow precise and respectful, likely recognizing Lin or the family crest immediately.
"An unexpected honor. I bid you welcome to the Myriad Treasures Pavilion. How may this humble establishment assist you today? Perhaps some fine jewelry for a special occasion? Or, perhaps, a gift for a… significant other?" His gaze flickered briefly, perhaps assessing Lin Ruolan, perhaps simply acknowledging her presence as my attendant.
I ignored the implied questions and the smooth sales pitch. I didn't browse. I didn't examine the glittering wares. I simply waved a dismissive, jewel-laden hand, the gesture encompassing the entire opulent floor.
"Everything," I declared simply, my voice casual, almost bored, yet carrying clearly in the hushed room. "Wrap it all up. Every piece of jewelry, every bolt of silk, every decorative weapon, every bottle of perfume. Consider them… trifles. Gifts for my hardworking household staff back at the residence."
The manager froze mid-bow, his professional smile wiped clean off his face as if slapped. His eyes bulged slightly. "E-everything, Young Master? The entire floor's display?"
"Did I stutter?" I asked coolly, raising a single eyebrow, letting a hint of Jiang Li's impatience show. "This entire floor. Calculate the cost. Now."
He gaped, utterly flabbergasted, then scrambled into action, his face paling slightly. "Y-yes! Yes, Young Master! Immediately!" He spun around, clapping his hands sharply, calling assistants, his voice suddenly high-pitched with urgency. "Quickly! Quickly! Tally everything! Every item! Young Master Jiang wishes to purchase the entire floor!" The assistants, equally stunned, hurried to obey, pulling out abacuses and ledgers, their hands trembling slightly as they began the frantic calculation. The other patrons on the floor stared openly now, their quiet browsing forgotten, whispering furiously behind their hands, their expressions a mixture of shock, disbelief, and perhaps envy. Who was this insanely profligate Jiang young master?
After several minutes of frantic calculation, whispered consultations, and the rapid clicking of abacus beads, the manager approached again, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead with a silk handkerchief, bowing much, much lower this time, his earlier condescension completely evaporated, replaced by fearful awe. "Young Master," he stammered, holding out a trembling slip of paper, "the total for all items currently displayed on this first floor comes to approximately… four taels of gold, seven gold coins, six silver taels, and… four silver coins."
"Eighty-seven gold?" I scoffed lightly, making it sound like an insignificant sum. "Too complicated. Just round it up to one hundred gold. Consider it a… small tip for your trouble, Manager." I nodded curtly to the guard standing beside the first chest. The guard, his face utterly impassive after what he's seen today, stepped forward, opened the chest again – revealing the still seemingly undepleted river of gold within – and carefully counted out exactly one hundred gleaming gold coins onto the polished countertop. The heavy clack-clack-clack of the coins echoed like thunder in the suddenly silent, breathless room.
"Have it all packed carefully and delivered to the Jiang residence by sunset," I commanded, already turning dismissively towards the wide, carpeted stairs leading upwards, leaving the stunned manager, the gaping patrons, and the terrified assistants in my wake. Let the rumors begin.
The second and third floors of the Myriad Treasures Pavilion were dedicated entirely to the path of the Martial Artist, a stark contrast to the opulent – but ultimately shallow -- luxury below. As we ascended the wide, carpeted stairs, the air grew less perfumed, smelling instead faintly of medicinal liniments, oiled leather, and polished steel. I recalled Jiang Li's memories again, solidifying my understanding of this world's power structures.
Cultivation, the path I was now inexplicably, miraculously on, was the undisputed pinnacle. As a prerequisite, it required the elusive 'spiritual root' – a rare innate talent enabling the connection to the heavens and earth, allowing one to sense and absorb the ambient spiritual energy of the world -- the Ling Qi or Spirit Qi. This energy was then refined within the body, circulating through intricate pathways called meridians, stored and nurtured within a core energy center known as the dantian. Through countless methods of arduous meditation, comprehension of various techniques, and often the aid of expensive resources like pills and spirit stones, cultivators could "break through" the shackles of mortal limits, advancing through distinct Major Stages – Qi Gathering (where I now resided at the minor Stage Four), the critical transformation of Foundation Establishment (like my parents), the power consolidation of Golden Core (like the Su family's secluded elder), and – theoretically – the many realms beyond, including Nascent Soul, Spirit Severing, and Dao Formation, and more -- potentially leading towards true immortality and even ascension to higher planes of existence. It was the path of true, world-altering power, the ability to command elements, move mountains, wield incredible energies, extend lifespans dramatically, and ultimately, defy the very heavens themselves.
But… spiritual roots were exceedingly rare; perhaps only one in ten thousand possessed even the weakest potential for cultivation, and far fewer had the talent, resources, and luck to progress significantly. Cultivation wasn't just about power; it was about transcending the mundane, touching the profound mysteries of the universe, a path fundamentally different from merely strengthening the mortal shell.
The other path, one far more common and accessible, was that of Martial Arts. Anyone, theoretically, could train their physical body, learn devastating combat techniques, strengthen their muscles, bones, and sinews through sheer grit and relentless effort. With sufficient dedication, rigorous training, and – often -- the aid of expensive body-tempering medicines and secret techniques passed down through families or schools, one could push the mortal frame to seemingly superhuman heights.
Martial Artists developed a different kind of internal energy, derived purely from their own blood, vitality, and physical essence – Xue Qi, or Blood Qi, a potent but ultimately self-contained force. Talented martial artists could reach advanced stages like Body Transformation, where their physical form became incredibly resilient, capable of shattering stone or moving faster than the eye could follow, or even attain the revered rank of Martial Grandmaster, individuals capable of truly superhuman feats of strength, speed, agility, and endurance, enjoying significantly longer lifespans (perhaps even double or triple that of a normal mortal) and considerable respect within mortal society and even among lower-level cultivators. There were likely anywhere from twenty to, perhaps, even fifty, times more people with significant martial talent than those possessing a usable spiritual root, making them the true backbone of mundane armies and security forces.
However, this path had fundamental, insurmountable limits. Xue Qi was generated internally. As such, it was finite, bound by the potential of the physical body, however much it was tempered. It couldn't be drawn endlessly from the vast reservoir of the world's energy like Spirit Qi could. A Martial Grandmaster, while a terrifying force to mortals and potentially capable of defeating unprepared early-stage Qi Gatherers through sheer skill, experience, and overwhelming physical power, was still fundamentally bound by the limits of flesh and blood. They could not fly, command elements, or extend their senses beyond the physical. Compared to a true cultivator, one at Foundation Establishment or above, even the strongest Martial Grandmaster was, as the common saying went, akin to a sturdy, determined ant before a soaring, indifferent dragon. Their strengths occupied different dimensions, their ultimate potential ceilings vastly disparate. Cultivators walked the path towards literal godhood; martial artists, on the other hand, perfected the mortal form to its absolute peak, but remained painfully mortal nonetheless.
These second and third floors clearly catered to the latter, the numerous practitioners of the martial way. Heavy wooden racks held sturdy, perhaps even alchemically enhanced, but non-spiritual weapons designed for pure physical combat – gleaming meteor hammers with thick, weighted chains capable of crushing bone, wickedly barbed chain whips that could tear flesh, heavy quarterstaffs banded with iron for parrying and striking, sharp practice swords and sabers of mundane but well-forged steel. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with thick manuals bound in worn leather, detailing external martial techniques – aggressive Tiger Claw fighting style manuscripts promising to rend steel, elusive Shadow Step movement arts emphasizing evasion, brutal Mountain Splitting Axe techniques focused on overwhelming power. Glass cabinets displayed rows upon rows of low-grade body-tempering pills – emitting sharp, pungent medicinal smells – and viscous, dark liniments in heavy clay jars, concoctions designed to strengthen bones, toughen skin, numb pain, and speed recovery from the brutal training regimens required to advance, mostly derived from mundane herbs or the ground bones and blood of weak spirit beasts captured or killed by local hunting parties. Training dummies made of reinforced hardwood and packed iron sand stood in corners. Weighted vests, grip strengtheners, striking posts wrapped in thick leather – all the mundane, sweat-inducing tools required for the arduous, painful journey to physical perfection.
Again, I didn't waste time browsing specifics. My goal here wasn't acquisition for myself, but the continued performance of overwhelming, almost careless wealth and provision for my 'household'.
"Everything required," I announced loudly to the bewildered attendants on each floor -- "for the basic and intermediate body tempering and weapon training for at least fifty individuals. A representative selection of manuals covering fist, blade, staff, movement, and breathing techniques. All necessary training equipment – dummies, weights, posts, the lot. And sufficient quantities of those bone-strengthening pills and muscle-mending liniments," I waved a hand vaguely at the cabinets, "for three months' intensive training for all fifty." I paused, then added as an afterthought, "Double the liniments, actually. Accidents happen during rigorous training." I turned to Lin Ruolan, who looked increasingly pale, likely calculating the astronomical cost even in gold.
"Bill Steward Lin here, she will handle the payment." I had the guards dispense gold liberally from the chest again, buying out vast swathes of their inventory, enough equipment and medicine to supply a small city garrison or establish a new martial school from scratch, proclaiming loudly as they did so, "My household guards require significant improvement! Their current pitiful state is an embarrassment to the Jiang name! We shall spare no expense in rectifying this!"
The cost was likely substantial in silver taels, perhaps even touching several hundred gold total for both floors combined, but it barely seemed to dent the manifested supply in the chest. The attendants, wide-eyed and trembling slightly, could only bow repeatedly, stammering their thanks, their minds clearly struggling to comprehend the scale of the purchase.
Finally, we ascended the last flight of stairs to the fourth floor. The atmosphere here shifted immediately, becoming noticeably different. The air felt thinner, cleaner, yet charged with a subtle, palpable energy that made the fine hairs on my arms stand on end. The ambient Qi of the world was significantly denser here, likely drawn upwards and concentrated by sophisticated formations laid within the Pavilion's structure itself, making it a conducive environment for cultivators to browse and meditate on potential purchases. This floor was clearly, exclusively reserved for cultivators of at least the Qi Gathering realm. Soft, internal lighting emanated from smooth, fist-sized luminous pearls set into the ceiling beams, casting a gentle, even glow, illuminating fewer, more widely spaced displays than the floors below. Elegant glass cases, perhaps reinforced with shimmering, almost invisible protective runes, held single, perfect stalks of various glowing spirit herbs emitting faint, exotic fragrances that soothed the mind and subtly nourished the Qi.
Stacks of thick, yellowed talismans lay nestled on plush velvet cushions, crackling faintly with contained, potent power – symbols promising minor elemental attacks like fire bolts or ice shards, basic protective light shields, temporary concealment from spiritual sense, or even minor healing effects.
Raw ores pulsed with faint elemental energy, displayed like jewels – chunks of shimmering Frost Crystal radiating cold, veins of fiery Sunstone emanating warmth, heavy nuggets of Earth Essence Iron grounding the ambient Qi.
And in a separate, quieter section, components for setting up simple formations lay carefully arranged – small, intricately carved flags made of beast bone, polished jade disks inscribed with complex, glowing arrays, jars of powdered spiritual minerals shimmering with latent power.
The patrons here were fewer still, perhaps only half a dozen, mostly cultivators themselves dressed in finer robes, their Qi signatures ranging – by my rough estimation -- from Stage Two or Three to Stage Five of Qi Gathering. They browsed with quiet intensity, their focus absolute, their movements deliberate, the hushed atmosphere one of serious contemplation and significant potential expenditure.
And there, standing arrogantly before a display case holding several stalks of the valuable Moon Dew Grass, arguing heatedly in lowered but clearly furious tones with a fourth-floor attendant, was the familiar, unwelcome figure from Jiang Li's memories – the 'insolent peacock' himself, Elder Miao's nephew, Miao Zhihao.
He was dressed, as before, in fine silk robes of a slightly flashy emerald green embroidered with silver cranes that seemed to sneer along with him, his handsome face marred by a petulant frown, his Qi fluctuating erratically around Stage 3 of Qi Gathering – respectable enough for his age out here in backwater Qingshan, certainly better than Jiang Li had been, but ultimately insignificant in the grand scheme of things, especially compared to true talents from major families or sects.
"...and I am telling you, attendant, my Miao family always receives a courtesy discount at the Myriad Treasures Pavilion!" Miao Zhihao was saying haughtily, his voice tight with indignation, gesturing possessively towards a single stalk of the iridescent, gently glowing Moon Dew Grass inside the display case. "Four low-grade spirit stones is exorbitant for a single stalk! A blatant rip-off! Don't you know, my uncle is Elder Miao! Does the Pavilion no longer value the patronage of Qingshan Town's leading family? Fetch your manager here, right now!"
The attendant, a young woman whose own cultivation was only Stage 3 Qi Gathering but who carried herself with the borrowed arrogance and institutional backing of representing the powerful Pavilion, looked deeply uncomfortable but resolute. She was clearly torn between ingrained deference to the local Miao name and strict adherence to Pavilion's policy regarding cultivator resources.
"Young Master Miao, please understand," she repeated, her voice strained but firm, "the prices for all spirit-grade items are set directly by the main branch in Yuhang City based on rarity and market demand... This humble one truly has no authority whatsoever to offer discounts on spirit stone transactions..." She then noticed our arrival, his eyes widening first at my ridiculously opulent crimson and gold robes and the faintly glowing spirit sword now carried casually in Lin Ruolan's hand, then narrowing with clear, undisguised disdain as she recognized the infamous Jiang Li. Her gaze flickered over me dismissively, lingering perhaps for a fraction of a second too long on the flashy jewels.
"Young Master Jiang," she said, her tone barely concealing a sneer, markedly more disrespectful than his address to Miao Zhihao, clearly judging me by my past reputation and assuming my presence here was some kind of joke or mistake.
"Surely the items on this floor, items requiring payment in spirit stones, are beyond your usual interests or means? Perhaps the fine silks and perfumes downstairs would be more… suitable for your needs?"
Before I could even formulate a suitably devastating, theatrical reply to the blatant, suicidal insult, Miao Zhihao spun around, alerted by the attendant's words. His eyes widened in surprise at seeing me, then immediately narrowed with renewed, venomous malice.
"Jiang Li?" he spat, his voice dripping contempt, clearly emboldened by the attendant's disrespect towards me. "What is trash like you doing on the cultivator's floor? Did you finally pawn your mother's jewelry to pretend you belong here?" He smirked cruelly. "Or did your misadventures last night leave you addled? Go. Crawl back to the Serene Phoenix Pavilion where creatures like you belong!"
His eyes flickered with malice, but also, I noted with keen interest, a hint of underlying nervousness, perhaps remembering our altercation the previous night, perhaps wondering how I had recovered so quickly from whatever state he'd last seen me in.
Perfect. The antagonist delivered on cue. The audience assembled. The stage was set for the grand finale.
I completely, utterly ignored Miao Zhihao. As if he were a buzzing fly, less than air, unworthy of even a glance, let alone a response. My entire focus locked onto the rude, arrogant attendant, a slow, cold, dangerous smile touching my lips.
"This floor," I stated calmly, my voice cutting through the tense atmosphere like ice, silencing the nearby patrons who had paused their browsing to watch the unfolding drama. "Seems somewhat… lacking in truly exceptional wares. But," I sighed dramatically, as if making a great, weary concession, "I suppose these few trinkets will suffice for now."
The attendant bristled at the insult to the Pavilion's collection. "Young Master Jiang, these are precious cultivator resources! Payment is required in spirit stones only! I doubt someone like you—"
"Someone like me?" I interrupted smoothly, raising an eyebrow. "And what kind of someone is that, attendant?" I let my Stage Four Qi Gatherin pressure flare slightly, just enough to make her pale and take an involuntary step back. "Someone who finds your current selection… inadequate?" I gestured vaguely around the room. "Very well. To simplify matters, I shall purchase this entire floor."
The attendant gaped.
Miao Zhihao choked.
The other patrons stared.
"P-purchase the floor?" the attendant stammered. "Young Master, the value... it would require at least a hundred low grade spirit stones! You... you couldn't possibly..." Her disbelief was palpable, insulting.
"Couldn't I?" I asked softly, the cold smile widening slightly. I reached into my own wide sleeve and slowly drew out the pouch containing the fifty actual low-grade spirit stones from my lockbox. The pouch itself was simple cloth, unremarkable.
"Spirit stones, you say?" I opened the drawstring and casually, almost carelessly, upended the pouch onto a nearby polished display counter made of dark spirit wood.
Clatter-skitter-thump.
The sound was distinctively not metal. Fifty dull, crystalline pebbles, each humming with faint but undeniable spiritual energy, scattered across the polished surface, glowing softly in the magical light. They weren't high quality – some were cloudy, others irregularly shaped – but they were unmistakably, undeniably genuine low-grade spirit stones.
Enough to buy Miao Zhihao's coveted Moon Dew Grass over a dozen times over.
A collective gasp went through the few cultivator patrons nearby. Spirit stones – especially in this provincial backwater -- were valuable currency, not something one scattered like common beans!
The attendant stared, her jaw slack, recognizing their authenticity instantly.
Miao Zhihao's face flushed again, this time perhaps with a mixture of envy and confusion.
"A mere handful, of course," I said dismissively, gesturing to the scattered stones on the counter as if they were pocket lint. "Barely worth carrying myself." Then, I nodded towards my two guards, who stood rigidly, each in possession of several similar-looking cloth pouches attached conspicuously to their belts.
"The rest," I announced, my voice resonating with absolute confidence, projecting the unshakeable belief I needed them to adopt, "are in those pouches my guards have on their belts. Is it hundreds? Thousands? Honestly, I often lose count. Tedious little things, spirit stones -- always weighing one down."
The bluff was outrageous.
Those pouches held nothing but carefully simple pebbles, grabbed hastily from the courtyard garden before we left.
But the setup – the real stones scattered carelessly, my absolute confidence, the memory of the impossible gold downstairs – all of it was designed to bridge that gap, to make the impossible lie seem plausible.
I focused my performance now upon my own entourage, needing their belief first. Lin Ruolan stared at the scattered spirit stones, then at the pouches the guards held, her eyes wide. The guards themselves, at a mere First Stage of Qi Gathering, likely couldn't tell a genuine spirit stone from a pebble unless they held one directly in their hand -- but they had witnessed the gold miracle, had seen their Master find a genuine spirit sword in a pile of junk… and said Master now radiated absolute certainty. Who were they to question him? They stood straighter, their expressions firming with reflected confidence.
The System flared.
[Qualified Belief Detected: Lin Ruolan (Qi Gathering Stage 6). BQT Level 3 Met!]
[Qualified Belief Detected: Guard Zhang (Qi Gathering Stage 1). BQT Level 2 Met!]
[Qualified Belief Detected: Guard Li (Qi Gathering Stage 1). BQT Level 2 Met!]
[Analyzing Belief: Possesses vast quantities of Spirit Stones]
[Threshold Met! Manifestation Initiated - Target: Pebbles in Guard Pouches -> Low-Grade Spirit Stones]
[Belief Meter: +110 (Mixed Quality Belief Acquired)]
Internally, I felt the subtle thrum of the System working its magic, targeting the pebbles held by my guards. To reinforce the illusion for the wider audience, I casually nodded to one guard.
"Guard Zhang, pour out one of yours next to mine. Let these good people see I am not exaggerating."
The guard obeyed instantly, loosening the drawstring on one of the pebble-filled pouches and upending the contents. Instead of dull grey pebbles, the stones that fell out revealed the faint, unmistakable crystalline gleam and subtle energy hum of dozens more low-grade spirit stones, at least identical to – and maybe of even better quality than -- those already on the counter.
The attendant gasped again, stumbling back another step in shock.
Miao Zhihao looked like he was going to be sick.
The other patrons murmured in awe, their eyes darting between the scattered stones, the guards' numerous remaining pouches, and me, their own belief solidifying. I smirked to myself at the additional string of system notifications in the corner of my vision.
"Now then," I said, turning back to the attendant, my voice laced with impatience, "about purchasing this floor... these hundred or so stones here," I gestured to the counter, "should serve as a sufficient deposit, don't you think? Steward Lin will settle any remainder from the other pouches upon delivery to my residence. Pack everything meticulously. Ensure nothing is damaged."
Before the terrified attendant could even respond, footsteps pounded frantically on the stairs again. The Pavilion Manager burst onto the floor, his face even paler and sweatier than before, his own aura practically vibrating with panic. He had clearly heard the distinctive clatter of spirit stones hitting his expensive counter, or been alerted by the commotion. Was he aware of the earlier insults, I wondered?
He took in the scene – the over a hundred scattered low-grade spirit stones, the pouches carried by the guards, the genuine spirit sword still being held by my Steward, the terrified floor attendant, the furious Miao nephew, the awestruck patrons… and me, standing there radiating calm power – and nearly collapsed on the spot.
"Young Master Jiang!" he gasped, rushing forward, bowing low, his voice trembling.
"Please forgive this establishment's utter failure! This... this attendant..." He spun towards the attendant, his face contorted with utter fury. Appeasing someone who threw around gold was one thing; appeasing someone who treated spirit stones like pebbles was another matter entirely.
"You worthless, incompetent fool! You dare... you DARE offend such an esteemed personage? You are not just fired, you are banished from the Pavillion grounds! Guards!" he roared down the stairs, "Seize this imbecile! Throw her out onto the street!"
The attendant let out a genuine scream of terror this time as two of the Pavilion's own Qi Gathering-level guards appeared instantly and dragged her away, ignoring her desperate pleas for mercy. Her career in sales was likely over… and she would be lucky if things ended there.
The Manager turned back to me, practically prostrating himself now. "Young Master Jiang, please, I implore you, accept a modest discount as my gift to you! A humble apology! Consider it a token of the Myriad Treasures Pavilion's deepest respect and sincerest regret!"
I could see it in his eyes. He was afraid; willing to write off quite a few spirit stones' worth of goods just to avoid my potential wrath or negative reports reaching the main branch or, gods forbid, the Jiang family.
I allowed myself a small, cold smile, enjoying his discomfort, but needing to maintain the performance.
"A gift?" I asked softly. "Manager, do I look like someone who requires gifts?" I gestured dismissively towards the scattered spirit stones. "I trust these hundred or so stones should serve as sufficient payment for these trifles for now. Have everything delivered as instructed." The implication was clear: the entire floor's worth of cultivator goods – low grade cultivator goods though they may be -- was barely worth mentioning to someone like me.
"Steward Lin will handle any further settlement if required upon an inventory check."
The Manager could only nod frantically, bowing repeatedly, sweat dripping onto the polished floor. "Yes, yes, Young Master! As you command! It will be done perfectly! Utmost care will be taken!"
Miao Zhihao, utterly forgotten, stood completely humiliated, his face a mask of pale fury and perhaps dawning fear, finally seemed to realize the chasm between his local standing and the power I now represented. He let out another choked sound, turned, and practically fled down the stairs, wanting only to escape a potentially disastrous confrontation.
The System pinged again, adding the final notes to the symphony of belief.
[Mass Qualified Belief Detected (Manager, Patrons)! BQT Levels 1-3]
[Analyzing Belief: Vast Spirit Stone Wealth, High Cultivator Status]
[Belief Meter: +1800 (High Quality Belief & Confirmation)]
[Reputation Solidified: Eccentric & Unfathomably Wealthy Powerhouse]
Surveying the scene – the profusely bowing manager, the stunned patrons now whispering about cultivator status instead of just gold, the lingering psychic residue of the furious departing nephew, the scattered but very real spirit stones gleaming on the counter – I felt a surge of satisfaction. The performance, escalated to cultivator currency, had been even more effective.
"Steward Lin," I said calmly, turning towards the exit, my voice cutting through the manager's frantic instructions. "Arrange for the delivery of today's... minor purchases." I gestured vaguely, encompassing nearly the entirety of the Pavilion's four floors with a careless wave. "Guards, follow."
A few minutes later, we were sweeping out of the Myriad Treasures Pavilion with Lin Ruolan trailing silently, dutifully in my wake, her face still a mask of bewildered awe. We were leaving behind a scene of utter chaos, frantic activity, whispered speculation, and the undeniable, overwhelming weight of manifested gold coins and spirit stones. I stepped back out into the bright afternoon sun of Qingshan Town with a sense of deep satisfaction.
The return trip to the residence felt markedly different. People still stared, naturally – the robes and the – remarkably – still quite full chests carried by the guards guaranteed that much – but the whispers now held less contemptuous dismissal or simple curiosity, and far more cautious awe, fearful respect, and rampant, wild speculation about the 'changed' Young Master Jiang. The so-called 'trash' young master had well and truly become something else entirely overnight.
The actor in me savored the palpable shift in the atmosphere, the successful manipulation of perception on a city-wide scale. The newly empowered Jiang Li considered the implications, the new dangers this attention might bring, and the vast, untapped potential of the System that made it all possible.
The game was truly afoot now, and I had just made my spectacular, unforgettable opening move. What moves were played in return… well, we would just have to wait and see!