The shopfront stood three stories tall, its obsidian facade polished to the same mirror finish as every other building in American City. Large display windows flanked the entrance, currently empty and waiting for merchandise. A bronze plaque beside the door glowed faintly with inscriptions, ready to process rental agreements through the identity token system.
I'd walked past dozens of storefronts in the innermost ring, the prime real estate closest to the portal monuments. Every single one had been claimed already, smart entrepreneurs and established merchants recognizing their value immediately. People entering the city would see those shops first, gravitating toward them out of convenience.
This location on the second ring wasn't ideal, but it beat fighting for scraps in the outer districts. Traffic still flowed past regularly as cultivators moved between the portal plaza and their residential areas. Good enough for what I needed.
The surrounding shops sat mostly vacant, their windows dark and interiors bare. American City had the infrastructure to support millions of people, but only thousands had arrived so far. The Eastern Region portals were still spreading across Earth, their slow migration toward permanent positions limiting the influx. Give it a few more weeks and every available space would be occupied, prices climbing as demand outstripped supply.
Better to claim my spot now while options remained.
I pulled my identity token from my hand, the small crystal disc materializing in my palm. The merit point balance displayed across its surface showed numbers that would make most cultivators weep with envy. As the creator of this entire system, I could generate merit points at will, though I'd been careful not to abuse that power too obviously. No point in destroying the economy I'd built before it even got started.
The bronze plaque responded to my token's proximity, its inscriptions activating and projecting a translucent contract into the air. Standard rental terms, pricing based on location and duration, penalties for property damage. I skimmed through it quickly, then pressed my token against the plaque's surface.
Energy flowed between the two artifacts, the contract finalizing with a soft chime. The door's lock disengaged, and ownership transferred to my identity. The shopfront was mine for the next month, renewable indefinitely as long as I kept paying the fees. Fees that meant nothing to someone with infinite merit points.
I pushed through the entrance, stepping into an open interior that smelled of fresh construction and spiritual energy. Empty shelving units lined the walls, their surfaces carved from the same black stone as the exterior. Display cases waited in the center of the room, ready to showcase valuable merchandise. Everything built to last, reinforced with basic preservation inscriptions that would keep products fresh and protected.
Perfect for what I had in mind.
Storage rings made inventory management trivial. I pulled out the crystal containers I'd filled yesterday, each one labeled with its contents and quality grade. Foundation Breaking Pills went on the left wall, their crimson color catching the light from the ceiling inscriptions. Foundation Building Pills took the center shelves, arranged by batch and potency. Meridian Surge Pills filled the right side, their pale blue surfaces crackling occasionally with residual lightning energy.
The weapons came next. I moved to the walls, hanging each blade on specialized racks designed to display their balance and craftsmanship. Daggers first, their compact forms perfect for close combat or concealment. Short swords followed, versatile weapons favored by speed-focused cultivators. Longswords took prominent positions, their elegant designs appealing to traditional practitioners. The greatswords dominated the back wall, massive and imposing.
The wooden plaque measured three feet across, carved from Ironwood I'd retrieved from my storage ring. My hands moved with precision as I etched the characters into its surface, each stroke channeling a thread of vital energy to make the letters glow softly. Heavenly Forge Emporium.
But the English letters were just the medium, not the message itself.
I focused on the intent behind each word as I carved, pushing meaning into the wood through my vital energy. Heavenly. Divine quality, superior craftsmanship, worthy of immortals. Forge. Creation through fire and skill, transformation of raw materials into perfection. Emporium. A place of commerce, fair trade, valuable goods.
The letters pulsed with golden light as the intent settled into them, creating something far more effective than simple text. A Chinese cultivator would look at this sign and understand it perfectly despite not knowing a single English word. The same for Russians, Germans, Brazilians. The intent transcribed itself directly into their awareness, bypassing language entirely.
Jihasti's memories had shown me countless worlds where cultivators spoke thousands of different languages. Intent-based communication was universal, learned naturally as spiritual senses developed.
I mounted the plaque above the entrance, securing it with a basic adhesive inscription that would keep it in place through wind and weather. The glowing letters caught the attention of passing cultivators immediately, several heads turning to examine the new establishment.
A second sign went on the door itself, this one hastily scrawled on a normal sheet of paper. Store Clerk Wanted. Inquire Within. Managing inventory and greeting customers all day sounded like torture, and I had better uses for my time. Someone else could handle the transactions while I focused on production and cultivation.
The interior felt empty despite the stocked shelves. I moved to the center of the room, pulling my cauldron from storage and setting it on the floor. The compact artifact looked almost comical in the spacious shop, barely a foot tall and covered in inscriptions. But it worked, and that was all that mattered.
Vital energy flowed into my hands as I prepared the next batch. Foundation Building Pills first, since those moved fastest. Twenty grams of Silverleaf went into the cauldron as I raised the temperature to two hundred degrees. The sweet fragrance filled the shop as the leaves turned translucent, their essence vaporizing into silvery mist. Dawnroot followed, dissolving into liquid that mixed with the vapor. Cloudmoss completed the mixture, absorbing everything into a stabilizing matrix.
Six perfect pills materialized as I opened the cauldron, their surfaces smooth and unmarred. I transferred them to crystal containers and moved on to the next batch. Meridian Surge Pills this time. Thirty grams each of Thundergrass, Spiritspring Water, and Binding Clay. Temperature increased to three hundred degrees.
The Thundergrass sparked as it heated, releasing crackling energy that mixed with the steam from the Spiritspring Water. Binding Clay absorbed both components, forming a thick paste that gradually solidified. Eight pale blue pills emerged, white streaks running through them like frozen lightning.
"Excuse me?"
A woman's voice cut through my concentration. I looked up from the cauldron to find her standing near the entrance, professional business attire marking her as someone who'd held a real job before entering the cultivation world.
"Is the clerk position still available?"
"Yes, please come on in." I stood up, placing the new pills into crystalline bottles before arranging them on the shelves with their matching batches.
The woman stepped further into the shop, her gaze sweeping across the displays with an appraising eye. She moved with the controlled grace of someone still adjusting to their enhanced physical capabilities, careful not to accidentally break things with newfound strength.
"I'm Ben," I said, wiping residual herb residue from my hands. "Ben Mason."
"Rachel Torres." She extended her hand for a shake, her grip firm but measured. Up close, I could see the youth in her features, probably eighteen at most. The vital energy radiating from her body marked her as Body Tempering fourth layer, impressive progress for someone who couldn't have been cultivating more than a few weeks.
"The position pays ten merit points per hour," I said, pulling my identity token out to reference the contract template I'd prepared earlier. "Nine in the morning to noon, then one to six in the afternoon. Every day, including weekends. For every ten minutes you're late, I'll deduct ten points from your future pay. If you need time off, contact me in advance through your token."
Rachel's eyes widened slightly. The going rate for most service positions in American City hovered around five merit points per hour, maybe seven for skilled work. Ten per hour represented serious money, especially for someone her age with limited cultivation resources.
"That's very generous," she said carefully, like she suspected a catch.
"The job's straightforward. Help customers, process transactions, keep the shelves organized. I'll handle the actual production." I gestured at the cauldron on the floor. "I need someone reliable who won't try to steal inventory or slack off when I'm not watching."
"I can do that." Her voice carried conviction, the kind that came from genuine need rather than empty promises.
I pulled up the contract on my token, the terms appearing as glowing text in the air between us. Standard employment agreement, payment schedule, termination clauses. Nothing exploitative, just basic expectations and consequences clearly defined. The Heavenly Dao would enforce compliance automatically, interpreting the intent behind the simple language.
Rachel read through it twice before pulling out her own token. "I accept."
The contracts merged, binding both parties to the agreed terms. A small portion of my merit points locked into escrow, ensuring I couldn't refuse payment when the time came. The Heavenly Dao's enforcement was absolute, which meant neither of us could cheat the other without facing consequences.
"When do I start?" she asked.
"Right now. Welcome aboard."
Her face lit up with a smile that made her look even younger. "Thank you. You won't regret this."
I gestured toward the left wall where the crimson pills gleamed under the lighting. "Foundation Breaking Pills. Low quality spiritual pills strictly for people with damaged meridians or terminal conditions. They'll force someone straight to Body Tempering fourth layer, but they'll shatter their foundation in the process."
Rachel's expression shifted, understanding dawning. "So they're for people who wouldn't be able to cultivate otherwise."
"Exactly. The elderly, the critically ill, anyone whose body can't handle normal cultivation. It gives them a chance at extended life, but kills their potential for advancement." I picked up one of the crystal containers, showing her how the pills seemed to pulse with unstable energy. "Fifty merit points each. Make sure buyers understand what they're getting into."
"Foundation Building Pills." I gestured to the center shelves. "These are what most people want. Low quality spiritual pills taken once per day, six pills per course. They rebuild the foundation for cultivators with low aptitude or people who started too late for optimal results. They digest normally, feel warm in the stomach. Twenty merit points each, one hundred for a full course."
"Do they actually work?" Rachel asked, genuine curiosity in her voice.
"Of course they work." I set down the container and moved to the right wall. "Meridian Surge Pills. Low quality spiritual pills that replenish vital energy for anyone in Meridian Opening Realm or higher. Useless once you reach Dimensional Sea. The energy quality is slightly inferior to what you'd naturally generate, but in combat or emergency situations, that doesn't matter. Thirty merit points each."
Rachel pulled out a small notebook, scribbling notes as I spoke. Smart. The information would be overwhelming at first.
The weapons came next. I lifted one of the daggers from its rack, the blade catching light along its edge. "All weapons are low quality spiritual weapons crafted from three primary materials. This one uses Ironwood Ore for flexibility, Razorstone for the cutting edge, and Windsilver for weight reduction. I've inscribed edge preservation inscriptions on each blade to maintain sharpness."
I set it down and picked up a short sword. "Same materials, different proportions. The inscriptions are identical across all weapons in the same category. Daggers are two hundred merit points. Short swords are three hundred. Longswords are four hundred. Greatswords are six hundred."
Rachel's pen scratched across paper, documenting everything.
"Great," I said, gesturing toward the shelves and displays. "That's everything you need to know for now. I'll be working on alchemy for the rest of the day."
Rachel nodded, tucking her notebook into a small storage ring on her finger. She'd already picked up one of those, smart thinking for someone so new to cultivation.
I settled back down in front of the cauldron, pulling ingredients from my storage ring. The familiar routine of measuring and preparation helped me focus, blocking out everything except the vital energy flowing through my meridians. Foundation Building Pills first, since those would sell fastest.
Rachel stood near the entrance, hands clasped behind her back in a professional stance. She'd positioned herself where she could see both the door and the displays, ready to intercept customers before they wandered too far into the shop. Natural instinct for retail work.
The door chimed as a middle-aged man stepped inside, his eyes scanning the shelves with interest. Body Tempering third layer, judging by the spiritual pressure radiating from his body.
"Welcome to Heavenly Forge Emporium," Rachel said, her voice warm but professional. "Can I help you find something specific?"
"Just browsing," the man replied, moving toward the weapon racks. His fingers traced along a longsword's blade, testing its balance without removing it from the display.
I kept my attention on the cauldron, raising the temperature as Silverleaf began vaporizing. The sweet fragrance filled the shop again.
"That particular blade is four hundred merit points," Rachel said, stepping closer to the customer. "Crafted from Ironwood Ore, Razorstone, and Windsilver. The edge preservation inscription maintains sharpness even with heavy use."
"Four hundred?" The man's eyebrows rose. "That's steep."
"The materials alone cost more than that," Rachel countered smoothly. "Plus the inscription work and craftsmanship. You won't find better quality at this price anywhere in the city."
True enough. Most weapon shops charged double for comparable quality, assuming they could match my work at all.
The man hesitated, then pulled out his identity token. "I'll take it."
Rachel processed the transaction with practiced efficiency, the merit points transferring between tokens as the weapon changed ownership. She wrapped it carefully in cloth before handing it over.
"Thank you for your business. Please come again."
The man left with his purchase, and Rachel returned to her position near the door. She caught my eye and grinned, clearly pleased with her first sale.
More customers trickled in throughout the afternoon. A young woman bought a full course of Foundation Building Pills after Rachel explained their benefits. An older cultivator purchased three Meridian Surge Pills, mentioning an upcoming dungeon expedition. A pair of teenagers debated between daggers and short swords before settling on one of each.
Rachel handled every interaction with the same professional courtesy, answering questions and processing sales without bothering me. The merit points accumulated in my token's escrow account, proof that the shop was already profitable.
The door chimed again. I glanced up from the cauldron, expecting another casual browser.
"Ben?"
Emma stood in the doorway, her phone held at arm's length to capture herself and the shop interior. The camera lens caught the gleaming obsidian walls and weapon displays behind her, while her face filled the lower portion of the frame with practiced precision. Her petite figure looked even smaller in the doorway, designer jeans and a fitted sweater hugging curves that somehow balanced perfectly despite her height. Auburn hair fell past her shoulders in waves that caught the lighting, and those striking green eyes widened as they locked onto me.