"Maybe... find some unlucky loner and borrow a bit?"
This dangerous thought circled in Mo Fan's mind for less than three seconds before he snuffed it out like squashing a stinkbug.
This was the market district, a safe zone patrolled by the enforcement squad. He hadn't lived long enough yet. Although there'd been that little scuffle in the sundries area earlier, that was small potatoes at most. If we're talking actual robbery charges, that wasn't something a few words could settle.
"I'm a sustainable-development junk collector, not a bandit."
Mo Fan took a deep breath, calming his poverty-induced restlessness. He straightened his collar, stepped out of that dark alley, and strode toward the resplendent Myriad Treasures Tower across the way.
Even though he didn't have enough money, he still wanted to try.
At the counter of Myriad Treasures Tower, there was none of that looking-down-on-customers nonsense. The well-dressed shopkeeper wore a standard professional smile, working an abacus to verify accounts.
"Shopkeeper."
Mo Fan fished out his collection of Spirit Stone fragments from his robes—47 pieces total—and gently placed them on the counter. The stones clinked together crisply, but in a place like Myriad Treasures Tower where fortunes flowed daily, the sound seemed particularly meager.
"This Body Forging Record—can I get it for 47? I'm sincere about buying."
The shopkeeper looked up, glanced at the Spirit Stones on the table, then at the price tag reading 50. His gaze didn't linger on the pile of fragments for even half a second. The smile on his face didn't waver in the slightest, his eyes betraying not a ripple of emotion—as if looking at a pile of meaningless rocks.
"Honored customer, Myriad Treasures Tower is an Azure Cloud Sect enterprise. Clearly marked prices, fair to all."
The shopkeeper's voice was warm yet distant, carrying that particular arrogance and adherence to rules characteristic of great sects. "Small business, no credit extended, no haggling accepted. If you're short on funds, perhaps you'd like to browse that row over there?"
No mockery, no face-slapping—just cold, hard commercial rules.
These rules were more defeating than mockery, because they represented an unshakeable order.
Mo Fan frowned, lowering his voice tentatively: "I'm a menial disciple from the outer division. Could you perhaps, on account of us being from the same sect..."
"Even if an inner disciple came, it would be the same price." The shopkeeper politely cut him off, lowering his head to continue working the abacus. "Those are the rules."
Mo Fan fell silent.
An suffocating awkwardness hung in the air.
He stared at the manual within arm's reach inside the counter. The archaic characters spelling Body Forging Record on its cover seemed to mock his predicament. He unconsciously touched the valuable [ Shadow Leopard Cloak ] he was wearing.
If he sold this cloak, never mind one Body Forging Record—he could buy two more bottles of pills with change to spare.
Sell it?
Logic raced through rapid calculations in his mind.
This cloak was currently his only trump card for survival, his lifeline for operating in the complex environment of the cliff bottom.
Chasing some so-called "orthodox" manual to the point of leaving himself penniless—pawning even his underwear—that was a cardinal sin in warfare.
Once he lost his means of concealment, every move he made at the cliff bottom would be dancing on a knife's edge.
He had to keep some money on hand—what they call "liquid assets"—for emergencies. In this man-eating cultivation world, being penniless was more dangerous than lacking a cultivation method.
"Forget it."
Mo Fan sighed, returning the 47 Spirit Stones to his robes. Each stone seemed to burn in his hand, reminding him of his current powerlessness.
Regrettable, but he was an adult who knew when to cut his losses. Since he couldn't afford the best, he'd see if he could downgrade his consumption and find an "affordable alternative."
"Since I can't afford that one, let's see what else there is."
Mo Fan turned toward the "discount section" the shopkeeper had indicated.
The atmosphere here shifted dramatically. A thin layer of dust covered the shelves, clearly rarely visited. The names of the techniques sounded impressive enough—Mountain-Splitting Palm, Stone-Shattering Fist, Iron Crotch Technique—but most were just thin single volumes, priced between 20 to 30 Spirit Stones.
Mo Fan's gaze quickly locked onto a booklet titled Wild Bull Strength.
[ Price: 30 low-grade Spirit Stones. ]
He picked up the sample copy and flipped through it. A typical crude battlefield brawling technique, emphasizing thick skin and brute force. At full mastery, the skin would roughen like cowhide, strength would greatly increase, and resistance to blows would be exceptional.
"Sounds decent... but."
Mo Fan shook his head, a hint of derision at the corner of his mouth.
The drawbacks were too obvious. After cultivation, one's movement would become sluggish and clumsy, and because it overdrew the body's potential, reaching Foundation Establishment would be extremely difficult.
For the old Lu Xiaoqi, this might have been a lifeline. But for Mo Fan with his System, he could raise his attributes through killing monsters—he didn't need a "dead-end" technique to cap his potential.
"Spending most of my savings on this common garbage wouldn't just be wasting money—it'd be paying an idiot tax."
Mo Fan decisively set down Wild Bull Strength and dusted off his hands.
Since buying a technique wasn't happening, what else could he spend this money on? He couldn't have come here for nothing.
He wandered aimlessly through the first-floor hall, his gaze sweeping over the dazzling array of merchandise.
Weapons? He had Summon No. 001 as his muscle. He just needed to hide in the back and snipe—even the finest swords would be ornamental for him.
Pills? Too expensive, and they were consumables that vanished once used. For someone committed to sustainable development, the cost-effectiveness was too low.
Magical treasures? With his current Mana level, whether he could even activate one was questionable. Besides, those low-grade artifacts costing a few Spirit Stones were only good for glowing to scare people—less practical than the bone shield he'd made himself.
After looking around, Mo Fan felt rather disinterested.
Just as he was about to leave and go back to saving up, passing through a corner of the miscellaneous section, something suddenly caught his eye.
It wasn't a magical treasure or a weapon.
It was a veil thin as cicada wings, displayed in a crystal cabinet. It lay quietly on a piece of red velvet, emitting a faint glow, completely out of place among the crude ironware surrounding it.
[ Item: Moon-Veiled Gauze (Mask/Illusion-type accessory). ]
[ Price: 40 low-grade Spirit Stones. ]
This item was actually quite common in the cultivation world—one might even call it a "novelty item" or "social accessory."
It had no defensive capabilities whatsoever. Its only function was concealing one's aura and appearance. When worn, the face would be shrouded in a hazy mist, and could even project a blurred, generic face according to the wearer's will.
However, this illusion was quite obvious.
Anyone with eyes could tell you were wearing a mask—essentially announcing to everyone: "I have secrets, don't bother me."
So this thing was typically only used at auctions or black markets where hiding one's identity was necessary, or by some female cultivators wanting to maintain an air of mystery.
For a bottom-tier "rough fellow" like Mo Fan, buying this thing would be downright moronic.
"40 Spirit Stones... a bit pricey."
Mo Fan was about to walk away, but his feet seemed to have grown roots, fixing him before the cabinet.
In his mind, an extremely bold—even somewhat absurd—idea suddenly popped up.
He thought of Summon No. 001, still cramped up inside his storage pouch.
That strongest fighter whose appearance was too terrifying—all stark white bones—making it impossible to bring out in daylight, only daring to release it when no one was around.
As a Necromancer, the biggest pain point was that summons couldn't be taken out in public. The moment someone spotted one, you'd immediately be labeled a demonic cultivator.
But what if...
"This thing... can conceal aura."
"And can project a blurred human face."
Mo Fan stroked his chin, his expression gradually turning peculiar, like a child scheming a prank.
If he dressed No. 001 in a black robe that covered it completely, added gloves, concealed all those creepy bones... then put this [ Moon-Veiled Gauze ] over its skull...
That projected blurry face would perfectly cover those two burning soul flames and empty eye sockets, wouldn't it?
To onlookers, wouldn't it just look like a silent, masked, mysteriously aloof bodyguard?
Though this getup would certainly look suspicious, it wasn't illegal in the cultivation world. As long as no bones showed, who would know whether it was man or ghost beneath that mask?
"If this works... I could walk down the street with No. 001 in broad daylight."
"I wouldn't even need to fight myself. When facing enemies I can't beat, I could pretend to be this 'bodyguard's' young master, borrowing its fearsome reputation?"
Once this mental door opened, there was no closing it.
Compared to a Wild Bull Strength that wouldn't do much even after training, bringing No. 001—his strongest combat asset—from "underground" to "aboveground" had incalculable tactical value.
This meant having a round-the-clock bodyguard, no longer limited to night battles and uninhabited areas.
This was a massive strategic investment!
"Shopkeeper!"
Mo Fan spun around, pointing at the cabinet. The hesitation had vanished from his eyes, replaced by a resolve that burned all bridges.
"This piece of cloth... I'll take it!"