Old Ma's sigh about the "man-eating wolf" soon dissipated in the eternal thick fog of Gray Street.
After all, for Lin Mu, no matter how great the potential stock, one must first survive to see the day that potential is realized.
For the next month, his days passed like those of a truly qualified civil servant.
Every morning, Lin Mu woke on ti in the stone house, breathing in the origin energy of heaven and earth.
In the morning, he reported to the External Affairs Hall, handled a few painless official docunts, and conveniently patrolled the market.
In the afternoon, he returned to the Silent Stone District, closed the door to feed his Gu worms, and nourished his aperture.
This monotonous "two-point line" life was the stability countless bottom-tier Gu Masters dread of.
Of course, behind this stability was the burning of Prival Stones like flowing water.
To push his cultivation to Rank 1 Upper Stage, Lin Mu was practically "eating money."
Every refinent by the Liquor Worm, every swallowing and spitting of the Red Mud Gu, and the feeding of various other Gu worms required a massive pile of resources.
The huge sum of over seven hundred Prival Stones was shrinking at a visible rate.
But the effect was significant.
Inside his aperture, the dark green Prival Sea was now magnificent. The water level was inching closer to the warning line bit by bit—the threshold for breaking through to Rank 1 Upper Stage.
"As long as the money is in place, even a pig can fly."
Lin Mu finished his cultivation and stood up, feeling the abundant power in his body. A satisfied arc curled at the corner of his mouth.
He enjoyed these days of "money in the chest, no panic in the heart." In this world, power was the foundation of dignity, and Prival Stones were the cent casting that foundation.
Afternoon. The sunlight was just right.
Lin Mu changed into the cyan robe representing the identity of an External Affairs Hall Steward. A heavy Iron Wood Token hung at his waist as he stepped out of the core area.
Today's mission was a routine patrol of the clan's peripheral low-level market.
Unlike the tidy solemnity of the core area, this place was filled with chaotic shacks and muddy paths. The air was perated with the market scent of cheap rouge, sweaty stench, and various inferior herbs mixed together.
This was the gathering place for branch disciples, foreign family slaves, and wandering lone cultivators attached to Black Blood Stockade for survival.
"Greetings, Steward Mu!"
"Yo, Lord Mu patrolling personally? Please, sit here!"
Lin Mu walked with hands clasped behind his back. Wherever he passed, the hawkers who usually argued until red-faced over a few stone fragnts stopped their work, bowing with faces full of smiles.
So even tried to stuff a few fruits or local specialties into his hands, eyes full of fawning and awe.
Lin Mu's expression was indifferent. He nodded slightly, appearing neither arrogant nor overly close.
He enjoyed the convenience brought by this privilege. In this quagmire, he was no longer the mud-legged peasant kneaded by others, but a "Lord" who set the rules—or rather, maintained them.
Unknowingly, he walked to the furthest corner of the market.
This spot was near the garbage heap, remote and desolate. Only a few novices who hadn't made a na for themselves set up stalls here.
Lin Mu's gaze swept casually, but stopped on a thin, small figure.
The person wore a short outfit covered in patches. His skin was tanned dark and rough. He squatted behind a simple stall made of an overturned bamboo basket, diligently peddling sothing to passersby.
Lin Ping.
The youth who had shared half a mantou with him in the cold winter and sold wood chips in the flea market.
Not seeing him for months, Lin Ping had changed.
He was no longer the submissive servant who shrank his neck when seeing people and dared not speak loudly.
Although his eyes still revealed the humility of a bottom-tier person, a light nad "Survival" had appeared deep in his pupils.
"Honored guest, look! This is top-quality associated mineral slag! I panned it out bit by bit from the western waste mine area."
"Maybe there's gold dust hidden inside! Just half a Prival Stone, and this pile is yours!"
Lin Ping grabbed a handful of black mineral slag, a slightly stiff but sufficiently enthusiastic fake smile on his face, bargaining with a picky lone cultivator.
The lone cultivator curled his lip in disdain and threw down a few copper coins. Lin Ping didn't get angry; instead, he collected them happily, not forgetting to cup his hands in thanks.
Lin Mu stood in the distance, watching this scene quietly.
"Learned to bargain. Learned to use fake smiles to disguise emotions... This kid has finally begun to adapt to the rules of this world."
He didn't step forward to acknowledge him imdiately. Wearing the Steward's robe now, rashly going over would only bring unnecessary pressure and attention to Lin Ping.
However, just as Lin Mu was prepared to turn and leave, not disturbing this humble yet tenacious peace.
Slap!
A crisp sound shattered the harmony of the corner.
Several burly n wearing grey-brown short outfits with dicine gourd patterns embroidered on their cuffs walked over, cursing.
The leader, a man with transverse flesh on his face, said nothing and kicked over the bamboo basket in front of Lin Ping.
Crash—
The basket overturned. The mineral slag inside and the low-grade herbs Lin Ping had painstakingly gathered over days scattered on the ground. Several large feet stepped on them ruthlessly, crushing the originally cheap herbs into green mud.
"Who let you set up a stall here? Huh?!"
The fleshy man stepped on Lin Ping's stall, spittle flying as he cursed: "No eyes? The dicine Hall is requisitioning this land to store goods! Scram imdiately!"
Lin Ping was stunned by this sudden change. Looking at the trampled herbs on the ground, his eyes reddened instantly. That was the capital he had saved for days!
"Big Brother..." Lin Ping trembled, trying to pick up the herbs that were still usable. "I... I paid the stall fee to the External Affairs Hall..."
"External Affairs Hall?"
The burly man scoffed. He kicked Lin Ping's outstretched hand away. The force was so great that Lin Ping cried out in pain, falling to the ground clutching his wrist.
"Don't use the External Affairs Hall to pressure ! On this patch of land, the dicinal material business is the dicine Hall's say!"
"Want to set up a stall without paying enough fees? I think your skin is itching!"
Saying so, he grinned savagely and raised his palm, about to slap Lin Ping's face.
The surrounding hawkers were silent as cicadas in winter, lowering their heads. No one dared to offend the powerful dicine Hall servants for a poor kid.
Just as the slap was about to fall.
"Stop."
A voice, flat but revealing a chill that penetrated the bones, ca from behind the crowd.
The voice wasn't loud, but it froze the fleshy man's hand in mid-air.
Lin Mu pushed through the crowd. His cyan Steward robe swayed gently in the breeze.
He looked at the fleshy man expressionless, then glanced at Lin Ping, who lay on the ground with a face full of shock. His gaze gradually beca deep.
"External Affairs Hall can't control it?"
Lin Mu reached out, flicking non-existent dust from his sleeve. His tone was gentle, yet it made everyone present feel a chill down their backs:
"I wasn't aware... when did the clan's peripheral market change its surna to 'dicine'?"
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