Zi'an exhaled slowly.
Then she smiled.
It was not a nice smile.
"If opinions kill," she said evenly, "then systems that omit basic survival information must be mass murderers."
[…]
The system did not respond.
Zi'an took that as a victory.
She turned her attention back to the street. The town was louder here. Hawkers shouted prices. Children ran between carts. Cultivators in rough robes brushed past mortals without sparing them a glance. No one cared who she was. No one cared what she carried.
Which was perfect.
Her gaze drifted again to the noodle shop. Steam curled into the air. A man sat outside slurping loudly, his bowl chipped and thin, but filled to the brim. A thought brushed past her mind and slowed her steps.
Beast cores.
Everyone thought of them as cultivation materials. Absorb. Refine. Break through.
But that was for intact ones.
Cracked cores leaked spiritual residue. Weak. Unstable. Unfit for absorption.
But residue was still residue.
Zi'an's eyes sharpened.
In her past life, waste products were often more valuable than the main goods. Not because of what they were, but because of who could use them.
Children. Mortals. The sick. The poor.
People who could not cultivate.
She closed her eyes briefly and reviewed the list again in her mind.
Low-tier forest foxes. River serpents. Marsh birds. Minor wolves.
Creatures that lived close to humans.
Creatures whose flesh was sometimes eaten.
Creatures whose bones were sometimes boiled.
Her steps slowed to a stop.
"Little Fortune.." she said.
[…]
She smiled wider. "Do not worry. I am not asking for help."
She looked at the crowd, at the food stalls, at the apothecary sign half-hidden behind a cloth banner.
"I am simply confirming something."
She lifted her chin.
"These beast cores still contain trace spiritual warmth, do they not. Not enough to cultivate. But enough to nourish the body."
[…]
"And they would disperse slowly if heated or ground."
[…]
"And mortals would not explode if exposed to that amount."
[…]
The silence stretched.
Longer this time.
Zi'an's smile turned satisfied.
"I see…" she said softly. "So it is not trash. It is just too cheap for cultivators to bother with."
She tucked the coin away and adjusted the thin pouch at her waist, already calculating.
Cultivators wanted breakthroughs.
Mortals wanted to live through another winter.
She turned toward the row of food stalls, her eyes bright.
"Then let us sell to the people who were never invited into your precious market to begin with."
Zi'an threaded her way into the busiest part of town, where voices overlapped and footsteps never truly stopped.
This was where coin changed hands the fastest. Where people argued, bargained, ate, lived.
She memorized the layout carefully.
Tomorrow, she would claim a corner here.
A small table. Nothing fancy. Just enough space to lay out her wares and let curiosity do the rest. It was already too late in the day to start selling now. The sun had begun to sink, and people were either heading home or spending their last coins on hot food.
Tomorrow would be better.
Tomorrow would give her time to work it properly.
With that settled, Zi'an turned away from the crowd and followed the narrow paths leading back toward the poorer quarters.
The streets thinned.
The noise faded.
Lanterns replaced sunlight.
By the time she reached the crooked alley she called home, the sky had darkened completely.
She stopped walking.
Her stomach twisted painfully.
She inhaled, then spoke again, this time without humor.
"Little Fortune," Zi'an said. Her tone was firmer this time "Explain the monetary system of this world. Now."
She resumed walking as she spoke, fingers curling lightly at her side. "I am not a cultivator. I do not live on spiritual energy. I need food to survive. If you omit this again, I starve. That will be on you."
[…]
The silence was brief.
Then, reluctantly—
[Currency is divided into four primary tiers.]
[Lowest are Copper Coins. Used by mortals and low-income civilians.]
[Ten Copper Coins equal one Silver Coin.]
[Ten Silver Coins equal one Gold Coin.]
[Above Gold are Spirit Coins. Used almost exclusively by cultivators.]
Zi'an nodded slowly, committing it to memory.
"And the blue coin."
[Low-grade Copper Alloy. Worth three Copper Coins.]
Her lips pressed together.
Three.
So that was how generous the merchant had been.
Zi'an exhaled through her nose. "Good. At least now I know how close I am to starving."
[…]
[Host should be grateful. Many mortals live on less.]
She stopped in front of a dilapidated wooden door and pushed it open.
Inside was a single room.
Bare walls. A thin mat. A cracked basin.
Nothing else.
Zi'an shut the door behind her and leaned against it briefly.
"Many mortals," she said calmly, "do not have a system that actively insults them."
[…]
She crossed the room and sat down, setting the coin beside her like a reminder.
The mat was hard, Zi'an sighed. You'd think for a second female lead, the character's life would be okay, it's usually the female lead who suffers.
But in this book, it's as though the author hates everyone that isn't the main character.
They didn't need a shaman to tell them their fate.
It was already written in stone.
They were doomed to die.
She was hungry and she would sleep on a hard surface tonight, the second female lead wasn't rich enough to enjoy the wonders of life.
So why the heck, did her life have to end after confessing to the male lead?
Why was she destined to live like trash until she died?
It was too cruel, too cruel.
Zi'an stared at the ceiling for a long while.
The darkness that pressed down on her eyes was heavy and unkind.
In the original story, this body existed only to suffer quietly in the background. She was poor. Unremarkable. Too proud to beg and too insignificant to be remembered.
Her only purpose had been to admire the male lead from afar, confess once, and then vanish neatly from the plot.
A convenient tragedy.
She let out a slow breath.
"So that is it," she murmured. "Born to scrape by. Die after being rejected. What an efficient use of a life."