Another cultivator, equally threadbare, piped up. "She's right! But… it's still humiliating to pay for broken cores—"
Zi'an's grin turned sharp, almost predatory. "Humiliating? You are already struggling to survive. You scrape by on copper coins and call yourselves cultivators, yet you refuse the crumbs I offer? This is not trash. This is opportunity. But clearly, you'd rather let pride starve you than take what is offered."
The crowd murmured, embarrassed, shifting in place. Even the proudest among them looked down at their hands.
Zi'an lowered her voice to a silky, almost conspiratorial tone. "I sell you what the rich cultivators would spit out. You call it trash—I call it survival. And only the clever will profit from what the others discard."
A few of the cultivators exchanged nervous glances, biting back protests. Zi'an wasn't just selling; she was humiliating them. And somehow… they couldn't stop themselves from buying.
Little Fortune blinked, speechless for once.
[Host… you… you're… savage. They're taking it?! They're paying for insults?!]
Zi'an chuckled, tucking a small stack of coins into her pouch. "Savage? Perhaps. Effective? Definitely. Pride and poverty, my dear Little Fortune..those are far more pliable than any stubborn cultivator you've ever seen."
[I… I can't believe this. Host… host, you are diabolical.]
Zi'an winked at the small crowd, her voice light but cutting. "Now, who's next? Don't be shy. The poor may not get fancy cores, but here… everyone gets a taste of power… for a price they can afford."
The line grew longer, and Little Fortune could only gawk as Zi'an, armed with wit sharper than any blade, sold trash as if it were gold.
Zi'an leaned back on her small table, counting her coins.
So far twenty cracked beast cores sold.
Not that it was bad, but it was still far from enough.
She sighed.
She needed something—an attraction to draw a bigger crowd.
Her eyes scanned the bustling street, then froze. A group of nine stood a short distance away. At the center, a man of peerless handsomeness, refined as if he had stepped out of a painting.
His face was flawless, like porcelain sculpted by a master. Eyes dark as polished onyx, with a faint glimmer that hinted at power restrained, not flaunted.
High cheekbones, a straight nose, lips neither too thin nor too full, and a jawline that could cut through the fog of any morning.
His hair was like flowing ink, tied loosely at the back, a few strands falling across his forehead, catching the light with every subtle movement.
He moved with the calm grace of someone used to authority, every step measured, every gesture purposeful, yet fluid.
Around him, the other disciples and beauties seemed almost ordinary, their refinement dwarfed by the sheer presence of their senior.
Zi'an felt it before she fully realized: her chest tightened, and her thoughts seemed to cloud.
It was as if the crowd, the noise, the smells, the city — everything — melted away, leaving only him.
Little Fortune flailed inside her mind.
[Host! Focus! You're literally being hypnotized by his face!]
She blinked rapidly, forcing herself to break the pull.
"Right.." he was the perfect attraction, if she could sell her wares to him then others would definitely come to buy.
She raised her hand and called out.
"Sir! You there! Come see my goods!"
The beauties giggled, whispering to each other, while the men exchanged wary glances. One of the young women finally leaned toward the handsome man and said, voice sharp, almost scolding.
"Brother Gu, don't buy that! You're a top disciple of Azure Cloud Sect—why would you waste money on trash?"
Zi'an froze for a moment, realizing—they're sect disciples! But she had already called him. Turning back wasn't an option. She squared her shoulders.
"Cracked beast cores! Affordable! For those who cannot afford the expensive ones!" she shouted, projecting her voice over the laughter.
The surrounding disciples and sect beauties gasped, then smirked. The young men whispered, "Why would Brother Gu buy trash?" The girls covered their mouths, stifling laughter. Pride, social hierarchy, sect reputation–they had every reason in the world not to buy.
But the man—Brother Gu—ignored them entirely. His gaze fixed on Zi'an, calm and deliberate, as if the crowd did not exist.
Then his deep, majestic voice cut through the chatter:
"Do you wish for me to purchase your wares?"
Zi'an froze, momentarily overwhelmed by the gravity in his voice. Her chest tightened, her thoughts slowed, and even Little Fortune faltered.
[Host… do not faint! This Brother Gu! He—he's asking to buy from you!]
Zi'an forced herself to regain composure. "Y-yes," she said, voice steadying. "It would… be very helpful for my business."
The man walked over, surprising the people around him.
Brother Gu usually did not care about these local vendors. So why did he want to purchase from this street rat.
A soft, almost amused smile curved his lips. "Very well. Give me all that you have."
The disciples froze, the beauties gasped. Their pride bristled at the thought — how could their peer, of all people, pay for broken cores?
But then again, they weren't in the same league as Brother Gu. He could afford to spend money lavishly.
"I have 80 in total Brother Gu, do you still wish to purchase?"
Gu Moying raised a brow, they had gotten to name calling fast.
"Mhm. How much is it?"
Zi'an smiled, today must be her lucky day. She had snagged a rich one.
"That would be one hundred copper coins, Brother Gu.."
The girls' laughter rang sharp, cutting through the hum of the street.
One of them, hair like spun silver, leaned forward, her voice dripping with condescension.
"Brother Gu, you really shouldn't waste your money here. This… street rat—"
Zi'an's head snapped up. Her dark eyes locked onto the speaker, her smile thin and dangerous.
"Street rat?" she repeated, voice calm but carrying a cold edge. "Ah… I see. So you measure a person by the width of their purse and the embroidery on their robes?"