After informing my grandfather, I left the house early in the morning.
The air was still cool, carrying the scent of soil and dew. Farmers were already gathering near the open platform beside the village chief's office—men and women alike, each carrying spirit pouches, woven baskets, or sacks of grain. No one spoke too loudly.
Everyone here understood one truth: traveling alone was courting death.
I quietly joined the group.
At the front stood Old Han.
He was already past fifty, his face weathered and lined, with a build that suggested he had once been strong. A faint scar crossed his cheek—old, faded, but impossible to miss. He wasn't the strongest here, nor the smartest, but he was experienced. And in this world, experience was often worth more than talent.
Old Han glanced at me and nodded.
"Little Shen," he said gruffly. "Stick close. Don't wander off."
"Yes, Grandfather Han," I replied respectfully.
The group set off.
No one chatted idly on the road. The path to town cut through uneven terrain and low hills. Once past the village boundary, even laughter felt out of place.
By the time the town walls came into view, the sun was already climbing.
We reached the entrance around mid-morning.
Old Han raised his hand, stopping everyone.
"Listen carefully," he said, his voice low but firm. "Three hours. Do your business and come back here. We leave early to avoid trouble."
His gaze swept across the group.
"If you're late, we won't wait."
No one argued.
Everyone clasped their hands in acknowledgment.
"Yes, Uncle(Grandfather) Han."
The group dispersed.
---
I followed a familiar street, my steps steady.
The town was livelier than the village—shops lined the road, vendors called out prices, and cultivators in mismatched robes walked openly, some with arrogant expressions, others cautious and reserved.
At the end of the street stood a modest shop.
The wooden sign above it was faded, but clean.
JIN SHANG HALL
This was the place my grandfather had always come to.
I stepped inside.
An elderly man sat behind the counter, leaning back on a chair, eyes closed as if asleep. His breathing was slow and even.
I clasped my hands.
"Greetings, Shopkeeper Wu."
One eye opened.
Then the other.
"Ah…" The old man straightened slightly, a smile appearing on his wrinkled face. "Little Shen."
He looked me up and down.
"You've grown taller," he said warmly. "How's your grandfather?"
"He's doing well," I replied. "Still stubborn as ever."
Shopkeeper Wu chuckled softly.
"That's good. That's good."
His gaze shifted to the spirit pouch at my waist.
"Here to sell jade spirit rice?"
"Yes, Senior Wu."
I untied the pouch and placed several rice bags on the counter.
"A hundred pounds. Please take a look."
Shopkeeper Wu opened one bag, scooped a handful of rice, and rubbed it between his fingers. A faint spiritual glow lingered around the grains.
He raised an eyebrow.
"The quality's improved," he remarked. "Better than last time."
I nodded.
"We were fortunate this season."
Shopkeeper Wu snorted lightly.
"Fortune is also earned."
He did some quick calculations.
"Market price—five pounds for one low-grade spirit stone," he said. "That makes twenty spirit stones. Any objections?"
"None," I replied. "Thank you, Senior Wu."
He waved his hand dismissively and counted out the stones, sliding them across the counter.
"You're polite," he said. "Unlike some."
He paused, then added, "You're managing the land yourself now, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Hm." His eyes softened. "That's not easy for a child."
I didn't respond.
We both knew words couldn't change reality.
After storing the stones, I hesitated briefly, then spoke.
"Senior Wu… do you sell spirit rice seeds that nourish qi and blood?"
Shopkeeper Wu froze.
His gaze sharpened slightly.
"Why do you ask?"
"For my grandfather," I answered calmly. "His health isn't what it used to be."
The old man studied me for a long moment.
Finally, he sighed.
"You're a good child."
He leaned closer and lowered his voice.
"There is such a seed. Vermilion Blood Spirit Rice. Type-2 mid-grade."
My heart skipped a beat—but my expression remained unchanged.
"It replenishes qi and nourishes blood," he continued. "Good for elders… and injured cultivators."
"But?" I asked.
"But it's expensive," he said bluntly. "And difficult to grow. The yield is low without proper spirit soil."
"I understand," I replied. "May I see it?"
Shopkeeper Wu hesitated, then reached beneath the counter and took out a small jade box.
Inside lay several crimson-tinted seeds.
"They're usually sold to small clans or wealthy households," he said. "But…"
He looked at me again.
"Out of respect for your grandfather, I'll sell you one pound. At a discount."
"How much?" I asked.
"Eight spirit stones."
That was cheap.
Too cheap for tier 2 seeds.
"I'll take it," I said without hesitation.
Shopkeeper Wu nodded, accepting the stones.
"Be careful," he added quietly. "Don't tell others you have it."
"I won't," I promised.
Before leaving, he called out, "Little Shen."
I turned.
"This world doesn't reward kindness," he said. "But it remembers it."
I bowed.
---
Leaving the shop, I wandered deeper into the market.
Street stalls lined both sides—talismans, herbs, beast parts, weapons, pills of questionable quality.
Rogue cultivators ran most of them.
I kept my guard up.
Then I saw it.
A black withered seed at a small stall.
It sat casually among junk items, half-buried under scraps of metal and broken tools.
My heartbeat quickened.
The Spirit Farmer Encyclopedia contained all Tier-1 seeds.
This wasn't one of them.It should be definitely is a higher level seed.
I suppressed my reaction instantly.
Instead, I picked up a sword from the stall.
"How much?" I asked casually.
The stall owner—a thin man with sharp eyes—snorted.
"Ten spirit stones."
I frowned.
"For this dull thing?"
"Hmph. Don't know value? It's Tier-1 iron-grade."
I scoffed.
"Two."
"Eight."
"Three."
The man slammed his hand on the table.
"Get lost!"
I shrugged, turning away.
"Wait," he barked. "Five."
I shook my head.
"Three. And that seed."
He followed my gaze—and froze.
"That thing?" he laughed. "Worthless trash. Fine, take it."
"Three stones," I said calmly.
He gritted his teeth.
"Fine! Damn it—get lost, kid!" he shouted. "Sold dirt cheap! Why am I always so soft-hearted?"
I handed over the stones, took the sword and seed, and disappeared into the crowd.
---
When I returned to the town entrance, several villagers were already waiting.
Some were missing.
Old Han counted heads.
"Tch." He spat to the side. "Looks like a few chose pleasure over life."
No one spoke.
"We leave," he said.
---
On the return path, the atmosphere was heavy.
As we crossed a narrow mountain road—
Laughter echoed.
"Hahaha! You really thought changing routes would help?"
Figures emerged from both sides.
Bandits.
Rogue cultivators.
One stepped forward aggressively.
"Looks like you need to shed some blood to learn obedience!"
Fear rippled through the group.
Then—
A lazy voice sounded from behind.
"That's enough."
The bandits parted.
A middle-aged man walked out, relaxed, his aura restrained—but heavy.
The leader.
"I'll forgive you this once," he said casually. "Don't test my patience."
Old Han bowed deeply.
"Thank you, Senior."
The man smiled.
"Now," he continued, "the tax is fifty percent."
Silence.
Fifty percent.
Originally, it was thirty.
Old Han froze.
Shen Yuan clenched his fist beneath his robe.
Outrageous.
But… what can we do?
Without strength, resistance meant death.
Shen Yuan lowered his head, appearing submissive.
But his mind was already drifting backward in time.
This was not his first time.
The last time he had come to town alone, carrying the harvest proceeds and spirit medicine for his grandfather, he had been stopped at a similar mountain pass.
Back then, he had still believed that keeping a low profile would be enough.
He remembered how the bandits had laughed as they searched him—how casually they had taken the spirit stones from his pouch, leaving behind only the medicine after discovering it was meant for an old man.
"Consider this charity," one of them had said mockingly.
He had returned home that day with empty hands, forcing a smile while lying to his grandfather about market prices.
That was the day Shen Yuan truly understood something
Kindness without strength was nothing but an invitation to be trampled.
That was also why this time…
He had deliberately kept the sword, seed, and spirit stones outside his inventory.
The bandits searched everyone.
When it was my turn, they found only the sword, seed, and ten stones.
"What's this worth?" one sneered.
"Ten stones," I said.
They burst into laughter.
"Haha! Got Scammed!" He laughed hard and took 10 spirit stones, left the sword and withered seed.
I lowered my head, acting devastated.
Inside, I was calm.
I kept them outside the inventory for this reason.
Others who are new to this resisted.
They were beaten utterly.
At the end they have to pay seventy percent for their disobedience.
Finally, we were allowed to leave.
---
As we walked, a young farmer snapped.
"Why should we pay this toll?! We should report this to the Sun Moon Spirit Sect!"
Silence.
Old Han spoke softly.
"You think we don't know?"
The man kept ranting.
Old Han turned, fury flashing.
"Shut up!" he hissed. "Want to die? Don't drag others with you!"
"Why?" another asked weakly. "They let us go…"
Old Han's voice was cold.
"They treat us like geese laying golden eggs. Only obedient geese live."
Someone muttered, "Then why didn't the person from the sect in-charge capture these bandits."
An old farmer said " What can he do when he is the ...."
Before he could finish the sentence, Old Han glared.
The man fell silent instantly.
I saw everything happen but did not say nothing.
Because Strength decides everything in this world.
And one day
I would have it.