In front of the academy's notice board, heads bobbed like a sea of black. The heat was suffocating.
A fresh notice, red paper with black ink, had just been pasted up.
It was a spark dropping into dry tinder, instantly igniting the suppressed enthusiasm of the entire academy.
"The Jia Clan Caravan will arrive at Black Blood Stockade in seven days!"
The news exploded like spring thunder. The faces of every student flushed red with excitement.
"Finally! They're finally coming!"
"I've saved up 'Ironskin Boar Tusks' for half a year. I can finally exchange them for Primeval Stones!"
"Me too! The dozens of bundles of 'Green Pouch Grass' under my bed are about to mold! I heard the purchase price last year was ten Primeval Stones per bundle. I'm definitely buying a handy attack Gu this time!"
Amidst the noisy cheers, Lin Mu stood on the periphery of the crowd. His expression was cold.
His hand subconsciously pressed against the lapel of his chest.
There lay his entire net worth—seventy-odd Primeval Stones.
This sum included the exam reward, the twenty-five stones looted from Gao Xiong's corpse, and his saved allowance.
For an ordinary Rank 1 student, this was a massive fortune, enough to draw envious stares.
But for Lin Mu, who wanted to gamble for a great opportunity in the gold-swallowing cave that was the Jia Clan Caravan, this amount wouldn't even make a sound if thrown into the water.
"To turn my fortune around, to make a splash in the Stone Gambling den, I need a starting capital of at least five hundred Primeval Stones."
Lin Mu calculated coldly in his heart.
From seventy to five hundred. A six-fold gap. Relying on part-time work? Missions?
In seven days, even if he didn't eat or drink, he couldn't scrape it together.
In that instant, a classic tactic used by Fang Yuan at the Gu Yue Village in the original work flashed through his mind—"Blocking the Gate."
Relying on overwhelming combat power to block the academy gate and forcibly collect protection fees from every classmate.
"No."
The thought was extinguished the moment it sparked.
Fang Yuan could do it because he carried five hundred years of combat experience and memories.
He possessed crushing combat power at Rank 1 Initial Stage.
Moreover, he was a 'Reborn Demon Venerable' who didn't care about clan evaluation and intentionally used it to temper his demonic heart.
Lin Mu stared dead at the notice board, gold light flickering in his eyes as he weighed his options.
More importantly, Fang Yuan was familiar with the temperaments of the Gu Yue clan elders.
He knew where the bottom line was, and exactly how far he could push without inviting death.
That was equivalent to playing on New Game Plus.
"But I am different."
"Although I am a transmigrator, I haven't had enough time to acquire such hidden intelligence. Furthermore, while I have Middle Stage Primeval Essence, if I face a siege from dozens of classmates, or trigger the disgust of the tyrannical Elder Kuangxu, I will undoubtedly die."
The path of violent plunder was a dead end at this stage.
If he couldn't rob, he could only—"Scam."
Or to use a more civilized term: market manipulation.
Lin Mu narrowed his eyes, his gaze sweeping over his jubilant classmates.
After a round of discreet "market research," he discovered that the material hoarded most by the vast majority of students was—Green Pouch Grass.
The purchase price in previous years was 10 stones per bundle. Everyone assumed it would be the same this year.
"Everyone believes the price will remain unchanged. That is the biggest blind spot."
A mocking sneer curled Lin Mu's lips.
"What is the logic of a merchant caravan? Buy low, sell high. Adapt to local conditions."
"If a certain good was fully stocked at the previous stop, bursting the warehouse seams, then at the next stop, the purchase price won't just hold steady—it will plummet. They might even refuse to buy entirely."
"This is supply and demand."
"As long as I make them believe the caravan's warehouses are full, that Green Pouch Grass isn't just worthless but will rot in their hands as waste..."
"Then, panic will spread like a plague."
Lin Mu turned and left the crowd. His plan was formed.
But he wouldn't show his face personally, nor would he deliberately find someone to spread rumors.
That was too flashy, too easy to leave evidence behind. It didn't fit his style.
...
That afternoon. The utility room in the corner of the martial arts field.
Two mortal old men, usually responsible for sweeping the grounds and emptying chamber pots, were squatting by the wall, bored out of their minds, sunning themselves and chatting.
In this world where Gu Masters reigned supreme, the lives of mortals were cheap as grass.
But sometimes, a mortal's mouth was faster than a knife.
"Old Wu, with the caravan coming, do you think we can scrape up some oil from it?"
"You? Worthy?" The old man called Old Wu scoffed, knocking his pipe against the wall.
"Born to empty chamber pots, yet dreaming of the Gu Masters' playground. If you go, be thankful if they only break your dog legs."
Just as the two were blowing hot air, a figure hurried past.
He wore the grey cloth short-shirt uniform of a caravan worker, a cloth wrap obscuring his forehead, head bowed, waist bent.
It was Lin Mu, disguised as a scout for the Jia Clan Caravan.
He had calculated the idle time of the utility room staff perfectly.
He came in disguise, keeping his head low and aura retracted, deliberately obscuring his figure to ensure no acquaintance would recognize him.
He feigned the appearance of surveying the stockade's road conditions, moving in a rush.
As he passed the two old men, his foot paused slightly, as if slipping.
From the stack of "caravan documents" in his arms, a single sheet fluttered down, landing precisely in the weeds at the corner of the wall.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the paper land.
Yet he pretended to be completely unaware, accelerating his pace and vanishing around the corner without looking back.
He didn't reveal his face for a second.
"Hey, that little brother dropped something."
Old Wu had sharp eyes. Although he didn't dare call out (caravan scouts had special status; mortals dared not speak to them casually), curiosity drove him over.
He picked up the paper.
It was drawn with some symbols he couldn't understand, along with a few lines of clear text—it was a draft of the Jia Clan Caravan's temporary acquisition plan.
Old Wu was illiterate, but the other old man had been a helper in an accountant's office in his youth and recognized a few characters.
He leaned in, and his eyes instantly widened. He muttered in a low voice:
"...Jia Clan Caravan... White Bone Stockade... Green Pouch Grass exceeds expectations... Suspend acquisition..."
The information was shockingly blunt: The Jia Clan Caravan had purchased too much Green Pouch Grass at the neighboring White Bone Stockade.
Their warehouses were nearly bursting. Coincidentally, White Bone Stockade had seen heavy rainfall recently, leading to a bumper harvest of Green Pouch Grass, crashing the price to rock bottom.
Coming to Black Blood Stockade this time, the caravan would likely suspend purchases of Green Pouch Grass to prioritize clearing stock.
"Hiss—! Old Wu, this is huge news!"
"We can't go to the caravan, but if we tell this news to those young masters who usually tip us... wouldn't that mean..."
The two old men looked at each other, seeing the gleam of profit in each other's eyes.
They were experts at chewing the fat and spreading gossip.
In the shadows far away, Lin Mu had already removed his disguise and returned to his original appearance.
He watched coldly as the two old men excitedly whispered over the forged "acquisition list."
"But this isn't enough. The fuse was lit, but it still needed a perfectly timed gust of wind."
Through various inquiries, Lin Mu learned that the caravan's liaison with the academy for acquisitions was Deacon Wang—a man of greedy nature who often used opportunities to demand "benefits" from students.
This was a leverage point. Lin Mu noted it silently in his heart.
Later, on his way back, he conveniently "visited" a few C-grade students.
These individuals had mediocre talent but prided themselves on being "well-informed" within the academy, loving to show off with half-true insider information.
"Lin Mu, where are you coming from? Acting all mysterious."
At the intersection, a horse-faced student gathered with a crowd called out to him.
Lin Mu stopped. He didn't exchange pleasantries as usual.
He merely swept a flat glance over them, his tone carrying the relief of a survivor: "Brothers, still chatting here? If you have Green Pouch Grass in hand, dump it while you can. Before it rots in your hands."
The horse-faced student paused, his brow furrowing instantly. "What do you mean, kid? Speak clearly."
Lin Mu didn't explain directly. He just smiled self-mockingly and shook his head.
"I don't have any concrete channels. I just passed by earlier and accidentally heard the stewards chatting. They said the caravan scouts reported a bumper harvest of Green Pouch Grass at the neighboring White Bone Stockade."
"As for whether it's true or false... who knows? Anyway, I just cleared all my stock. Even if it's fake news, I only lose a few Primeval Stones. I prefer safety."
With that, he didn't linger, walking straight past them.
"Hey! Lin Mu..."
They wanted to stop him, but Lin Mu walked extremely fast, his back radiating the resolve of someone who had already "secured the bag."
"Big Brother, looking at him... it doesn't seem like he's bluffing. That guy has high pride, but he's always been steady in his actions."
"White Bone Stockade bumper harvest? That adds up! No wonder the rainfall in the south has been weirdly heavy this year. If the caravan filled up there, the grass in our hands really will become worthless rotten leaves!"
"No, we have to find a sucker to dump this on, fast! Number Two, you have a fast mouth. Go let this wind out. Say the caravan is already full. Only when the prices fall into chaos can we dump our goods onto those D-grade fledglings!"
A multi-pronged approach. "Three men make a tiger"—if enough people repeat a lie, it becomes the truth.
Lin Mu didn't even need to say the words "refuse to purchase" himself.
These self-proclaimed smart "insiders," in order to stop their losses and transfer risk, would actively perfect the logic and become the rumor's most loyal amplifiers.
The seed of the rumor had been planted.
...
Mere two days later.
Panic fermented in the silence. Expectation for the caravan gradually turned into restless anxiety.
In the dining hall, the atmosphere was strangely eerie.
"Hey, did you hear? Green Pouch Grass is rotting on the streets in White Bone Stockade!"
"I heard! The old man in the utility room saw it. The caravan bought like crazy at White Bone Stockade. The warehouses are overflowing!"
"Real or fake? Then what about the grass in our hands? The caravan arrives in four days!"
"Hard to say! The caravan acquisition window is only one day. If we wait for them to arrive before selling, we might not make it. If it piles up and molds, it's a huge loss!"
"Look at those well-informed guys, they're all secretly dumping stock!"
The most terrifying aspect of a rumor lies in it being "half-true."
The heavy rainfall in the Southern Border this year was true. The caravan pursuing profit was true.
Added to the supporting evidence of the "Caravan Plan" and the "unusual movements at the station," the lethality was multiplied.
Now, only the final straw was needed.
But Lin Mu didn't need to light this final straw himself.
Those self-righteous players in the game would scramble to jump out and fan the flames for him.