Panic was like the toxin in Iron Wire Miasma—once it seeped into the heart, there was no cure.
Only three days.
The rumor about "White Bone Stockade's Green Pouch Grass surplus" had already mutated into a despairing "established fact" within the academy.
The corridors that once buzzed with noise now reeked of mildew.
It was the smell of countless bundles of Green Pouch Grass stuffed under beds and crammed into corners.
The smell of rotting hope.
"Is there really no one buying?"
At the stairwell corner, a frail female student clutched her companion's sleeve with reddened eyes.
"I heard someone from the next dorm say that yesterday, people were still buying at three Primeval Stones per bundle..."
"Gone!" Her companion shook her off, voice dripping with despair.
"Even the pig-feeding servants said no! They claim the grass absorbed moisture and might make the pigs sick. No one dares touch it now—it's a hot potato!"
The girl's legs gave out. She slid down the wall, clutching a bundle of withered herbs to her chest.
Her eyes were as hollow as a corpse's.
This is the cruelty of markets.
When sellers flood in and buyers vanish, price loses all meaning. Commodities return to their true nature—garbage.
Yet beneath this wailing sea of panic, another current stirred in hidden corners.
In the small grove behind the academy, a group led by Lin Feng had gathered—direct descendants and wealthy branch members, all from comfortable backgrounds.
"You actually believe that rumor?"
Lin Feng scoffed, his narrow eyes glinting with cunning.
He snapped a branch in half, his voice cold. "I doubt it. The Jia Clan Caravan is enormous. Even if White Bone Stockade had a bumper harvest, would they really stop buying from us? At worst, they'd push prices down a bit. Someone's blowing smoke."
"Brother Feng is brilliant!" A lackey immediately chimed in. "I thought it was fishy too. How could they just stop buying out of nowhere?"
"So..." Lin Feng lowered his voice, eyes gleaming like a hyena catching the scent of carrion.
His gaze swept greedily toward the dormitory building in the distance.
"This is an opportunity. A massive opportunity."
"These poor bastards are desperate to dump their stock. If we buy low—say, two or three stones per bundle—and sell at ten when the caravan arrives... heh, that's several times the profit in a single flip!"
The wealthy young masters' eyes lit up. Their breathing quickened.
"But Brother Feng..." a timid follower hesitated.
"Everyone's selling right now. If we start buying openly and the Clan Elder investigates, what if they charge us with 'market manipulation'? And... what if the caravan really doesn't buy? The risk..."
Lin Feng frowned.
This was precisely what they feared most. They wanted money—more than anyone—but they valued their lives more, and their reputations even more.
As future pillars of the clan, a charge of "profiteering from disaster" or "hoarding for speculation" would get their legs broken by the Clan Elders.
"They want to feast on meat but fear the stench of blood on their hands..."
Just as these young masters wavered in indecision, a figure in gray cloth appeared silently beneath the shade of a nearby tree.
Lin Mu didn't rush over like a fly.
Instead, he crouched by the tree roots, toying with a few pebbles, seemingly muttering to himself—yet his voice carried just far enough to reach Lin Feng's ears.
"Buy too much and risk getting stuck with it. Buy too little and kick yourself when the caravan arrives... Isn't the hardest thing in this world just those four words—'looking before and after'?"
Lin Feng's brow furrowed. He whipped around, sharp gaze cutting toward the shadows.
"Lin Mu? What are you muttering about over there?"
Lin Mu straightened, dusting off his backside.
The deliberate sycophancy vanished from his expression, replaced by the shrewdness and composure of a businessman.
He didn't rush to approach. Instead, he stood at the edge of the tree's shadow, positioning himself just right.
"Young Master, please calm yourself. I merely thought that young masters of your stature have no need to dirty your hands with this blood-stained pocket change. If it succeeds, the profit is paper-thin. But if a Clan Elder notices and it ruins your future prospects—now that would be truly unfortunate."
Lin Feng snorted coldly. The disgust in his eyes gave way to heavy scrutiny.
"Lin Mu, drop the games. Say what you mean."
Only then did Lin Mu step forward. His voice dropped low, carrying the decisiveness of a gambler going all-in.
"The young masters want to 'buy the dip' but lack a shield to block the wind and rain."
"After that incident with the monthly exam, I'm already branded a despicable villain. My reputation is half-ruined anyway—when you're already covered in lice, a few more won't itch."
He paused.
"How about this: I'll clear out my dormitory, hang up a curtain, and open a shadow ledger on behalf of the young masters."
"I'll tell everyone that I, Lin Mu, blinded by greed, borrowed from loan sharks to make a desperate gamble before the caravan arrives—that I'm privately strong-arming people for their worthless grass."
He met Lin Feng's gaze directly. A flash of ruthlessness crossed his eyes.
"Here, every contract bears the name Lin Mu. The infamy falls on me. If the Clan Elders investigate, I alone take the fall."
"The young masters need only provide the capital; the goods pass through my hands first. A guaranteed profit with no mud on your robes. What does the young master think?"
He stepped forward, throwing down his final chip.
"The young masters take the lion's share. I only ask for half a Primeval Stone per bundle as 'risk money.'"
"I'm betting my life for the young masters' reward. Is this deal... fair?"
Having spoken, he fell silent, head bowed, feeling Lin Feng's gaze—suspicious yet tempted.
"Lin Feng is the type who's arrogant and paranoid," Lin Mu thought coldly.
"Too servile and he'd look down on me. Too proper and he'd suspect me. Only this kind of deal—profit-driven with someone willing to take the fall—could move him."
Lin Feng narrowed his eyes, not responding immediately.
The lackeys behind him also reined in their arrogance, their gazes darkening as they studied Lin Mu.
No fool made it into the upper classes. Not among the direct descendants.
"Lin Mu, your calculations are quite precise." Lin Feng smirked coldly.
His body shifted slightly, and the Primeval Essence fluctuations of a peak Rank 1 cultivator rippled outward, bringing with them a crushing pressure.
"You claim you're risking your life for money, but I think you're using us as your weapons."
"If you take our money and run, or turn around and report us to the Clan Elders, wouldn't we be destroyed by your scheming little hands?"
Lin Mu's mind sharpened with alertness.
"As expected of a wolf cub raised by a great clan. I can't show a single crack for him to exploit."
He didn't lower himself further this time. Instead, he straightened his back slightly.
His voice remained low, but it carried the steadiness of someone betting everything on a single throw.
"Young Master is perceptive. But in Black Blood Stockade, if I wanted to report you, I would have gone to claim my reward from the Clan Elders long ago. Why would I come here risking my neck?"
"I'm here because this business can only succeed under the young masters' protection. I seek wealth; you seek profit. We each get what we need."
He paused, then drew a densely-written list from his slightly bulging sleeve and spread it flat on the stone surface before him.
"This is everything I've gathered over the past few days—who's desperate to cash out, who's sitting on the most stock. It's all here. As for the 'insurance' the young masters are worried about, I've already thought of that too."
His voice hardened.
"This contract won't say 'loan.' It will say 'illicit funds.'"
"The moment money changes hands, I, Lin Mu, become your accomplice."
Lin Mu stared directly into Lin Feng's eyes. A near-manic smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"This worthless life of a B-grade talent—if I can trade it for a chance to turn things around with fifty Primeval Stones, I don't care if it's held in your hands."
"After that, being broke and hopeless is far worse than being an accomplice. Young Master... is this sincerity enough?"
Lin Feng stared hard at the list, golden light flickering in his eyes.
As a direct descendant, he understood the weight of that list better than anyone—those weren't names.
They were countless Primeval Stones.
But he was currently in the critical phase of competing for the Clan Elder's true inheritance.
Any stain of "exploiting fellow clansmen" could destroy him utterly.
Yet the Lin Mu before him—sycophantic though he appeared—was the perfect tool.
"A greedy, backgroundless branch member whose reputation is already ruined. A heaven-sent rag."
"Even if things go wrong, I can claim I was 'deceived' and kill him on the spot. Not only would my reputation be preserved, I'd earn merit for 'cleaning house.'"
"Spending a few dozen Primeval Stones to buy insurance while gambling for double the profit..."
"This deal is worth making."
The killing intent that had nearly solidified in Lin Feng's eyes quietly faded, replaced by lofty indifference.
"Half a stone is too much." He looked down at Lin Mu, his voice cold as ice.
"0.3. Of that, 0.2 goes to feed that old dog Steward Wang—he's the caravan's purchasing liaison. Only with him handled can we guarantee success. The remaining 0.1 is your errand fee."
He wasn't just haggling. He was testing boundaries, reminding Lin Mu: in this game, he was the house.
Lin Mu fell silent for a moment. A flicker of struggle and reluctance crossed his eyes at just the right moment, finally dissolving into naked greed.
He gritted his teeth. "Deal. As long as the Young Master keeps things quiet for me these seven days, I'll take this dirty work."
Lin Feng casually tossed a money pouch. It thudded heavily into the mud at Lin Mu's feet.
Lin Mu bent down to pick it up, carefully counting the contents.
His profit-hungry appearance fell into Lin Feng's eyes like the perfect proof of loyalty.
"Let's go." Lin Feng turned away, deaf to the snickers behind him.
In his view, Lin Mu was simply a useful rag—to be used and then discarded into the family mines to rot.
Only when the footsteps faded did Lin Mu slowly straighten.
He brushed the mud from his knees. The nervous, servile expression dissolved completely, leaving only the calm of a still, deep pool.