That night, the Shadow Exchange quietly opened for business.
Lin Mu's dormitory was already tucked away at the end of the corridor—remote and rarely visited.
Better still, Lin Feng had personally arranged to send the other roommates elsewhere to facilitate the transactions.
The adjacent room happened to be an abandoned storage closet.
This provided the perfect conditions for the exchange.
Within hours, Lin Mu had sealed the windows with heavy quilts, blocking every trace of outside light.
A thick hemp curtain hung over the doorway, so dense not even a breeze could slip through.
The room had been transformed into an information black hole—one that traded only in panic and greed.
A grand game of human nature, centered around Green Pouch Grass, was about to begin.
At the front door, sellers clutching their herbs stomped their feet in anxiety, terrified of being stuck with worthless stock.
At the back door, buyers with eyes gleaming green stared at the cheap goods, heads swimming with visions of profit.
And Lin Mu stood in the middle—the puppeteer pulling both strings, pocketing money from every direction.
"Brother Lin! Brother Lin! Please, take mine!"
A collateral branch youth squeezed through the curtain, arms overflowing with herbs.
Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, desperation plain in his eyes.
He gripped Lin Mu's arm like a drowning man.
"I've got twenty bundles! I heard you're the only one still buying—please, have mercy! Don't let me get stuck with these!"
Inside, a single oil lamp cast a dim, bean-sized glow.
Lin Mu sat at the table, brow furrowed tight, wearing an expression of deep reluctance as he examined the youth's goods.
He pinched a slightly wilted leaf between his fingers, then dropped the herbs back onto the table with exaggerated force.
His voice rose sharply.
"Wang San, it's not that I don't want to buy—but this stock is garbage!"
"Look at these yellowed leaves! And several roots are broken! This money I'm using? High-interest loans! Compound interest! If I get stuck with bad product, I'll have to throw myself off Broken Soul Mountain!"
"Cheap! I'll take 2 stones per bundle! Just 2!" Wang San's voice trembled with panic.
He looked ready to shove the herbs directly into Lin Mu's hands.
"Two stones..."
Lin Mu rubbed the table surface, feigning painful hesitation.
His fingers drummed rapidly against the wood, as if waging an intense internal battle.
Finally, he slapped his thigh hard, wearing the look of a man throwing caution to the wind.
"Fine! For the sake of our time as classmates, I'll take this gamble!"
"2 stones per bundle! But I'm deducting 0.2 per bundle for handling fees—this isn't me cheating you, it's the rule money for Steward Wang. Without his nod, the final handoff falls apart. Don't complain about the loss. Being able to sell at all right now is already a blessing!"
"I'm not complaining! Not at all! Thank you, Brother Lin! Thank you!"
Wang San clutched his 36 Primeval Stones (20 bundles × 1.8 stones) like a man granted amnesty.
He backed out with endless expressions of gratitude, even taking care to tuck the door curtain tight behind him.
Immediately, voices rose from outside: "Hurry! My turn! My stock is better than his!"
The moment Wang San's foot crossed the threshold, the "reluctance" and "pained expression" vanished from Lin Mu's face like water off oil.
With practiced efficiency, he gathered the twenty bundles and turned to push open an inconspicuous door hidden in the corner.
Behind it, Lin Feng waited with several lackeys, rubbing their hands in anticipation. Greed gleamed in every eye.
"Well? Did you get good stock?"
"Young Master Feng, just acquired twenty bundles. Excellent quality."
Lin Mu handed over the herbs with a capable smile, casually brushing off his sleeve.
His tone carried a hint of self-congratulation.
"That Wang San was a tough nut—refused to budge below 2.5 stones. I haggled with him forever, barely managed to keep him from pushing it to 3. Saved you some cost there."
He had already carefully screened this batch, culling the damp and moldy rejects.
What remained was premium stock—good enough to justify Lin Feng's price while cementing his own reputation as a "reliable middleman."
"2.5 stones?"
Lin Feng flipped through the herbs. Seeing they were indeed quality goods, his brow creased briefly before relaxing.
"Fine. Note it down. Listen—as long as it's good stock, don't be too rigid on price. We need volume!"
He thought of the merchant caravan's usual buying price of 10 stones per bundle. The greed in his eyes intensified.
"Keep buying! Take everything you can get!"
"Absolutely! Leave it to me!"
Lin Mu bowed and gently closed the hidden door.
The instant he turned around, his expression switched back to that look of weary hardship.
"Next! Come in! Form a line! How many times do I have to say it—no yellowed leaves, no damp stock!"
This was the magic of information asymmetry.
Sellers thought they were offloading at 2 stones per bundle. Actual take: 1.8.
Buyers thought they were scooping up bargains at 2.5 stones per bundle.
The 0.7-stone gap between them—0.5 in hidden profit, 0.2 in "handling fees"—flowed silently into Lin Mu's pocket.
Over the next three days, Lin Mu's dormitory became the busiest and most mysterious place in the entire academy.
He spun like a tireless top between desperate sellers and greedy buyers, switching seamlessly between his "beleaguered middleman" and "fawning errand boy" personas.
Not a single crack showed in his performance.
Sometimes he would argue red-faced with sellers over a few measly stone fragments, even throwing herbs out the door while cursing, "Sell or don't sell—you think I'm afraid of getting stuck with this crap?"
This "petty" behavior only convinced the waiting crowd further: Lin Mu was just a small-minded wretch chasing petty gains, certainly not some scheming mastermind.
They relaxed around him completely.
Other times, he would rush to Lin Feng's side, panting and complaining that sellers outside were either hoarding or jacking up prices—making collection impossibly difficult.
This explained away the vanishing price gaps. Occasionally, he would "thoughtfully" present Lin Feng with a couple bundles of hand-picked premium stock, earning ever-deeper trust.
After all, having such a willing errand boy who could also suppress prices—a perfect "white glove"—saved Lin Feng considerable trouble.
More importantly, Lin Feng had already given orders. During this period, no one dared patrol this remote corner.
Even the Punishment Hall enforcers gave it a wide berth.
Such was the privilege of a direct-line heir.
It allowed Lin Mu's operation to proceed undisturbed, fully honoring the promise of "seven days of peace."
Three days later, the dust settled.
Nearly all the Green Pouch Grass circulating in the academy had been swept clean.
Panicked sellers had received their "lifeline money," congratulating themselves on cutting losses in time.
Greedy buyers had stockpiled mountains of cheap goods, dreaming of doubled returns.
Everyone believed themselves winners.
Only Lin Mu remained in the shadows, watching coldly as the carnival he had orchestrated played itself out.
Late that night, Lin Mu closed the heavy door and hung a wooden sign: "Temporarily Closed."
He extinguished the oil lamp. By the faint moonlight filtering through the window, he sat on his bed and began tallying the harvest.
From the hidden compartment beneath his bed, from the cloth pouch stuffed in a wall crack, even from the secret layer under his chamber pot—he retrieved handful after handful of Primeval Stones.
Fragments and whole pieces alike. Some reeked of sweat; others carried the grassy scent of herbs.
They glittered faintly in the moonlight.
"Starting capital: just over eighty stones—the seventy I'd saved plus a few days of apprentice stipend."
Lin Mu gathered the stones together, fingers brushing their cool surfaces as he calculated under his breath.
"Three days, net profit: two hundred Primeval Stones. Even more than I projected."
He first separated the portion he had already calculated—Steward Wang's "rule money." Every cent accounted for.
The upcoming caravan purchase still depended on this contact turning a blind eye.
This payment was both a lifeline and a reassurance.
The remaining stones formed a small mountain: over two hundred eighty in total, including principal.
For an ordinary Rank 1 student, this was a fortune that might take three years to accumulate.
Lin Mu had done it in three days.
Not through overwhelming force. Not through exceptional talent.
Through precise insight into human greed and panic. Through exploiting gaps in the rules.
"Lin Feng, oh Lin Feng. You think I'm your white glove—running errands, taking the fall."
"You don't realize you're my porter. Moving Primeval Stones from everyone else's pockets... into mine."
Lin Mu stacked the stones neatly into a leather pouch, savoring their weight.
He exhaled slowly, a cold smile tugging at his lips.
He had already planned his exit strategy. This was his "soft landing."
If the caravan arrived and Green Pouch Grass prices held steady, Lin Feng's group would make their fortune.
They would never trouble a "capable errand boy" like him—they'd simply think: useful kid, knows his place.
If prices actually crashed—unlikely as that was, unless his fabricated scenario somehow came true—then Lin Feng's people had only their own greed and recklessness to blame.
Lin Mu was just a "paid middleman." Both parties had traded voluntarily. Contracts were signed.
Even if problems arose, the responsibility wouldn't fall on him.
The black pot would rest on his "petty villain" reputation.
And Lin Feng, to protect his own name, would quietly clean up the mess. He would never make a scene.
"Two hundred eighty-plus stones total. Net profit: two hundred. Add the scraps I didn't count toward principal... just enough for the Stone Gambling startup capital."
Lin Mu rubbed his chin, gazing toward the stockade gates. His eyes were deep as the night itself.
"The Jia Clan Caravan's stone gambling grounds... I finally have my ticket in."