The steam from the tea cup dissipated, but Lin Mu's insights into power were only just beginning.
He had assumed that strange "civilized wind" would persist for quite some time. Who would have guessed that after merely a week, the winds of Black Blood Stockade would shift again?
The clansmen weren't fools, after all.
After a few days of probing, everyone quickly caught on: helping old ladies cross the street, exchanging hollow pleasantries with sworn enemies—such superficial gestures might look good, but in the eyes of those sharp and ruthless Elder evaluators, they earned no points whatsoever.
What actually earned points was genuine "contribution to the clan," "mentoring juniors," and "uniting with fellow disciples."
And so, the atmosphere transformed completely.
The previous "hollow courtesies" instantly escalated into "aggressive gift-giving."
Lin Mu in particular—as Steward of the External Affairs Hall, both a "clan junior" and a "key figure" wielding real authority—instantly became the prime target for point-farming across the entire stockade.
Early morning, Silent Stone District.
When Lin Mu pushed open the door of his stone house, preparing to report for roll call, he nearly tripped over the mountain of items piled at his entrance.
The open space before his door was cluttered with all manner of "tokens of goodwill":
A basket of red-shelled eggs, freshly laid by someone's old hen, with a crooked red paper note attached reading: "For Steward Mu's health—neighborly unity is everyone's responsibility."
A knitted sweater with rough stitching and sleeves of uneven length, apparently rushed overnight by some senior sister unskilled in needlework, labeled: "Winter approaches—caring for fellow disciples."
There were even two slabs of cured meat, dried for who knows how many years, emanating a rancid smell, hanging from his door handle and fluttering in the breeze.
Lin Mu stood at the doorway, surveying this chaotic mess, the corner of his mouth twitching, black lines of exasperation crossing his forehead.
"This is supposed to be a cultivation clan..."
He shook his head helplessly, casually beckoning a passing servant to dispose of everything.
"This is clearly New Year's obligation visits to relatives—the kind of poor relatives you have no choice but to visit."
Though this absurd farce was exasperating, it also demonstrated just how fierce the competition for the Grand Tournament had become.
And amid this frenzy of universal point-farming, those seed candidates who had received "special assignments" were finally submitting their results.
Some rejoiced. Others despaired.
The first to report success was, without question, Lin Feng.
Just yesterday, Black Blood Stockade received a letter of appreciation from the "Shang Clan Caravan."
The letter heaped praise upon the young master of the Lin family who had hosted them, calling him "elegant in speech, exceptional in insight, possessing the bearing of a great house."
More importantly, Lin Feng hadn't merely entertained the guests well—he had also seized the opportunity to negotiate a substantial medicinal herb order on behalf of the clan, generating considerable revenue.
His reputation exploded overnight.
"As expected of Young Master Lin Feng—this is the bearing of a great clan!"
"With Young Master Lin Feng here, outsiders view our Black Blood Stockade with greater respect."
Lin Feng's prestige reached its peak that week. He had become virtually synonymous with "the perfect heir."
And Lin Mu, as the "behind-the-scenes contributor," naturally received his reward.
That evening, Lin Ping slipped back under cover of darkness, carrying an exquisite rosewood box.
"Brother, this was sent over from Young Master Feng's side."
Lin Mu opened the box. A crisp, plant-like medicinal fragrance wafted out. Inside the sandalwood box lay several translucent, amber-like pale green crystals quietly. On the inner side of the lid, the characters "Origin Nourishing" were inscribed with flamboyant strokes.
[Origin Nourishing Essence].
This was an extremely precious supplementary material—the life essence secreted by the Origin Nourishing Gu—that could warm and nourish the aperture, stabilize one's foundation, and even provide remarkable benefits when attempting to break through to a new realm.
For Lin Mu, who was pushing hard toward Rank 1 Peak, this was exactly what he needed.
"Repay peaches with plums."
Lin Mu closed the lid, nodding with satisfaction. This was the advantage of doing business with intelligent people—no haggling required. Whatever was owed would be paid in full.
Close behind was Lin Ze from the Storage Hall.
When his mission report was submitted, it caused quite a stir.
Lin Ze had taken a group of subordinates and spent three full days in that dust-choked Warehouse Number Four. Though they didn't have to brave wind and sun, these pampered young masters were still exhausted.
When it became clear the warehouse contained nothing but moldy, rotting waste materials—no "hidden assets" whatsoever—Young Master Lin Ze was furious.
But he didn't throw a tantrum. Instead, he demonstrated the magic of "money power."
He dipped into his own pocket and overnight purchased a batch of mid-grade ores and surplus medicinal herbs at low prices from the outside market.
Then, under cover of darkness, he had people quietly mix them into the warehouse's waste piles.
The next day, he presented these items to the Elders to claim credit:
"Look! These are overlooked clan assets I salvaged from the ruins! Covered in dust, but worth a fortune!"
The outcome was naturally satisfactory for all parties.
The clan recovered a batch of materials. Lin Ze earned major merit for "recovering clan losses," maxing out his contribution points. Though he spent considerable money purchasing these items, in Lin Ze's eyes, the points and prestige gained were an absolute bargain.
Afterward, while drinking at a banquet, Lin Ze got tipsy and publicly gave a thumbs up:
"Steward Lin Mu of the External Affairs Hall is a solid fellow! The assignment he gave was absolutely reliable! Next time there's good work to be done, I'm definitely going to him!"
When these words reached Lin Mu's ears, he was sipping tea from his cup. His hand trembled, and he nearly choked to death.
"A solid fellow..."
Lin Mu wiped the tea stains from the corner of his mouth, caught between laughter and tears. "Fine then. You're the wealthy patron, you pay generously—whatever you say is right."
However, the joys and sorrows of humanity are not shared equally.
Just as Lin Feng and Lin Ze were basking in their success, the Punishment Hall's team returned to the stockade.
The scene was, to put it mildly, rather tragic.
Lin Yan had led a group of Punishment Hall tough guys to the West Mountain Swamp. The mission was technically accomplished—the Venomfire Scorpions were wiped out—but the cost was so devastating it would move listeners to tears.
The West Mountain Swamp was extremely humid, with mud everywhere. Lin Yan's prized fire-path killing moves were reduced to half their effectiveness there. Monsters he could normally kill in one strike now took three, and he frequently missed due to slipping.
Even worse, forcing his Primeval Essence to resist the humidity and toxic miasma caused a backlash of fire toxins.
When he returned, this "violent berserker's" face was black—literally black, as if he'd just crawled out of a coal mine.
Rumor had it he'd inhaled too much swamp gas and vomited blood several times on the journey back.
As for the Punishment Hall disciples who accompanied him, complaints filled the air:
"What kind of garbage mission was this? I ruined two pairs of shoes, my clothes are done for, and there wasn't even any loot!"
"Nothing but mud and poisonous insects—absolutely cursed!"
Lin Yan, enraged, wanted to cause trouble for the External Affairs Hall. He even grabbed his blade, ready to storm over and demand answers.
But then he remembered that the requirement for "the hardest, most combat-intensive mission that only fierce warriors could handle" had been his own insistence.
That breath of fury stuck in his chest, unable to rise or fall, nearly causing him internal injury.
In the end, he could only announce three days of seclusion to purge the toxins. At this critical juncture before the Grand Competition, not only had he failed to earn many points, but he'd also damaged his condition—making him the biggest loser of all.
Listening to all this news, Lin Mu sat in his Steward's office, his expression calm.
"This is only the first month since registration for the Grand Competition opened, and already such fine entertainment."
"It seems there will be plenty more amusement to come."