After informing my grandfather, I left the house early in the morning, the air still cool and 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, keeping my head low and my presence unremarkable.
At the front stood Old Han, 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 and 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 without delay. No one chatted idly on the road, the path to town cutting through uneven terrain and low hills.
Once past the village boundary, even laughter felt out of place. The silence was heavy, broken only by the sound of footsteps and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees.
By the time the town walls came into view, the sun was already climbing high above the hills.
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, lingering on a few of the younger faces.
"If you're late, we won't wait."
No one argued. Everyone clasped their hands in acknowledgment.
"Yes, Uncle Han / Grandfather Han."
The group dispersed into the town like water splitting around a stone.
I followed a familiar street, my steps steady and unhurried.
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.
"Wu Family Shop"
This was the place my grandfather had always come to. I stepped inside without hesitation.
An elderly man sat behind the counter, leaning back on a chair with his eyes closed as if asleep. His breathing was slow and even.
I clasped my hands and spoke clearly.
"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 with a practiced eye, the kind that came from decades behind a counter.
"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, and his expression turned business like.
"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, lips moving silently as he counted.
"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 toward me.
"You're polite," he said. "Unlike some."
He paused, studying me for a moment, then added, "You're managing the land yourself now, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Hm." His eyes softened in a way that made him look older than he already was. "That's not easy for a child."
I didn't respond. We both knew words couldn't change reality.
I didn't take 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, the lazy warmth in his expression replaced by something more careful.
"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, his eyes searching mine as if looking for something hidden beneath the surface.
Finally, he sighed. "You're a good child."
He leaned closer and lowered his voice, glancing toward the shop entrance before continuing.
"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 produced a small jade box. Inside lay several crimson-tinted seeds, each one faintly pulsing with a warm glow.
"They're usually sold to small clans or wealthy households," he said. "But..."
He looked at me again, something unspoken passing between us.
"Out of respect for your grandfather, I'll sell you one pound. At a discount."
"How much?" I asked.
"Thirty spirit stones."
That was cheap. Too cheap for Tier-2 seeds.
He's giving me a favor, I realized. One I should remember.
"I'll take it," I said without hesitation. "I will also take four pounds of Jade spirit rice seeds."
"Yes." He said, "Three spirit stones per pound.
Shopkeeper Wu counted and said "Total 42 spirit stones. You have to give me 22 more."
I took them out from my inner pocket but actually it was from inventory.
Shopkeeper Wu nodded, accepting the stones. He wrapped the jade box and seeds carefully and handed it to me.
"Be careful," he added quietly. "Don't tell others you have it."
"I won't," I promised and stored them in my spirit bag.
Before I could turn to leave, he called out, "Little Shen."
I turned.
"This world doesn't reward kindness," he said, his voice carrying a weight that suggested he spoke from experience. "But it remembers it."
I bowed respectfully and stepped out into the sunlight.
Leaving the shop, I wandered deeper into the market, letting the crowd swallow me into its rhythm.
Street stalls lined both sides, talismans, herbs, beast parts, weapons, pills of questionable quality. Rogue cultivators ran most of them, their eyes sharp and their tongues sharper.
I kept my guard up.
Then I saw it.
A black withered seed sitting casually among junk items at a small stall, half-buried under scraps of metal and broken tools. It looked unremarkable to anyone who didn't know what to look for.
My heartbeat quickened.
The Spirit Farmer Tier-1 legacy contained all Tier-1 seeds. This wasn't one of them. It should definitely be a higher-level seed.
I suppressed my reaction instantly, keeping my face bored and disinterested.
Instead, I picked up a sword from the same stall, turning it over in my hands as if examining it casually.
"How much?" I asked.
The stall owner, a thin man with sharp eyes and a sharper tongue, snorted.
"Ten spirit stones."
I frowned, letting genuine suspicion show in my expression. "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, the sound echoing through the nearby stalls.
"Get lost!"
I shrugged, turning away with practiced indifference.
"Wait," he barked. "Five."
I shook my head slowly, then pointed casually toward the withered seed. "Four. And.... that seed."
He followed my gaze and froze for a moment before letting out a laugh.
"That thing?" he scoffed. "Worthless trash. Fine, take it."
"Here, four stones," I said calmly.
He gritted his teeth, his face reddening with frustration.
"Fine! Damn it, get lost, kid!" he shouted loud enough for the whole stall row to hear. "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 without looking back.
Too easy, I thought, tucking the seed safely into my pouch. He didn't even know what he had.
When I returned to the town entrance, several villagers were already waiting, leaning against the walls or sitting on stone steps.
Some were missing.
Old Han counted heads, his expression darkening with each gap in the group. He spat to the side.
"Tch. Looks like a few chose pleasure over life."
No one spoke. Everyone understood what he meant. Those who lingered too long in the town's gambling dens or entertainment houses would find themselves alone on the road when darkness fell.
"We leave," he said.
No one needed to be told twice.
On the return path, the atmosphere was heavy, the kind of silence that pressed down on shoulders like an invisible weight.
As we crossed a narrow mountain road, laughter echoed from somewhere ahead, too loud and too casual to belong to travellers.
"Hahaha! You really thought changing routes would help?"
Figures emerged from both sides of the path, stepping out from behind rocks and trees with practiced ease.
Bandits. Rogue cultivators. Dozens of them.
One stepped forward aggressively, a crude blade resting on his shoulder.
"Looks like you need to shed some blood to learn obedience!"
Fear rippled through the group like a stone dropped in still water. Hands trembled. Breaths caught.
Then a lazy voice sounded from behind the bandits.
"That's enough."
The bandits parted like water before a current.
A middle-aged man walked out, relaxed, his hands folded behind his back. His aura was restrained, but heavy, the kind of weight that made the air itself feel thicker.
The leader.
"I'll forgive you this once," he said casually, as if discussing the weather. "Don't test my patience."
Old Han bowed deeply, his weathered face carefully blank.
"Thank you, Senior."
The man smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Now," he continued, "the tax is fifty percent."
Silence fell like a hammer.
Fifty percent.
Originally, it was thirty.
Old Han froze, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. The change was subtle enough that most wouldn't catch it, but I did.
Outrageous, I thought, my fist clenching beneath my robe. But what can we do?
Without strength, resistance meant death. I lowered my head, appearing submissive like everyone else.
But my mind was already drifting backward in time.
This was not my first encounter like this.
The last time I had come to town alone, carrying the harvest proceeds and spirit medicine for my grandfather, I had been stopped at a similar mountain pass.
Back then, I had still believed that keeping a low profile would be enough to survive.
I remembered how the bandits had laughed as they searched me, how casually they had taken the spirit stones from my pouch, leaving behind only the medicine after discovering it was meant for an old man.
"Consider this charity," one of them had said mockingly.
I had returned home that day with empty hands, forcing a smile while lying to my grandfather about market prices.
That was the day I truly understood something. Kindness without strength was nothing but an invitation to be trampled.
That was also why this time, I had deliberately kept the sword, seed, and spirit stones outside my inventory.
The bandits searched everyone without exception. When it was my turn, they found only the sword, seed, and ten stones.
"What's this worth?" one sneered, holding up the withered seed between two fingers.
"Ten stones," I said flatly.
They burst into laughter, the sound echoing off the mountain walls.
"Haha! Got scammed!" The bandit tossed the seed back carelessly and pocketed the ten spirit stones.
They left the sword and withered seed on the ground without a second glance.
I lowered my head, letting my shoulders slump as if devastated.
Inside, I was completely calm.
I kept them outside the inventory for exactly this reason.
Others who were new to this tried to resist, their pride or desperation getting the better of their judgment.
They were beaten without mercy, dragged to the ground and kicked until they stopped moving.
In the end, they had to pay seventy percent for their disobedience, a brutal lesson written in bruises and blood.
Finally, we were allowed to leave.
I picked up the sword and seed from the ground and walked on, keeping pace with the group.
As we walked, the group moved in silence, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on all of us.
A young farmer suddenly snapped, his voice cracking with barely contained rage.
"Why should we pay this toll?! We should report this to the Sun Moon Spirit Sect!"
Silence swallowed his words.
Old Han spoke softly, without turning around. "You think we don't know?"
The young man kept ranting, his face red with anger, fists clenched at his sides.
Old Han stopped walking. He turned slowly, and fury flashed in his eyes, cold and sharp as a blade.
"Shut up!" he hissed, low enough that only those closest could hear. "Want to die? Don't drag others with you!"
The young man fell silent instantly, shrinking back as if struck.
"Why?" another asked weakly, his voice barely above a whisper. "They let us go this time..."
Old Han's voice was cold, carrying the weight of someone who had survived this road many times before.
"They treat us like geese laying golden eggs. Only obedient geese live."
Someone muttered from the back of the group. "Then why doesn't the person from the sect in charge capture these bandits?"
An old farmer opened his mouth to answer. "What can he do when he is the..."
Before he could finish, Old Han's glare found him across the group.
The man fell silent instantly, swallowing the rest of his words.
I watched everything unfold but said nothing.
Because strength decides everything in this world.
And one day, I would have it.