The old man shuffled to the back of the shop, crouched beside a dusty shelf, and pulled out a wooden box. He opened it carefully, removed a thick, worn book, and returned to the counter.
"This is the technique," he said, placing it on the counter with a dull thud.
Wuji picked it up. The cover was worn and discolored, browned at the edges, and soft from years of handling. Faint fingerprints still smudged the surface. It had been used before, but not recently.
His eyes settled on the faded title inked across the top:
Iron Marrow Body Scripture.
He ran a thumb across the characters. The name alone carried weight.
"Now," the old man said, arms crossed and voice low, "tell me what you know."
Wuji slid the book beneath his robe and pressed it against his chest. Then, he looked up at the old man.
"Do you know Mudfall Village?" he asked.
The old man scoffed. "Everyone knows that backwater. Don't tell me the cultivator you mentioned is that old village chief. If so, hand me back my book—I've got no interest in courting death."
Wuji shook his head. "Yes, the chief is strong. But the cultivators I'm talking about aren't him; they're outsiders. Real ones."
The old man squinted. "Outsiders?"
"They'll arrive in Mudfall in fifty-seven days. That's not a guess; it came straight from the chief. Judging by how careful he was, they're not just passing through. They're coming for something or someone."
"Maybe it's for that Chen Yi guy who the chief boast about his talent."
The old man's brows furrowed. "So the opportunity lies with them, not the chief."
Wuji nodded. "Exactly. When they arrive, they'll want to test for spirit roots. Maybe to take disciples or maybe for something else. But if your grandchildren have even a sliver of talent, that's your ticket to a better life."
The old man leaned forward slightly, looking suspicious. "What makes you think they'll let strangers like us in? Wouldn't the villagers prevent outsiders from getting their chance?"
"They won't stop you. Not in front of cultivators. They know better," Wuji said coldly. "Their chief is one, remember? They've seen what cultivators can do. They'll smile and grit their teeth while you stand in line, no matter how much they hate it."
He paused, then added, "Bring others with you if you're worried. Share the risk; share the hate. But this kind of chance? It only comes once in a lifetime. You either take it or grow old regretting that you didn't."
The old man fell silent. Wuji could already see the wheels turning behind
The old man fell silent, stroking his beard as he absorbed Wuji's words. "A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, indeed. If the rumors about the Eastern Escort Agency are true, they would kill to send their young master to a cultivation sect."
Wuji began gathering herbs, stowing them in a cloth alongside the book already beneath his robe. "Then here's some free advice: Cast a wide net. Tell as many people as you can; nobles, merchants, and even your competitors. If you want to stay safe, drown the risk in numbers."
He stepped toward the door. "Good luck, old man. If your grandchildren have spirit roots, you might end your days as a noble. If not, well...you'll still sell a few herbs and sleep warm."
Without waiting for a response, Wuji slipped out; the bell above the door jangled softly behind him.
The old man stood in place, narrowing his eyes at the empty doorway. "He's up to something, stirring up that village like a stick in a hornet's nest." He chuckled under his breath. "Well, if chaos brings fortune, I won't complain."
He reached beneath the counter, closed his ledger, and extinguished a nearby candle.
"First stop: the Eastern Escort Agency. Then Stoneleaf. Then the town chief. Let's see whose greed runs deepest."
With that, he locked up the shop. The hunt for opportunity had already begun.
Outside, Wuji stopped in front of a dumpling vendor. Steam curled from the stacked baskets, and the savory scent made his stomach clench.
"How much are these?" he asked, pointing to the dumplings.
"Three iron coins each," the vendor replied without looking up.
"That's too much. How about two coins each? I'll take fifteen."
The vendor snorted. "Three is the standard. Walk the whole street, and you won't find it cheaper."
Wuji frowned but didn't argue further. "Fine. Wrap ten for me."
As the vendor began bundling the dumplings in lotus leaves, Wuji stood silently and watched the steam rise.
"They won't fill me up, but Yin Yin...it's been too long since she's had dumplings."
The vendor tied the bundle tightly with twine and handed it over.
Wuji tucked it carefully beside the herbs in his cloth bundle and turned toward the town's exit.
"If that old man has any sense, he'll be swimming in gold by the end of the week. When he is, I'll come back for him. Everyone he sells the information to will spread it like wildfire—maybe even nobles from neighboring cities will come sniffing around. But before that, I need to become a third-rate martial artist."
He scanned his surroundings through his peripheral vision. Two thin men leaned near a pottery stall, their eyes flickering toward him.
"More tails?" Wuji frowned. "What the hell is going on in this town today? Why are they after me now? Yin Li worked here for years, and no one followed him."
"Maybe it's because he smelled like horse shit. Should I start doing that, too? Do they think that because I'm dressed cleanly, I struck gold overnight?"
He moved toward the more crowded part of the street, weaving through the crowd with his head down. He walked in loops, cutting through alleyways and darting between vendors.
After several tense minutes, he finally lost them.
"Damn, this town is turning into a den of beasts. The village's no better: That gambler and his dogs, that bastard Chen Yi and his old monster of a grandfather..." His jaw tightened.
"Everywhere's dangerous. I haven't even met a real cultivator yet. When I do, I'd better be strong enough not to die by accident."
He finally reached the edge of the town and slipped through the gate unnoticed.
"No sign of the gambler or his thugs. Lucky."
By the time he reached the village, his pace had slowed; he still tightly clutched the bundle in his arm. He didn't stop to rest. He walked straight to the hut.
Inside the hut, Meiyin was sweeping when Wuji stepped in.
"Brother, you're back!" she said, turning toward him.
She took the cloth bundle from his hands and opened it. Her eyes lit up. "Herbs and dumplings?" Thank you, Brother. I've really missed these."
"I figured you would," Wuji said, setting the rest of the bundle down. "The herbs are for your bruises. Can't let you end up with scars. You're a girl. How else will you get married?" He added with a teasing smile.
Meiyin lowered her eyes, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to leave you."
Wuji paused, his throat tightening. He looked away and cleared his throat.
"Okay, okay," he said with a crooked grin. "Enough mushy stuff. I also picked up this book."
He reached into his robe and pulled out the worn martial arts manual, placing it in her hands.
Meiyin set the herbs and dumplings down on the straw bed and examined the old book, flipping through a few pages. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw the illustrations of martial stances.
"A martial arts book? Isn't this expensive? Did the chief finally give you the rest of the money?" she asked.
Wuji smirked. "Nope. I used my brains instead. Don't worry, Yin Yin. Your brother's going to become powerful. Just wait—I'll conquer the world, and we'll sleep on beds made of gold coins."
She smiled at him, but her eyes carried the truth; she knew he was trying to lift her spirits more than his own.
Wuji headed outside, grabbed two flat stones, and brought them in. He washed them, placed the herbs between them, and began crushing them into a thick paste.
"Yin Yin, sit on the bed," he said. "Let me apply this."
She climbed up and sat still as he gently spread the herbal mixture over her bruised legs.
"How does it feel?" he asked, watching her carefully. "Is it itchy?"
She shook her head. "No, brother. It feels… cool. Like wind on my skin. Is that normal?"
Wuji nodded. "Yeah, that means it's working. Just let it sit for a few hours. It should help with the swelling."
Meiyin smiled faintly and unwrapped the bundle of dumplings. "Okay, Brother."
"Eat all of them," Wuji said, standing and stretching his sore limbs. "I'll cook some meat later for myself. These little dumplings aren't enough for your big, muscle-bound martial artist brother."
She laughed softly.
Wuji sat down on his straw bed, pulled the old martial arts manual into his lap, and flipped it open. His eyes scanned the pages with quiet intensity.
"Third-rate… here I come."