Cheng Yang had been in this world for many days now, yet there was still no sign of a traveler's gift.
No cheats, no system prompts, nothing.
At first, he kept waiting, half-expecting some mysterious voice to bless him with "Infinite Upgrade System Activated!" or something equally ridiculous.
But reality had other plans.
In the end, he could only sigh and accept the truth; if he wanted to survive here, it would have to be through his own strength.
He had read the Douluo Dalu novels in his past life, so he knew exactly what kind of mess he was in.
The Tianmeng Ice Silkworm, his new body, was, in simple terms, a weak chicken.
Sure, it had lived for nearly a million years, but in actual combat?
It couldn't fight its way out of a snowdrift.
Its so-called strength came purely from spiritual cultivation, not power or battle.
But Cheng Yang wasn't the type to despair easily.
If nothing else, he had time, plenty of it.
Ten thousand years meant nothing to a soul beast.
For others, it was just a dull wait, but for him? It was a chance to build something.
"If I can't become a god-tier cultivator," he mused,
"I'll become the one who builds the god tier weapons."
An amused grin tugged at his lips.
Forget cultivating, he could build.
If given enough years, why not construct something absurd? Gundams, airships, even aircraft carriers if he felt fancy.
He chuckled at the thought:
"Let's see a hundred-thousand-year-old beast mess with me when I've got an aircraft carrier fleet behind me. I'll make their mothers forget what they look like."
But jokes aside, he knew he had to start small.
So, in the bustling Tiandou City, he quietly opened a modest shop.
The signboard read:
"Hall of Science and Technology."
No flashy banners. No hired barkers. No flyers.
Just a clean storefront with one striking feature, a massive glass window that caught everyone's attention.
Such a huge pane of crystal-clear glass was rare even in the royal palace.
Passersby would stop, stare, and whisper.
A shop this plain, in a city this expensive, could only belong to a madman or a genius.
For the first few days, nobody entered.
Then, one morning, the doorbell finally jingled.
A young man in a fine silk robe stepped in.
No family crest, but the way he carried himself spoke of nobility.
He had the kind of curiosity born from privilege, the kind that got people in trouble or changed their lives.
The air inside was cool and still.
As soon as he entered, he heard a voice, young, calm, and lecturing.
"Human blood cells are divided into three types: red blood cells, white blood cells, and platelets. Each type plays a unique role…"
The noble frowned slightly. He could understand every word but couldn't make sense of them together.
Blood cells? Platelets? The shopkeeper was speaking in riddles.
Curious, he cleared his throat to announce himself.
Cheng Yang paused mid-sentence and turned around.
Sitting at the counter, Dugu Bo was taking notes seriously like a student.
"Alright," Cheng Yang said with a half-smile.
"That's enough for today. Review what we covered, and don't blow anything up this time."
Cheng Yang waved him off before turning to the visitor.
"Welcome. How can I help you, sir?"
The noble smiled politely.
"You may call me Ye."
Cheng Yang's brow lifted slightly.
Ye? A noble of Tiandou named Ye, around this age… could it be the future Emperor Xue Ye?
The thought flickered in his mind, but he brushed it aside.
It didn't matter for now.
Ye glanced around. "Strange shop you have here. What exactly do you sell?"
"As you can see," Cheng Yang said, gesturing at the near-empty shelves, "everything on display is for sale."
Ye chuckled. "Everything? Even that glass counter, it looks more expensive than your goods."
"Ah," Cheng Yang replied, matching his tone, "if you'd like to buy the counter too, I can give you a good price. Comes with a free pearl of wisdom."
The young noble tilted his head.
"Pearl of wisdom?"
"Knowledge," Cheng Yang said, smiling faintly.
"The rarest commodity of all."
Ye found himself grinning.
This strange shopkeeper spoke in odd phrases but carried a confidence that was oddly infectious.
He reached for a small silver box on the counter.
"What's this?" he asked.
"Go ahead," Cheng Yang said.
The noble opened it, and immediately flinched back as a small burst of flame shot upward.
Ye's eyes widened.
"Fire? From a box?"
"A lighter," Cheng Yang explained.
"Not much use right now, unless you smoke, but it's convenient, isn't it?"
Ye rotated it in his hand, inspecting the smooth metal and clicking it open again.
"Exquisite craftsmanship… but impractical. Nobles like me don't light our own fires."
"Maybe not," Cheng Yang said, smirking.
"But sometimes practicality isn't the point. Sometimes, it's about being the first to own something others don't understand yet."
Ye paused, considering that.
He set the lighter down and picked up a small paper box filled with wooden sticks.
He shook it curiously.
"And these?"
Cheng Yang smiled knowingly.
"That," he said, "is fire in its simplest form. Let me show you."
He struck one stick against the box's side.
A spark hissed, then bloomed into a small, steady flame.
The young noble's eyes lit up.
"Remarkable…"
Dugu Bo, who had been pretending not to watch, muttered from his seat, "Hmph. Biology is more fascinating."
Cheng Yang just grinned.
"Maybe. Or maybe, it's the beginning of something greater."
The flame flickered, its reflection dancing in the glass window, like a spark of the coming age.
And for a brief moment, the noisy streets of Tiandou City seemed a little quieter.
"Similar to the previous one," Cheng Yang explained, "this is also used for ignition. It's called a match."
He took the small box from Ye's hand, struck a stick, and a bright flame bloomed at the tip.
The golden light flickered against the shop's glass window, making Ye's eyes widen slightly.
"If this thing is cheap enough," Ye said, watching the flame dance, "it could be quite useful."
Cheng Yang chuckled and shook his head.
"Unfortunately, not yet. These are all handmade. The cost's too high, and people don't really have a habit of starting fires so often. For now, it's just a novelty, something to amuse the rich."
He snapped the match in half, exposing the faintly colored tip.
"This," he said casually, "is coated with white phosphorus. A remarkable chemical… and a deadly poison."
Ye instinctively took a step back, his earlier curiosity fading into wariness.
Cheng Yang smiled faintly, noticing the change in expression.
"Relax. If someone were foolish enough to swallow it, and if they acted quickly with gastric lavage and induced vomiting, they might survive."
"Might?" Ye repeated, half-incredulous.
"It's not guaranteed," Cheng Yang said lightly, as if discussing the weather.
Ye's lips tightened.
He'd seen poisons before, venomous seals, deadly mists, spiritual toxins, but none so simple.
No spirit power, no incantations, just a tiny bit of material that could kill.
The casualness of it made him uneasy.
"Alright," Cheng Yang said, sensing the mood, "perhaps matches aren't your thing. Let's move on."
He turned and retrieved something from the back shelf, a peculiar device made of glass and metal.
The lower half was a rounded metal container, while a glass chimney rose gracefully from the top.
A small gear sat on the side like a piece of intricate machinery.
Ye raised an eyebrow.
"What is this?"
"This," Cheng Yang said, setting it down carefully, "is called a kerosene lamp."
He removed the glass cover, struck another match, and lit the wick.
A warm, steady light flared to life, brighter and clearer than any candle flame.
Even in daylight, it shone vividly.
Ye leaned closer, fascinated.
"It's… so bright. And clean. No smoke, no dripping wax."
"If it's too bright," Cheng Yang said, turning the small gear, "you can adjust it like this."
The flame softened, dimming to a gentle glow.
Ye's expression grew thoughtful.
"Convenient. No need to trim the candles; they're brighter too. If you sold these in large quantities, every noble family in Tiandou would want one."
He paused, then added, "But it can't burn forever. What fuels it?"
"Kerosene," Cheng Yang replied, smiling slyly.
"A liquid fuel. I can sell it by the barrel. One barrel per gold soul coin, quite affordable, wouldn't you say?"
Ye blinked.
"A gold soul coin, a barrel? You call that affordable?"
"For you nobles, it's nothing," Cheng Yang said with a teasing grin.
"Besides, kerosene lamps are a one-time purchase, but kerosene itself? That's a steady business. You burn it, you buy more. Simple economics."
Ye laughed quietly, shaking his head.
"You certainly know how to do business. Lamps for show, oil for profit."
"Exactly."
Ye leaned back, eyes flicking between the lamp's flame and the shopkeeper's calm, confident smile.
He could tell Cheng Yang wasn't just some eccentric craftsman; there was calculation behind every word, every invention.
"A gold soul coin is a luxury for most families," Ye murmured.
"But for those with power and money… this could spread quickly."
His gaze lingered on the lamp, its light reflecting in his eyes.
"You said kerosene. You extracted it yourself?"
Cheng Yang didn't answer right away.
He blew out the flame, and a thin trail of smoke rose lazily from the wick.
"Let's just say," he replied softly, "I know where to find what others haven't discovered yet."
For a long moment, the two men stood in silence, the nobleman, intrigued but cautious; the strange inventor, smiling as if seeing a future only he could imagine.
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