Two weeks had passed since Lin Feng began working under the Liang Family. His body had grown tougher, his hands raw and calloused, but his pouch remained pitifully light. Rent loomed like a shadow, and the two stones tucked safely in his Inventory mocked him with their insufficiency. He had tried honesty, flattery, and endless labor. None of it mattered."You can't get anything by being honest," he muttered bitterly, staring at the ceiling of his cramped room.
The sect's housing management demanded seven stones each month. His wage was two. Even with the two stones he had left in Inventory, he was still three short. The math was hopeless. He remembered the first time he paid rent — seven stones upfront, nearly everything he had. That memory gnawed at him, a reminder that from the very beginning he had been trapped.
Each day he forced himself to rise early. He swept longer, carried heavier loads, scrubbed filth others avoided. He bowed to seniors, flattered supervisors, and endured insults. His words were awkward, but he used them anyway. He knew his survival depended on it. Yet every night, when he counted his stones, despair pressed down heavier.
The thought began to creep in, quiet at first, then louder. If he could not earn enough, perhaps he could take what he needed. The Liang Family flaunted their wealth openly. Apprentices carried herbs, overseers counted stones, storerooms overflowed with supplies. For them, a handful of stones meant nothing. For him, it meant survival.He began to lay out a plan.
During the day, Lin Feng worked as usual, but his eyes were sharper. He swept floors, but he noted which doors were locked and which were left ajar. He hauled sacks, but he watched who carried ledgers and who grew careless. He scrubbed storerooms, but he memorized where herbs were stacked and how often guards passed by. The compound had its rhythms.
In the mornings, apprentices rushed to training, overseers barked orders, and storerooms were busiest. In the afternoons, workers slowed, guards grew lazy, and doors were left unattended. In the evenings, supplies were locked away, but not always checked carefully.Lin Feng absorbed it all, storing details in his mind like pieces of a puzzle.
At night, he whispered to himself, "If I can slip something into Inventory, no one will ever find it. A few herbs, a few stones… enough to survive."
The thought gnawed at him, half shame, half desperation. He had never stolen before. But the sect's housing management demanded seven stones a month. His wage was two. His Inventory held two more. The math was hopeless."If I don't act, I'll be crushed. If I do act, I might live."
Over the next days, Lin Feng sharpened his observations. He noticed a careless overseer who left ledgers unattended. Apprentices who carried herbs without checking behind them. Guards who grew lazy after meals, their patrols irregular.
He began to see the moments of weakness in the compound — the small openings where discipline faltered, where wealth slipped through cracks.He did not act yet. He kept sweeping, hauling, scrubbing. But his eyes lingered on storerooms, his mind replayed routes, his thoughts circled crooked paths.
The market outside bustled with life. Merchants shouted, families bargained, cultivators strutted. Lin Feng listened to gossip while working: talk of sect trials, rare herbs arriving, opportunities for those with backing. He stored the information quietly, knowing he couldn't afford to act yet. But the whispers of herbs and stones only deepened his hunger.
At night, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling. His chest felt heavy, his thoughts spiraled. "I can't even afford to live. How can I cultivate? How can I activate the shop?" The two stones in Inventory felt like a cruel reminder — enough to show him what he lacked, not enough to save him.The days dragged on. He flattered everyone, accepted every extra chore, and endured mockery. His body ached, his mind sank deeper into worry, but he kept moving. He knew if he lost this job, he would lose everything.
Yet beneath the grind, a new determination stirred. He had mapped the compound's rhythms. He had seen the careless hands, the lazy guards, the unlocked doors. He had the Inventory, a hidden advantage no one else could suspect.
Lin Feng finished another day of chores, his body aching, but his mind alive with plans. He had not stolen yet, but the seed was planted. The crooked path had taken root, and it was only a matter of time before he stepped onto it.