The stench of the Trash Peak clung to Li Fan's robes like a second skin. It was a sour, acrid smell—a mixture of sulfur, rotting spirit wood, and the metallic tang of failed alchemy experiments.
To most cultivators, this smell was the scent of failure. To Li Fan, it was the perfume of opportunity.
He stood at the base of the Administration Peak, weighing the small pouch in his hand. inside clinked five Spirit Stones—the reward for the sanitation mission.
Five stones earned. Three lost to Zhao. Net profit: Two stones.
It was a pitiful sum. In his prime, Li Fan wouldn't have bent down to pick up a high-grade spirit vein, let alone two low-grade stones. But in this life, these five stones were his entire capital.
"And capital," Li Fan murmured, his eyes scanning the bustling paths of the Outer Sect, "must be invested immediately."
He didn't return to his dorm room. Instead, he turned west, heading toward the Gray Market.
The Gray Market of the Small Pond Sect was a chaotic strip of stalls set up by disciples near the edge of the woods. It was where the "unofficial" business happened. Stolen herbs, low-quality talismans, and contraband items changed hands here away from the prying eyes of the Elders.
Li Fan moved through the crowd. With the Heaven-Deceiving Copper Coin resting silently in his dantian, his presence was muted. He was just another gray-robed disciple, unnoticed and unimportant.
He stopped in front of a stall run by a disciple with a weasel-like face. The stall was cluttered with jars of dubious liquids and dried beast parts.
"Looking for something, Junior Brother?" The weasel-faced disciple grinned, revealing yellowed teeth. "I have Aphrodisiac Pills, Strength Potions, Poison Needles..."
Li Fan's gaze swept over the items. He picked up a small, dusty yellow jar.
Corpse Dissolving Powder.
It was a common item, usually used by hunters to melt down beast carcasses so they could extract the bones easier. But in the hands of a cultivator, it was the perfect tool for erasing evidence.
"How much?" Li Fan asked, his voice rasping slightly from the fumes he had inhaled earlier.
"Three stones," the merchant said quickly.
Li Fan put the jar down. "One stone."
"One?!" The merchant looked offended. "This is high quality! It can melt an Iron-Hide Boar in ten minutes!"
"It's diluted," Li Fan said flatly. "I can smell the vinegar from here. And the seal is cracked. Use it on a boar, and you'll be left with half a carcass and a bad smell. One stone is generous."
The merchant froze. He narrowed his eyes, looking at Li Fan closely. He hadn't expected a novice disciple to know the difference.
"Fine," the merchant grunted, annoyed. "One stone. Take it and go."
Li Fan placed one stone on the counter and tucked the jar into his sleeve.
Transaction complete.
He didn't leave yet. He moved to the next stall, a blacksmith's apprentice selling rejected tools.
He bought a small, foldable shovel—the kind used for digging trenches. It cost him his second and final stone.
Li Fan walked away from the market, his pouch empty once again.
Anyone watching him would be confused. He had spent his hard-earned money on acid and a shovel.
But a hunter knows, Li Fan thought, his thumb brushing the handle of the shovel hidden in his sleeve, that the most important part of the kill is the burial.
The sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of bruised purple and orange.
Li Fan returned to the Outer Disciple living quarters. The area was quiet; most disciples were at the dining hall or evening lectures.
He pushed open the door to his room.
The smell of the Trash Peak followed him in.
"Cough! Cough!"
Little Fatty Zhang, who was nursing his swollen lip on the bed, gagged. "Ancestors above! Li Fan, what did you step in? Did you fall into the latrine?"
Wang, the other roommate, covered his nose with his sleeve. "The Waste Pit... you really went?"
Li Fan ignored their reactions. He walked to his bed and began to strip off his outer robe. "It pays five stones," he said simply.
"Five stones..." Wang's eyes widened with a mix of disgust and envy. "That's... that's a lot. But is it worth the stench?"
Li Fan didn't answer. He carefully folded the robe.
Thud.
The door was kicked open again.
The atmosphere in the room froze instantly. The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees.
Standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the dying light, was Senior Brother Zhao.
He wasn't alone this time. Two lackeys stood behind him, snickering.
Zhao's eyes landed on Li Fan immediately. He sniffed the air, his nose wrinkling in disgust. "What is that unholy smell?"
"Senior Brother Zhao," Wang stammered, standing up. "Li Fan... he just returned from a sanitation mission."
"Sanitation?" Zhao stepped into the room, kicking aside a wooden stool. He walked up to Li Fan, towering over him. "So, the trash went to play with trash. How fitting."
Li Fan turned slowly. He looked at Zhao.
In his mind, he saw the timeline.
Current Time: Evening.
Zhao's Death Date: Tonight.
Cause of Death: Blunt force trauma.
Li Fan lowered his head, hunching his shoulders to make himself look smaller. He let a tremor enter his hands.
"Senior Brother Zhao," Li Fan whispered, his voice shaking. "I... I don't have any more stones. I gave you everything this morning."
"I know you did," Zhao grinned, his eyes gleaming with greed. "But I heard you just completed a mission. Five stones, right? That's a lot of money for a new disciple to carry around. It's dangerous. I should hold onto it for safekeeping."
The sheer shamelessness of it made Little Fatty Zhang gasp in horror. Zhao was robbing him twice in one day.
Li Fan looked up, his eyes wide with fake panic. "But... but I spent them! I bought medicine... and tools..."
"Spent them?" Zhao's face darkened. He grabbed Li Fan by the collar, lifting him onto his toes. "You spent my stones? You ungrateful little rat!"
He raised his fist.
This was the moment.
Li Fan knew Zhao's psychology perfectly. Zhao was a bully, but he was also a gambler. He loved easy money, but he loved big scores even more.
"Wait!" Li Fan squeaked, squeezing his eyes shut. "Please! Don't hit me! I... I can make it up to you! I have something better than stones!"
Zhao's fist paused inches from Li Fan's face. "Better?"
Li Fan opened one eye, looking around conspiratorially. "My... my grandfather. He was a Foundation Establishment cultivator before he died. He left me a family heirloom. A Spirit Jade Pendant."
The room went silent.
A Foundation Establishment artifact? Even a broken one would be worth fifty stones. For an Outer Disciple like Zhao, that was a fortune.
Zhao lowered Li Fan, but kept his grip on the collar tight. "You're lying. If you had a pendant, you would have sold it."
"I... I couldn't!" Li Fan stammered, sweat forming on his brow (a physiological reaction he forced by circulating his Qi backwards for a second). "It's buried! In the Back Mountain woods! My father told me never to dig it up unless it was a life-or-death emergency... because... because the woods are haunted at night..."
"Haunted?" Zhao laughed. "You coward. You're afraid of a few ghost stories?"
"I'm scared of the dark!" Li Fan whimpered. "Senior Brother, if... if you let me go, I'll take you there. You can have it. I just want to live!"
Zhao looked at Li Fan. He saw a trembling, smelly, terrified boy. He saw zero threat.
He looked at his two lackeys. "You two, wait here. Make sure these other idiots don't run to the Elders."
"Yes, Boss!"
Zhao turned back to Li Fan, a predatory grin spreading across his face. He wrapped a heavy arm around Li Fan's shoulders, like a friendly older brother.
"Li Fan, Li Fan... why didn't you say so earlier? I'm a reasonable man. If you give me the pendant, I'll protect you from now on."
He leaned in close, his breath smelling of stale wine. "But if you're lying to me... I'll bury you in that hole yourself."
Li Fan swallowed hard, nodding rapidly. "I... I swear! It's near the Old Crow Tree. I can show you."
"Lead the way," Zhao commanded, shoving him toward the door.
Li Fan stumbled out into the twilight, clutching his sleeves.
Inside his right sleeve, his fingers brushed the cold ceramic of the acid jar.
Inside his left sleeve, his arm pressed against the folded steel of the shovel.
As they walked away from the dorms and toward the darkening silhouette of the forest, Li Fan's trembling ceased. His posture remained hunched, but his eyes, hidden by the shadows of the coming night, turned cold and flat.
The bait is taken, Li Fan thought. Now, we walk to the slaughterhouse.