Chapter Forty-Eight: So Poor

It was fortunate that he had run into Meng Guan; had it been another cultivator, he feared there would be yet another life on his hands. Remembering Meng Guan’s expression at the time, and his blunt question, Wei Fan couldn’t help but smile inwardly. This was indeed a question Meng Guan would dare to ask.

But upon further reflection, Wei Fan felt at ease. He and Meng Guan were close friends, and it was not unreasonable for a friend to inquire when witnessing such a scene of corpse disposal. If it had been someone else, surely Meng Guan would have immediately activated his breath-concealing technique and fled at first sight. He certainly wouldn’t have come closer to ask questions.

“At that time, I had just left the Chiling Gold Mine, no more than a hundred miles away, when I saw someone who looked just like Brother Wei kill a rogue cultivator with one sword. I was so startled that I quickly hid with the breath-concealing technique, not daring to reveal myself,” Meng Guan said, his weathered face flushing red, his beard twitching as he added, “It wasn’t until I observed from the shadows and confirmed it was indeed Brother Wei that I dared to come out and greet you. Alas, I later learned that rogue was your enemy—his death was well deserved!”

At these words, Meng Guan shook his head, a trace of ruthless resolve flickering across his face. From his look, one would think he wished to grind Chen Zhou’s bones to dust himself, rather than Wei Fan.

After listening to their vivid recounting, He Song was left speechless. Who could have imagined that, when Wei Fan left the Immortal Market to help him kill someone, he’d incidentally bring Meng Guan back as well? When he saw the two arrive together at the courtyard gate, He Song had certainly not expected it. Yet, it had truly happened. All he could think was—what a coincidence.

“By the way, I brought back some of Chen Zhou’s ashes, they’re in his storage pouch. Here,” Wei Fan said, once the matter was explained, quickly pulling a storage pouch from his robe and handing it to He Song.

Before leaving the small courtyard, he’d promised He Song to bring some ashes back. Now that Chen Zhou was dead and his body burned, it was only natural to bring some of the remains. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. As for the storage pouch—it had, of course, been taken from Chen Zhou.

It was a small storage pouch, with an internal space roughly a meter square—one that could be purchased at the Artifact Pavilion for a hundred spirit stones. The pouch Chen Zhou carried was just such a type. For those at the early or mid stages of Qi Refining, a hundred spirit stones was a considerable amount. But for Wei Fan, now in the late stage of Qi Refining, this pouch sparked no interest.

Accepting the pouch, He Song infused it with a thread of spiritual power. Instantly, a pile of items appeared before him. There was a small jar—

Some talismans.

A small pile of spirit stones.

A few changes of clothes.

A copy of “Earth’s Enduring Formula.”

And various miscellaneous items.

He Song’s gaze lingered on the small jar. If he guessed correctly, Chen Zhou’s ashes should be within. As for the other items, he swept his eyes over them and quickly tallied up their worth.

The talismans were all of inferior grade, valued at about twenty to thirty spirit stones.

The small pile of spirit stones—fifty-four, in total.

The clothes were worthless, as was the “Earth’s Enduring Formula,” and the other odds and ends.

In summary, Chen Zhou’s entire estate, including the storage pouch, was worth at most a hundred and eighty spirit stones.

“So poor,” He Song thought, shaking his head. These meager belongings hardly befit a rogue cultivator’s status. Weren’t rogue cultivators supposed to be wealthier than those in the Immortal Market? But seeing this, it hardly seemed so.

Upon further thought, He Song understood. Rogues lived by the sword, and any resources they gained were likely all spent on their own cultivation. If Chen Zhou hadn’t joined the Immortal Market as a spirit herb farmer for stable income, his estate might have been even less.

Then, thinking of his own situation, He Song couldn’t help but laugh at himself. In truth, Chen Zhou was relatively wealthy by comparison—He Song had only a dozen spirit stones to his name, and not even a storage pouch. If anything, he was the poorest of all.

“Fellow cultivator, you should keep these spoils. Just remember you owe me a favor in the future,” Wei Fan said with a smile, seeing He Song empty out the pouch.

Of the trio, He Song had the lowest cultivation and the smallest annual stipend. He had only just reached the mid stage of Qi Refining, so his stipend had just increased, and he was far from affluent. Wei Fan, in the late stage, had abundant resources. Meng Guan, at the sixth level of Qi Refining, had served as a junior overseer in the mines for three years and was surely well off. Only He Song, who had just broken through, had yet to receive his new stipend.

Seeing He Song’s straitened circumstances, Wei Fan naturally wished to help. In a few years, when He Song began to draw his increased stipend, his finances would improve. By then, such a small matter would be beneath notice. A hundred or so spirit stones meant nothing to Wei Fan—and in a few years, He Song himself would not care about them, either. The mention of a favor was simply an excuse to ensure He Song accepted the gift.

“Yes, you should take it,” Meng Guan chimed in. “Just remember the favor owed. Now that you’ve reached the mid stage of Qi Refining and your stipend has increased, in a few years you’ll see that this sum of spirit stones is nothing.”

Having served as a steward in the Spirit Medicine Pavilion, Meng Guan, though not as high in rank as Wei Fan, understood the ways of the Immortal Market. While the official stipend for cultivators was modest, there were always other avenues of income. For example, Zhao Lin, a talisman master, could earn spirit stones by crafting talismans in addition to his stipend. The stipend alone might be paltry, but add in the earnings from various cultivation arts and the sum increased greatly. This was why most cultivators at the mid stage of Qi Refining were able to accumulate savings.

Ordinary cultivation, purchasing pills, magic tools, talismans, and spells—all these required spirit stones. Without extra income, relying on the Market’s stipend alone would leave one constantly short. A few years were sufficient for an average cultivator to master a trade and profit from it. This was why they said “in a few years.”

“Very well, then I shall accept with gratitude. This favor, I will remember,” He Song replied after a moment’s thought, not refusing the offer. Since Wei Fan and Meng Guan were offering their help, he might as well accept. After all, as they said, in a few years no one would care about such a minor sum. And He Song would indeed remember this favor.

Nevertheless, he was only half convinced by their words. Three years had passed, and he had yet to master even the basics of array techniques. Even if he did, and could set up a spirit-gathering formation, he would not risk his life arranging arrays for others just to earn spirit stones. Thus, he could not guarantee that, a few years hence, a hundred and some spirit stones would be a trifling matter to him.

He himself could not say for certain.