In the west of Qu Lin city, a fate-buying Daoist had completely caught fire.
At first, some people had been worried. After all, something so mystical might well have some unforeseeable effect on them.
And tossing money around like that was something no one did except fools.
But as more and more people sold their fate, some made a tidy profit from it, and they were still hale and hearty, looking none the worse for wear. Just as that banner proclaimed—"Ten thousand years of immortal fate is but mist in the clouds; the gold before you is a century's opportunity."
So many people had profited from selling their fate, yet they alone remained just as poor.
Others' poverty was a healing balm for the heart; others' sudden wealth was a knife twisting in the wound.
Even the stingiest person would share their poverty, but even the most generous soul could not endure being the only poor one.
No matter how they thought about it, over and over, the answer was always the same—Sell!
They'd lived who knows how many years without even catching a glimpse of an immortal. They'd never expected to cultivate anyway.
Immortal fate was but a shroud of mist, while the silver and gold in hand was tangible and real.
At the very least, tomorrow's flatbread could be swapped for roast chicken.
Moreover, those with thin immortal fate fetched only a dozen or so copper coins, while those with heavy immortal fate had already received ten taels of gold.
There was an undercurrent of comparison in all this too.
Ten taels of silver naturally beat a few copper coins, and from comparing immortal fate, it evolved into comparing fortune itself.
For whatever reason, the stall before Chu Xingchen had become thoroughly popular. Some people even began maintaining order on their own, afraid that any disturbance might make Chu Xingchen unwilling to buy their fate.
Naturally, ordinary folk only needed to consider whether to sell and whether the price was fair. But certain others had to weigh whether this whole thing was right or not.
A young man dressed in simple hemp clothes watched the absurdly long queue with an expression of curiosity.
If the woman from the cave had been here, she would have recognized him as the young comrade from the meeting.
Beside the young man stood a dark-skinned middle-aged man who looked like a farmer.
"Corn, what do you make of this person?" the young man suddenly asked. "What kind of scheme do you think this is?"
"Only those who bow their heads and work the soil get to eat. Most things picked up off the ground cost you your life."
The farmer pondered briefly before answering, then asked in return, "Watermelon, what do you think?"
The young man's smile was warm, but his voice carried a hint of suspicion:
"When fishing, you always chum the water first. A whole school of fish rushes in splashing about, but the only thing that kills is the one with the hook."
The farmer nodded gently. A rare smile flickered across his otherwise stolid face—Watermelon had always been clever, and these words echoed his own thoughts.
"So we're not going to do anything?" the farmer asked again.
"If we needed to act, it would be easy enough. Those two seem to be merely Qi Condensation cultivators."
The young man's brow creased slightly. "When we went to that meeting, Winter Melon said things were unusually tense lately. He thought that evil cultivator was bait."
"I didn't quite agree then, but now with all these strange occurrences and Qi Condensation cultivators buying fate..."
"Winter Melon's caution had merit."
The farmer didn't respond to that. Such matters exceeded his range, and what he needed to do now was wait quietly for orders.
Whether that meant dealing with the fate-buying Daoist, or turning a deaf ear entirely.
"Winter Melon is handling the evil cultivator side. We can't let our own backyard get emptied out now," the young man finally decided. "Whether or not they're looking for us, we need to understand what's going on."
The young man's gaze shifted. "Corn, aren't you curious how much your immortal fate would sell for?"
Corn understood the implication. He rose to his feet and walked directly toward the queue.
The young man stood up leisurely, his gaze returning to the fate-buying Daoist—when suddenly, the Daoist raised his eyes and seemed to look straight at him, as if he had spotted him.
His heart jolted, and the young man's pupils contracted slightly.
How could a Qi Condensation cultivator detect his gaze?
Was it a trap? How could they notice even this? What kind of monster was this?
But the next moment, the Daoist gently pursed his lips, then turned his gaze away.
It seemed like he was looking at him, yet also seemed to be looking at something beside him.
The young man glanced to his side—there was only a sesame flatcake sitting there.
The Daoist was still only a Qi Condensation cultivator, unable to fast yet.
But at Qi Condensation, would he really covet a flatcake?
The young man looked back at the fate-buying Daoist. His expression was calm as he resumed buying fate, his gaze never returning to the young man's direction again.
Everyone had their own appetite, he supposed.
The young man's thoughts flickered past. After all, no matter what, a Qi Condensation cultivator shouldn't have been able to sense him.
Best to wait for Corn's report first before doing anything else.
That fate-buying Daoist...
The young man stood up, picked up the sesame flatcake beside him, and took a bite, chewing softly.
The taste really was quite good. No wonder the Daoist had looked over.
The young man chewed on the flatcake as he walked away, not noticing the faint smile that suddenly appeared on the Daoist's face.
The young man didn't notice, but Xie Lingyu, who stood beside Chu Xingchen, certainly did.
Two days of buying fate—Chu Xingchen could still manage a few words now and then, but she had truly just sat in place, holding the banner, waiting.
She'd thought it would be boring, but for some reason, it actually wasn't.
Listening to Chu Xingchen's nonsense, the silver and gold he spent on buying fate didn't seem entirely without purpose.
Xie Lingyu sat to the side, listening to Chu Xingchen spin his tales. For one thing, she was studying that lotus-blooming mouth of his.
For another, she was memorizing his lines so that the next time Chu Xingchen tried to use the same tricks on her, she'd catch him in the act immediately.
One day, Chu Xingchen would surely take a fall at her hands, and then he'd never dare spout nonsense again.
Because she'd been observing and learning, Xie Lingyu naturally caught the subtle shift.
Had he actually hooked something?
Xie Lingyu glanced at Chu Xingchen, who sat there looking perfectly at ease, still buying fate. She hesitated briefly, but ultimately asked nothing, simply holding the banner in silence.
She was curious, but that could wait until after the job was done.
Xie Lingyu knew she had no acting skills. If she learned something ahead of time, she'd probably give it away.
As long as she didn't know, she wouldn't need to act.
Time passed. Night began to fall.
Chu Xingchen watched the dark-skinned farmer approaching, then suddenly spoke to the side:
"Disciple, I haven't eaten my fill of the five grains. Go over there and buy me a sesame flatcake."
Xie Lingyu blinked, her gaze turning to Chu Xingchen.
Chu Xingchen waved his hand dismissively.
"What are you standing there for? You're hungry too? Then buy one for yourself as well."
"Oh..." Xie Lingyu didn't say more.
She picked up the banner and headed against the crowd toward the small stall.
Chu Xingchen had sent away Xie Lingyu, who was specifically watching his expressions but couldn't hide her own.
A faint smile crossed his face as he looked at the farmer now standing before him.
"Daoist, how much is my immortal fate worth?" The farmer stood firm, his honest eyes meeting Chu Xingchen's directly.
Chu Xingchen put on a show of examining him for a moment, then let a trace of shock appear on his face:
"Your immortal fate is the thickest I've seen. Money alone may not be enough to measure your worth."
The farmer's gaze lifted slightly. "Then what would measure it?"
"That would require a closer look."
Chu Xingchen rose from his chair and reached out to touch the farmer's arm. The moment they made contact, a trace of blood-qi so faint it was nearly imperceptible flowed into the farmer's body.
The farmer instantly detected the blood-qi entering him. His eyes narrowed slightly, the simple-minded expression falling away.
"Your immortal fate must be exchanged for flatcakes!" Chu Xingchen called out loudly.
Then he instantly dropped his voice to nearly inaudible levels.
"I know a tiger lairs here. I seek only a meal—once my business is done, I'll leave."
The farmer grabbed Chu Xingchen's arm in turn, his voice equally low:
"How do you know I'm not here to catch you?"
"Those who come to catch me wear fine silks and brocades. Only those who truly sell their lives would part with such useless trappings."
A warm smile rested on Chu Xingchen's face.
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