The single, bare bulb hanging from the ceiling of the dusty shop gave a low, buzzing hum.
It was the only sound in the room, save for the thumping of Old Man Feng's heart, which Lin Hao could hear as clearly as if it were a drum.
Old Man Feng, the proprietor of "Old Man Feng's Curios," was no longer the arrogant, gravelly-voiced shopkeeper from a minute ago.
He was a statue, his body locked in a deep, ninety-degree bow, his stool overturned on the floor behind him.
His bald, liver-spotted scalp was pointed directly at Lin Hao's new sneakers.
The man was sweating.
Not just a light sheen, but a heavy, fearful, cold sweat that was already beading on his forehead and dripping onto the dusty glass counter.
"Young... young master!" he had stammered, his voice a reedy, terrified squeak.
"Where... where in the heavens did you... did you get this?"
Lin Hao said nothing.
He was a Level 5 cultivator. His senses were a precision instrument.
He could feel the panicked, uncontrolled energy flaring from the old man, the sloppy, brute-force power of a [Level 2: Adept].
It felt like a sputtering, wet firecracker. His own energy, in contrast, was a deep, calm, pressurized ocean, completely contained.
The old man was terrified, and Lin Hao knew exactly why.
In the "old" world, this man was a hidden master, a Level 2 Adept, one of a handful of humans who knew about the "External Path."
He was probably a king in his small, antique-dealing underworld.
In the "new" world, post-Awakening, he had probably woken up yesterday feeling like a god, his power no longer a secret.
And now, a random college-aged kid had just walked into his shop and placed a miracle on his counter.
The thrumming blade was not just a weapon; it was a "Dragon's Tooth," a relic from a higher plane of existence.
It was proof that while Old Man Feng had been a big fish in a tiny, mortal pond, the ocean had just arrived.
And the person holding that miracle was looking at him calmly, as if it were nothing.
This was no "young master" from a hidden family. This was, to Feng's mind, a "young monster."
Lin Hao let the silence stretch.
He let the old man bow, his back muscles screaming in protest, his fear mounting with every second that his question went unanswered.
In this new world, silence was a weapon.
Finally, after a long, agonizing minute, Old Man Feng slowly, painfully, straightened up.
He did not dare make eye contact. His gaze was fixed respectfully on Lin Hao's chest.
"My... my apologies, Young Master," he said, his voice now a low, respectful, and very shaky whisper.
He fumbled for a cloth behind the counter and began to wipe his sweaty palms, his eyes darting back to the blade, which lay there like a coiled, sleeping viper.
The Old Fox's merchant instincts, buried under the initial wave of terror, were beginning to surface.
He was a [Level 2: Adept], yes, but he had been a broker of secrets for fifty years.
He was terrified, but he also smelled the single greatest opportunity of his life.
If he could acquire this...
"May I...?" he whispered, gesturing to the knife with a trembling hand.
Lin Hao gave a single, slight nod.
Old Man Feng took a deep, shuddering breath.
He reached out, his fingers spread, and stopped, his hand hovering an inch above the blade.
Lin Hao could feel the man's own "Adept" energy, his crude [Muscle Weaving] Qi, interacting with the artifact.
The knife hummed in response, and the blue script on the blade brightened, as if in warning.
The old man flinched back, as if stung.
This was not a dead object. It was alive.
"This... this is..." he stammered. He put his shopkeeper mask back on, though it was cracked and ill-fitting.
He was trying to regain control. He picked up his loupe, his jeweler's magnifying glass, from the counter, a tool for a world that no longer existed.
He held it over the blade, his hand shaking so badly he couldn't get it in focus.
He finally gave up, putting the loupe down.
The Old Fox decided on a new tactic. A desperate gamble.
"It is a... a remarkable piece," Old Man Feng said, his voice straining to sound professional. "The craftsmanship is exquisite.
Truly... truly a masterwork."
He licked his dry lips. "It looks like a modern replica of a... a Song dynasty ritual dagger.
The glow is a clever trick. Phosphors, perhaps? Very, very sharp."
Lin Hao just watched him, his expression placid.
He could hear the man's heart. Thump-thump-thump-thump.
It was a frantic, panicked rabbit's heartbeat.
The man was lying, and he knew Lin Hao knew he was lying.
"Of course," Feng continued, plowing ahead with the charade, "the market for such... replicas... is very niche. Especially since the 'Awakening.' People are scared. They are hoarding... cash."
He took a breath, then delivered the lowball.
"I can give you... fifty thousand. Cash. Right now. A very fair price for such a beautiful... art piece."
Fifty thousand.
It was more money than Lin Hao had ever seen. It would pay his student loans ten times over.
A month ago, it would have been a life-changing miracle.
Lin Hao knew, in that instant, that the knife was worth a hundred times that.
A thousand.
He didn't speak. He didn't frown.
He just smiled.
It was a small, calm, almost gentle smile.
Then, he lifted his right hand. He extended his index finger and, with a slow, deliberate motion, tapped the flat of the "Qi-Guiding Blade" with his fingernail.
He didn't just tap it.
As his finger made contact, he willed a single, tiny wisp of his [Level 5: Blood Vitality] Qi, his true, internal energy, to flow from his fingertip into the blade.
TIIINNNNNGGGG!
It was not the sound of a fingernail tapping steel.
It was the sound of a massive, ancient temple bell being struck.
The sound was not just loud; it was pure. It was a perfect, resonant, crystalline note that filled the tiny shop, vibrating the dust off the shelves.
The cracked vases on the windowsill rattled. The old coins on the counter jumped.
The faint, blue, geometric script on the blade exploded with light, flaring as bright as a welding torch for one brilliant second.
The "Qi-Guiding Blade," starved for real Qi, was singing its praise.
Old Man Feng cried out, a short, terrified "Agh!", and stumbled backward, crashing into the shelves behind him.
Jars of old trinkets and dusty, carved-wood statues tumbled to the floor around him.
The humming sound faded, the light on the blade dimmed back to its soft, pulsing glow, and the shop was once more plunged into silence.
The charade was over.
Lin Hao's smile was gone. His expression was flat, his eyes cold.
Old Man Feng, breathing in ragged, panicked gasps, scrambled to his feet.
His face, which had been pale with greed and fear, was now the color of bleached ash.
He didn't just see a magic knife anymore. He had just seen a practitioner.
He, Feng, was a Level 2. He could weave his muscles, punch hard. He was external.
What he had just seen... that wisp of light, that control, that ability to command an artifact... that was internal. That was the "Internal Path."
That was the power of a true, legendary cultivator, the kind his own grandfather had only whispered about.
The Old Fox was gone. Only the terrified old man remained.
He dropped back into a low, scraping bow, his forehead nearly touching the floor.
"A... a practitioner's blade," he whimpered. "A true... a true Spirit Grade artifact.
This old one... this old one has offended a dragon. Please, Young Master, forgive my pathetic, greedy attempt! I am a frog in a well! I am dirt! Please, my life is worthless, but spare it!"
Lin Hao let him grovel for a ten-count.
"Get up," Lin Hao said. His voice was the first thing he'd said in the shop. It was quiet, calm, and held an absolute, cold authority.
Old Man Feng scrambled to his feet, but kept his head bowed, not daring to look up. "Yes, Young Master! Thank you, Young Master!"
"You're a broker," Lin Hao stated. It wasn't a question. "You have a network."
"Yes, yes! I do!" Feng said, nodding his head so fast he looked like a bird.
"I know... I know the other families. I know the collectors.
They... they would kill for such a... a divine object."
"Then sell it for me."
"Of course, Young Master! Anything! I will take no commission, none! It is my honor"
"I don't care about your commission," Lin Hao cut him off. "I care about the price. What is your real offer?"
Old Man Feng swallowed, his mind racing.
This was no longer a negotiation.
This was a test. If he lowballed again, even by a dollar, that knife might end up in his throat.
"My... my network," he stammered, "the old families, the new 'Awakened' billionaires... they are all desperate for a true cultivation-ready weapon.
To get a head start. This... this could make a man a king.
My network can move this. I can... I can promise five million. Cash.
Today. Within the hour. I can have it here."
Five million. It was an astronomical sum. It was a fortune.
Lin Hao just looked at him.
He slowly, calmly, shook his head. "No."
Old Man Feng's face crumpled. "Young Master, please, the market is new! That is a very high"
"Twenty million," Lin Hao said, his voice flat, leaving no room for argument.
Old Man Feng choked. "T-twenty...?"
"Bank transfer. Not cash. I will give you an account number.
And the second part of the deal is more important than the money."
"Anything, Young Master! Anything!"
Lin Hao leaned forward, just slightly. His eyes, dark and deep, finally met the old man's.
"You'll forget my face.
You'll forget this transaction.
You will tell your 'network' that this blade was a family heirloom you had for decades, and the 'Awakening' just revealed its power.
It is your one-time sale.
My name is never spoken.
I was never here.
Am I understood?"
Old Man Feng stared into Lin Hao's eyes, and he saw nothing.
No greed. No excitement. No fear. Just a cold, terrifying, bottomless calm.
He was an ant, making a deal with a god.
"Yes," Old Man Feng breathed, a surge of relief making him weak in the knees.
It wasn't an execution. It was a business deal. He could live.
"Yes, Young Master. Twenty million.
A bank transfer. And... and I have already forgotten your face."