"Indeed!"

Zhong Xiuping sighed with heavy emotion. "A century vanishes in the blink of an eye. Time is merciless, but the Great Dao is even more so. I have toiled within this Sect for nearly a hundred years, spending my days as a mere beast of burden. It is truly a pitiful and lamentable existence!"

Yang Bailao forced a smile. "Senior Brother Zhong, why such melancholy? You are about to retire and return to the mortal realm. You are breaking free from this cage! You should be rejoicing."

"Hahaha!"

Zhong Xiuping let out a hearty laugh. "Throughout my century in the Sect, I have dreamt of this retirement every waking moment! When that day arrives, give me a single plow ox and half an acre of land. I shall walk in peace and sleep in peace. When the rain clears, I will take a small skiff out onto the water, with fresh fish on one side and good wine on the other. What boundless, unfettered freedom that will be!"

Yang Bailao's eyes gleamed with longing. "When my time comes to leave this mountain, I shall surely do the exact same."

...

Listening to their exchange from the sidelines, Xu Changshou remained utterly silent.

Whether it was Zhang Zhengyuan, Liu Chuansheng, Yang Bailao, or Zhong Xiuping... none of these older Miscellaneous Disciples ever spoke of Foundation Establishment. Their every breath was spent dreaming of retirement and returning to the mortal dust.

Perhaps, in their minds, true life only began after they escaped the Sect's crushing grind.

Once a low-level cultivator passed the century mark, their blood and Qi decayed. Their limbs grew stiff, rendering them utterly worthless to the Sect.

Only after they had been bled dry were they permitted the "luxury" of enjoying their twilight years. What a tragic jest.

Surely, in their youth, these men had also harbored grand illusions of reaching Foundation Establishment.

They must have once carried the same sky-piercing ambitions as Ye Shanhu, Han Zong, Su Mo, and Jiang Xiaochuan.

Even Su Mo, a boy with mediocre talent and empty pockets, had loudly proclaimed that man's will could conquer the heavens, fully believing he would forge his dao.

Decades from now, would that same fiery youth be just like Yang Bailao? Would he trade his dreams of Foundation Establishment for the quiet desperation of a farm ox?

Can I truly reach Foundation Establishment? Are my dreams just the delusions of a starving cowherd?

A sudden, cold wave of self-doubt washed over Xu Changshou.

He had never abandoned his pursuit of the Great Dao, but seeing the broken spirits around him made him wonder if he was just as hopelessly naive as the rest of the fresh meat.

No. I will succeed. I am not cattle to be worked to death. I have the Bloodline Jade Talisman.

The flicker of hesitation in his eyes vanished, replaced by a ruthless, pragmatic iron.

...

Upon returning to his cramped courtyard, Xu Changshou immediately buried himself in his work.

Every stroke of his brush flowed into standard Windwalk Talismans-the exact variant Yang Bailao had instructed him to produce.

He strictly avoided crafting his inherited version, the superior talisman capable of crossing three thousand miles in a single day. Those he hoarded for his own survival, unwilling to risk exposing them until he had a secure, untraceable black market connection.

The ancient talismans in his mind represented unfathomable wealth, but also painted a massive, deadly target on his back.

In this predatory world, paranoia was his only shield. He had to be careful.

With his current reserves, churning out fifteen standard Windwalk Talismans a day hit the perfect equilibrium-it didn't hinder his nightly cultivation nor put undue strain on his meridians.

Over the course of a single month, he mass-produced another four hundred and fifty sheets. His hidden stockpile now swelled to nine hundred ordinary Windwalk Talismans.

Since Li Daotu only demanded a monthly tithe of one hundred and forty, Xu Changshou had already secured over half a year's worth of Sect quotas in a matter of weeks.

Compared to the grueling, life-draining struggles of Yang Bailao and the others, his task was an absolute breeze.

The final day of the month soon arrived.

Xu Changshou submitted his batch to Yang Bailao and officially received his monthly stipend: a single, gleaming Spirit Stone.

Finally, hard currency! My very first pot of gold, haha!

Weighing the crystalline stone in his palm, a rare wave of genuine satisfaction washed over him.

It was the first time in his life he had actually been paid for bleeding over his work.

This was leaps and bounds better than his days under Landlord Wang. That fat pig had never paid him a single copper. The highest "reward" he'd ever earned was four stale cornbreads, and that shrew of a wife had immediately docked two of them just out of spite.

For all its predatory exploitation, the Green Immortal Sect was still a step up from that bald, burnt shrew. At least the Sect paid its indentured servants their meager dues on time.

Maybe being a Miscellaneous Disciple isn't entirely a dead end.

He allowed himself this small, cynical comfort as he pocketed the stone.

The following morning marked the first of the month-a rare day of rest.

Whenever this day rolled around, the vast majority of Green Ink Peak's laborers would collapse into a coma-like sleep, desperately trying to replenish their drained vitality.

The brutal cycle of drafting talismans devoured both Spiritual Qi and sheer mental stamina. Without this mandated hibernation, their minds would simply snap.

Naturally, Xu Changshou did not share their exhaustion. For him, the brush flowed like water.

On the first and fifteenth of each month, the grand bazaar upon Danxia Peak opened its gates. He fully intended to exploit the occasion.

His priority was acquiring Qi Gathering Pills. His initial stash of two had long since been digested, and without their medicinal boost, his cultivation speed had devolved into an agonizingly slow crawl.

If he relied solely on ambient energy, it would take him at least three grueling years just to breach the eighth layer of Qi Condensation.

Beyond procuring pills, he had two secondary objectives.

First, liquidate his assets. His surplus of talismans was growing too large to hoard; he needed to convert paper into hard resources.

Second, scout for the esoteric materials required to draft the Thunder Explosion Talisman.

He desperately wanted the offensive power of the Thunder Explosion Talisman, but the violent, crackling energy of thunder would instantly incinerate his cheap brush and standard Yellow Hemp Paper.

To forge a suitable conduit, he needed a brush crafted from the horn of a Moon-Viewing Rhinoceros and the fine bristles of a century-old Yellow-Skin Weasel.

As for the canvas, only the cured hide of a Black Antelope Thunder Ox could endure the violent script.

He needed to comb the market stalls to see if such high-tier goods even existed in the outer peaks.

Wasting no time, he boarded one of the Sect's public flying boats and soared toward Danxia Peak.

The vessel dropped its anchors midway up the mountain, leaving the passengers to descend to the sprawling market nestled at its base.

Stepping off the deck, Xu Changshou sprinted down the winding, stone-paved trail.

From a distance, the Danxia Market was a sea of chaotic, vibrant activity. Its sheer scale seemed to have swollen dramatically since his last visit.

Well over a thousand cultivators thronged the dirt avenues.

Xu Changshou quickly deduced the reason: the newest crop of Miscellaneous Disciples had just received their first stipends. Pockets warm with fresh Spirit Stones, they had flocked here to spend their blood money.

Before crossing the threshold into the crowded bazaar, Xu Changshou ducked into a secluded grove. He slipped a yellow slip from his robes and slapped it against his chest.

"Thousand Faces Talisman, shift."

Spiritual energy washed over his skin, twisting his flesh and bone until he stood as a burly, red-faced brute.

The Thousand Faces Talisman allowed complete manipulation of one's physical form for twelve full shichen. Cultivators of his own realm couldn't pierce the illusion, though he knew a Foundation Establishment elder would see right through it in a heartbeat.

He intended to flood the market with talismans, and paranoia dictated he leave no trail back to the humble boy from Green Ink Peak. The disguise was a necessity.

Fortunately, the Danxia Market catered almost exclusively to the Qi Condensation rabble. High and mighty Foundation Establishment elders rarely slummed it down here. Even if one did pass by, they wouldn't waste their breath exposing a lowly disciple's cheap parlor trick.

Confident in his borrowed skin, Xu Changshou joined the surging crowd and strode briskly into the market.

A cacophony of aggressive haggling and desperate hawking immediately assaulted his ears.

"Yellow Hemp Paper! Top-grade, uncut Yellow Hemp Paper!"

"Red-Scaled Horse! Who needs a mount? Come look at this Red-Scaled Horse!"

"Hundred-Year Poria! Freshly unearthed! A singular treasure, do not walk past this once-in-a-lifetime chance!"

...

...

Xu Changshou navigated the chaotic stalls, eventually halting before a magnificent mechanical construct. It was a puppet horse, standing well over a man's height, armored in overlapping, fiery red scales.

This was a Red-Scaled Horse, a signature creation of the Thousand Mechanisms Peak. It was prized for its blistering speed, capable of covering a thousand miles before dusk.

For a Qi Condensation disciple tethered to the earth, owning such a mount would be a tremendous boon.

The Green Immortal Sect was impossibly vast, and the public flying boats only serviced a single port on each mountain.

Traversing the sheer expanse of the peaks on foot was an agonizing waste of precious cultivation time. A tireless puppet mount would solve all his logistical nightmares.

"You have a good eye, Junior Brother! Interested in purchasing a Red-Scaled Horse?"

The merchant hovering beside the construct was a broad-nosed young man exuding the spiritual pressure of the tenth layer of Qi Condensation.

Seeing Xu Changshou lingering, the vendor stepped forward, his face plastered with an eager, practiced grin.

"Senior Brother," Xu Changshou asked, his gruff, disguised voice rumbling in his chest. "How much for this construct?"

The broad-nosed youth beamed. "A steal, my friend. A mere ten Spirit Stones."

"Ah... that is much too steep for my blood."

Xu Changshou offered a self-deprecating smile, shaking his head as he turned away.

It's a beautiful piece of work, but I am practically a beggar, he thought cynically. Perhaps later, when I'm no longer dirt poor.