Warm sunlight filtered through the rice-paper window and hit Lin Mo Chen right in the face without mercy, as if the heavens themselves had come to collect the day's rent.
Annoyed, he frowned and cracked his eyes open, ready to curse the sun — only to discover he couldn't see anything because he had a chicken on his face.
General Fatty was perfectly settled across his nose and forehead, warm, puffed up, and snoring with the peace of someone who pays rent by sleeping on top of the landlord.
"General," he mumbled, his voice muffled. "Treason."
Irritated, he grabbed her with both hands, lifted her like a conspiring pillow, then, muttering under his breath, set her back down on the bed.
"My face is not a nest. In case you were wondering."
Offended, the hen clucked and resettled on her stolen pillow as if nothing had happened.
Pushing himself upright, he stretched until his back cracked, then ran through his morning workout right there in the room — the courtyard already felt too exposed: twenty squats, fifty punches at the air, stretching his muscles.
Afterward, he cleaned himself with cold water from the basin, scrubbing his face hard. When the sun was already high and the heat began to sting the roof tiles, he finally decided to go out.
At the small table, he took the pouch of gold coins, then hesitated in front of his open wardrobe, his hand suspended.
His hand went first to his usual red robe, but he pulled it away instantly as if it burned. That was the same one he'd been wearing the day Lin Xuan's ghost master almost discovered him. Bad luck, proven and certified.
Shaking his head, he skipped it and chose instead the simple blue clothes of the Lin family's common members — perfect for passing unnoticed.
Belt cinched tight, pouch secured inside, he pulled his hair into a high, firm ponytail. For a moment, he studied his reflection in the water and nodded. He looked like any errand-running disciple.
Out in the courtyard, his mother was cutting vegetables and looked up when she heard him.
"I'm heading out, mother," he said, trying to sound casual. "I'll be back before nightfall."
She smiled at him. "Be careful. Don't let the merchants fool you."
Lin Mo Chen nodded, gave General Fatty a quick, awkward pat on the head as a goodbye, and left the house.
Outside, the sun pressed on the back of his neck as he let out a long, resigned sigh.
Hands tucked in his sleeves and head down, he started toward the nearest main exit of the clan, praying in silence. Please, just let it work for at least one more day.
To his absolute and profound surprise, nothing happened.
Head down, he crossed the west wing corridor, clutching his pouch against his hip and counting floor tiles. Two family disciples passed carrying buckets and greeted him with distracted nods. He returned the gesture without stopping.
Since no one stopped him, his step loosened a little, his shoulders dropped, and he could breathe easy.
Relief rose warm inside him — nothing, not a single protagonist in sight. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth…. So the ghost plan actually works.
With that light smile, he kept going, left the clan through the east gate, and after walking a while along the flagstone path to the main avenue, he left the walls behind. Within minutes, he reached his destination.
Yunshan City lived up to its name as one of the best-known cities in the Qingyun Empire. The place overflowed with life. Thousands of people filled the streets despite the sun being at its peak.
With a clear objective and a very specific fear of running into someone in particular, he walked as fast as he could without actually running, keeping his hands close to his pouch, glancing sideways at every blue robe that crossed his path.
Ahead rose a large building of dark wood and white stone, lanterns framing the entrance. Above the door, carved into a silver plaque: Han Family Branch.
Clutching the pouch like it might escape, he took a deep breath and went in.
Inside, the air was cool and smelled of herbs. Shoppers drifted between counters. Maybe because he wore a simple blue tunic and lacked the bearing of a young master, everyone ignored him completely.
Realizing that, he smiled, satisfied. Perfect. He walked between the counters with his chest a little higher. I'm invisible.
Behind one counter, a young clerk arranged jade boxes unhurriedly, her hair tied up, green robe neat.
Lin Mo Chen cleared his throat, straightening his back to seem older.
"Excuse me," he said, barely touching the edge of the counter with his fingers. "What pills do you have to help with cultivation?"
She barely lifted her face. The young woman studied Lin Mo Chen for an instant, her gaze dropping over the simple fabric of his clothes to his still-young face, finally stopping on the small blue lotus on his sleeve.
Maintaining a perfectly trained, professional smile, she gestured toward the center of the pavilion without missing a beat.
"Of course," she replied, arranging another box as she spoke. "We have them listed; you can see them over there."
Relaxed, as if he really did have money to spare, Lin Mo Chen thanked her and walked calmly toward where the clerk had pointed.
The display case in the center of the pavilion was low, holding several jars of a crystal-like material — though he was convinced it wasn't ordinary glass. Must be some kind of special material, he murmured to himself.
A glance at the jade tablet beside it was enough; reading just the first line made his face tighten. A shadow crossed his eyes for a second.
Fingers tightening around the familiar weight of his pouch, he left the spot slowly and with dignity, doing his best to look casual. He glanced at another case, nodding like an expert comparing quality, adjusted his sleeve, and headed for the exit unhurriedly, convinced no one had seen his embarrassment.
Unnoticed, the clerk watched him from the corner of her eye as she arranged boxes. Seeing him leave so ashamed, she let out a soft giggle and went back to work.
Stepping outside, the sun hit his head all at once. The heat hit him after the pavilion's cool air, and an uncomfortable expression filled his face.
On the steps, he paused. His entire capital: one hundred gold coins. Even the cheapest pills cost fifty coins for just four.
With the sun burning the back of his neck and the pouch suddenly feeling too light, he understood better than ever how expensive it was to cultivate on the Huanling Continent.
He could afford it, technically. But if he wanted to stretch his parents' savings, there was a better way — undoubtedly the riskiest one, too.
Crouching and pretending to retie his boot, he let the thought slip out. Fifty coins for four pills, that's an insult to my parents' savings for something that'll last me two cultivation sneezes. He stood, took a deep breath, and started walking.
Alright... Plan B. If protagonists find treasures in junk stalls just by tripping, I can force a lucky encounter too, right? I stroll around, put on an expert face, touch three ugly rocks, and wait for the heavens, out of pure pity, to throw me something good.
A wry smile tugged at him. Will it work? Probably not. Will I get scammed? Probably yes. Is it dangerous? Very much. Do I have another option? None... Perfect, let's go.
Decision made, he straightened up, tucked the pouch securely inside his belt, and set his plan in motion.
Turning left, away from the big pavilions with their gilded prices, he plunged straight into the street of individual roadside stalls. Merchants shouted, cloths on the ground displayed dried herbs, strange stones, and unlabeled flasks — the air smelled of danger.