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Ch73 - Thirty Thousand Spirit Stones




Class ended before noon.
Su Hansheng kept pestering Wu Baili all the way out the door. “I just don’t have much pocket money—when I went out before, someone else always paid. Hey! Don’t roll your eyes at me. I do have a thousand-year lingzhi mushroom—if I sell it, I might get a good price.”
Wu Baili nearly rolled his eyes out of his head.
Seeing Wu Baili on the verge of unleashing his usual deadpan sarcasm, Yuan Qian quickly intervened. “Let’s go to the ink workshop first, see if the vines are really for sale. This ‘highest bidder’ business might just be a gimmick to draw a crowd.”
Su Hansheng nodded eagerly.
Wu Baili, glancing between the two, crossed his arms and finally let it go.
The three walked to the giant tree at the academy entrance, bickering the whole way, and sat down to wait for Qifu Zhao. It was already past noon when Qifu Zhao finally showed up—pale, unsteady, one hand pressed to his chest.
Su Hansheng jumped to his feet. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”
Qifu Zhao managed a weak smile. “It’s nothing—I just came from the infirmary.”
Yuan Qian, who’d been braiding Su Hansheng’s hair, jogged over with the last strand still clutched in his fingers, frowning. “What did the infirmary say?”
Qifu Zhao rubbed his chest. “They said it’s… liver fire overpowering the heart. Anger and frustration.”
The three let out astonished murmurs and immediately flanked him for support.
Qifu Zhao, gentle and patient by nature, had never lost his temper—not even when bullied. For anger to make him ill, it must have been something serious.
“Who made you so angry?” Su Hansheng demanded. “Someone made you translate books again? Who? Which study hall? I’ll go inspect the feng shui of their ancestors’ graves for weeds.”
Yuan Qian, feeling Qifu Zhao’s forehead and wrist, confirmed, “He’s really upset. Who could have provoked this?”
Qifu Zhao, bewildered, shook his head. “Honestly, I just felt ill when I woke up. I already took medicine—I’m much better now.”
Seeing their looks of doubt, he hurried on, “Let’s hurry—the spirit boat is half price until the next hour. If we miss it, we’ll have to walk.”
The three paupers fell silent and dashed for the discounted spirit boat.
Su Hansheng had to copy scriptures in the shrine after class, but with plenty of time until then, he joined the others at the ink workshop, chattering excitedly with Qifu Zhao all the way.
He had visited with Xu Nanxian before, but this was the first time he’d gone with friends from the study hall.
Qifu Zhao didn’t know if his liver fire had fully subsided—his brow remained furrowed.
Su Hansheng asked, concerned, “What’s wrong? Still not feeling well?”
Qifu Zhao forced a smile and shook his head gently.
Su Hansheng knew this man had the stubborn habit of swallowing his pain in silence, so he reached into his pouch to fetch some medicine.
Qifu Zhao quickly stopped him. “It’s not that… I just feel like someone’s been following us.”
Su Hansheng froze, sweeping his gaze around.
Even at noon, Separate Years Market was packed with people—shouts and clamor filled the air. The entire street teemed with crowds, making it impossible to spot anyone tailing them.
Yuan Qian, carefree as ever, said casually, “The Autumn Festival is coming up soon. Look, they’ve even opened the barrier over the market. Don’t worry, nothing’s going to happen.”
Su Hansheng looked up, puzzled.
Had Separate Years Market always had a barrier?
With so many people around, there shouldn’t be any danger. Su Hansheng stopped pressing the issue and dragged the group toward the Ink Workshop.
Perhaps because word had spread about the three-thousand-year Divine Tree Vines, the Ink Workshop was more crowded than usual. Su Hansheng had to fight his way inside—short as he was, his veil nearly got knocked off in the crowd.
The “highest bidder” system worked like this: visitors took numbered wooden plaques from the market, and when they saw a marked treasure or artifact, they simply held up their plaque and named their price.
Su Hansheng searched for a while before finally spotting the plaque for the three-thousand-year Divine Tree Vines. He reached up, grabbed one, and ran back to consult with Wu Baili and the others.
Yuan Qian stroked his chin thoughtfully. “The starting price is five thousand spirit stones. How much should we bid?”
Su Hansheng, who had little concept of money, thought for a long moment before asking, “If we add five thousand, can we buy both?”
All three turned to stare at him.
Wu Baili was about to speak.
Yuan Qian jabbed him sharply in the ribs.
Wu Baili took a deep breath and pointed. “Young Master, please look.”
Su Hansheng looked over in confusion—all he saw was a sea of heads crowding the Ink Workshop.
Wu Baili clicked his tongue, stepped forward, grabbed Su Hansheng by the arms, and hoisted him up so he could see the price posted on the wall for the Divine Tree Vines.
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Across from the Ink Workshop stood the grandest tavern in Separate Years Market—Eternal Night Tower.
The carved wooden windows on the second floor were flung wide open, bamboo curtains drawn halfway, revealing a man in black robes lounging lazily in a chair. His elbow rested casually on the windowsill, his long fingers holding a jade wine cup, posture languid and careless.
Qifu Zhao couldn’t see the face beneath the curtain, but somehow he knew the man was watching them.
Or rather…
Qifu Zhao glanced at Su Hansheng, looking pitiful beside him. A sense of unease crept into his heart.
That man was watching Su Hansheng.
Even though Qifu Zhao had spotted him, the man in black showed no concern. The bamboo curtain didn’t hide the lower half of his face, and he seemed to smile strangely, draining his cup in one leisurely motion.
A wine jug floated in midair, refilling his cup.
Qifu Zhao felt the man’s intentions were anything but good. His face darkening, he was about to call out to Su Hansheng.
But the man in black, as if reading his mind, chuckled softly and raised a single finger, placing it slowly and deliberately against his lips.
Qifu Zhao’s pupils shrank.
He hadn’t sensed even a trace of spiritual energy, yet his body felt bound by invisible force, frozen in place. Endless, uncontrollable terror flooded his heart—even his breath seemed forcibly stripped away.
Meanwhile, Su Hansheng was still trying to sweet-talk Wu Baili. “Really, I’ll have my senior brother give me spending money as soon as I get back. It’ll definitely be enough to buy both vines! Let’s buy on credit.”
A vein throbbed at Wu Baili’s temple.
“Do you even know what thirty thousand means?! If you write that price on the plaque and can’t pay after the auction closes, Separate Years Market has the right to tie you up and sell you to a pleasure house as someone’s concubine to cover the debt!”
Su Hansheng shrank back. “That… won’t happen.”
Yuan Qian, stroking his chin and studying Wu Baili’s expression, nudged Qifu Zhao beside him. “Hey, look—Baili’s got the same liver fire as you now.”
Qifu Zhao didn’t respond.
Yuan Qian turned, belatedly realizing something was wrong. “Qifu Zhao?”
Su Hansheng also turned. “What’s wrong?”
The instant Su Hansheng looked at Qifu Zhao, the invisible pressure vanished. Qifu Zhao gasped for breath, clutching his chest and coughing violently, the taste of blood rising in his throat.
Su Hansheng and the others quickly helped him to a nearby chair and poured him some water.
Face pale, Qifu Zhao struggled to look up at the Eternal Night Tower across the way.
That earlier strike had been a warning. The man in black still sat in place, jade cup in hand, leisurely sipping his wine. Through the gap in the bamboo curtain, his gaze fell on them with a mocking smile.
“What are you looking at?”
Su Hansheng, full of confusion, followed his line of sight.
The second floor of Eternal Night Tower was empty—only an unfinished cup of wine sat on the windowsill, a wind chime spinning and chiming softly.
Qifu Zhao opened his mouth to speak, only to find his throat blocked, unable to utter a single word.
Su Hansheng quickly pulled medicine from his pouch and stuffed it all into Qifu Zhao’s mouth without a second thought.
Qifu Zhao gradually recovered, the pain in his chest fading bit by bit. He coughed and said quietly, “Thank you, Young Master…”
Though he could speak, whenever he tried to mention the man in black, blood blocked his throat and no sound came out.
—It seemed he’d been placed under a restriction.
The medicinal pills had improved Qifu Zhao’s complexion considerably, but his brow remained deeply furrowed.
Su Hansheng kept pressing him. “What’s wrong with you today? If you really don’t feel well, you should just go back.”
Qifu Zhao was skilled at hiding his emotions. In an instant, he forced down his turmoil and shook his head with a gentle smile. “I’m fine now—Young Master, are you buying the Divine Tree Vines? If you’re short on spirit stones, I have some savings I could lend you.”
Seeing Qifu Zhao’s color much improved and his voice strong—no longer listless as before—Su Hansheng gradually relaxed.
He’d been about to insist Qifu Zhao return, but was quickly led by the nose with just a few words.
“That would be wonderful!” Su Hansheng’s eyes lit up. “How much do you have saved?”
Qifu Zhao carefully pulled out several dozen spirit stones from his pouch. “Young Master, see if this is enough.”
Su Hansheng: “……”
Wu Baili and Yuan Qian: “……”
This scene felt oddly familiar.
“Put those away.” Su Hansheng solemnly took Qifu Zhao’s hand. “Such a colossal fortune—if someone saw it and decided to murder you for it, that would be terrible.”
Qifu Zhao: “……”
Wu Baili couldn’t help but laugh shortly.
This young master learned sarcasm remarkably fast.
The four paupers sat around the table, trying to figure out where to get money.
The bidding window for the Divine Tree Vines was only one hour. They’d dawdled on the way over, and now the hourglass beside the plaque had almost run out—only half a ke remained, and the price was about to hit thirty thousand.
Though the Divine Tree Vines were precious, their uses were limited—aside from making bows, they couldn’t be crafted into any other truly useful artifact.
Very few people in the Three Realms used bows, and even those whose natal weapons were longbows could use the same one for centuries. Spending tens of thousands of spirit stones on a bow would be nearly impossible to resell.
Thirty thousand was already an astronomical price.
Su Hansheng was frantically sending messages through his disciple seal to everyone he knew.
“Senior Brother, Senior Brother, can I borrow some spirit stones? Not much—just thirty thousand.”
Xu Nanxian’s reply came quickly, his voice roaring with vigor: “What do you need that many spirit stones for… agh! Flank from the left! Jin Yiyuan! Why are you following Chu Fenghan around like he’s got meat on his bones—left, left! Ahhh—! What is this Bone-Eating Tree, for heaven’s sake, it just broke my back… the spirit cultivator’s at it again, someone grab his sword?! …Retreat for now, Jin Yiyuan, cover the rear.—Hm? Xiaoxiao, what did you say?”
Su Hansheng: “……”
Seems Senior Brother was busy and couldn’t spare attention for him right now.
Su Hansheng tried Xie Zhizhi next, stammering awkwardly that he needed spending money.
Elder Xie replied warmly, “How much does Young Master need? Up to one thousand spirit stones, I can authorize.”
Su Hansheng said, “Th-th-thirty…”
“Three hundred? Certainly. I’ll have someone send it to Wendao Academy right away.”
“Thirty thousand.”
Xie Zhizhi fell silent for a very long time.
Su Hansheng waited nervously, when suddenly a new message came through.
Ying Jianhua’s cold voice drifted from the disciple seal. “Why do you need thirty thousand spirit stones? What kind of trouble have you caused that requires that much to settle? Old Talisman Ridge has the funds, but you’ll come to Falling Parasol Lodge in person and explain to me, in detail, exactly what you plan to use it for…”
Su Hansheng: “……”
Elder Xie tattled again?
Hearing Ying Jianhua sound ready to come beat some sense into him at any moment, Su Hansheng quickly said, “No, no, I wanted three hundred, not thirty thousand—Elder Xie misheard!”
Ying Jianhua frowned. “Three hundred? What tiny bit of trouble did you cause that only costs three hundred to fix?”
Su Hansheng: “……”
Why do I have to have caused trouble?
Feeling dejected, Su Hansheng scrolled through the spiritual energy on his disciple seal, continuing his search for people to borrow from.
On the second floor of Eternal Night Tower, the man in black seemed never to have left. He still lounged lazily in place, watching the Ink Workshop below. He’d set down his wine cup and now held a message transmission device instead.
His long fingers idly toyed with the jade artifact, pale fingertips caressing the lotus pattern on its surface.
He looked thoroughly pleased, as if waiting for something.
Su Hansheng frowned for a long while. Watching the sand in the hourglass nearly run out, he tossed aside his disciple seal and rubbed his aching temples.
In his past life, he’d never worried about money—when he had spirit stones in his pouch, he spent them; when he didn’t, he simply didn’t buy anything. Even when he encountered things he liked, he rarely felt any “I must have this” desire.
…He was even more desireless than Chongjue.
This was the first time a few tens of thousands of spirit stones had driven him to the brink.
The man in black in Eternal Night Tower saw Su Hansheng toss aside his disciple seal. His hand suddenly clenched around the transmission device, nearly crushing the jade artifact to powder.
He laughed coldly, rose abruptly, and vanished in a wisp of smoke.
Su Hansheng had probably given up. He looked cautiously at Wu Baili, clearly wondering how to apologize.
Wu Baili glanced at him and said coolly, “The Divine Tree Vines are rare, but at this price they’re already outrageously expensive. It’s fine not to buy them.”
Su Hansheng protested, “But your bow—”
Wu Baili said drily, “I can go home and whittle a stick. It’ll work just fine.”
In other words, he could just buy something made from cheaper materials.
Though Wu Baili clearly didn’t care anymore, Su Hansheng sat there dejected, wringing his sleeves in glum silence.
Just then, someone called out, “Xiaoxiao?”
Su Hansheng looked up, eyes going wide.
Chongjue—wearing Wen Jingyu’s youthful appearance, clad in rare black robes—stood tall beside him, looking down with detached calm.
“Uncle…” Su Hansheng jumped to his feet, inexplicably feeling as guilty as someone caught cheating behind their lover’s back. His first instinct was to explain. “Brother Wen, I… I’m not slacking off. It’s not three ke past noon yet!”
He thought Chongjue had come to drag him back to copy scriptures.
Chongjue hummed in acknowledgment, eyes drifting to the jade plaque in Su Hansheng’s hand. “Buying something?”
Su Hansheng nodded, then shook his head.
The Divine Tree Vines were about to be sold anyway.
Chongjue’s dark eyes held a false warmth, patiently waiting like a hunter coaxing a bird into a cage, voice gentle as if soothing a child.
“You want the Divine Tree Vines?”
Su Hansheng startled. “How did you know?”
Yuan Qian and Wu Baili had already gone to look at other bow materials.
Qifu Zhao sat to the side, brow furrowed as he studied this sudden “Brother Wen,” feeling that this man’s aura… seemed eerily similar to the man who’d been following Su Hansheng.
Chongjue sat beside Su Hansheng and reached out to take the wooden plaque from his palm—whether intentionally or not, those long fingers brushed lightly and softly across Su Hansheng’s palm, like an intimate, ambiguous caress.
Touch and release.
Su Hansheng, who’d always thought himself the one with impure thoughts, had never read anything lustful into the World-Honored One’s actions. He naturally opened his palm, puzzled. “What are you doing?”
Qifu Zhao’s brow furrowed deeply.
This “Brother Wen”…
Why did he act so strangely?
Chongjue took Su Hansheng’s wooden plaque and lightly tapped it, fingertips tracing out a few characters.
Bang.
On the far wall, fireworks exploded—in the instant before the hourglass ran out, someone had bid thirty thousand spirit stones.
After the initial shock at such extravagance, everyone sighed that rich people truly had more money than sense.
Su Hansheng was dumbfounded. He snatched the plaque back and stared helplessly at the “thirty thousand” price written in his own name, unable to retract it.
The faint smile at the corner of Chongjue’s lips was about to deepen when he saw Su Hansheng leap to his feet, clutching his head in despair. “…Brother Wen, what did you do? Where would we get thirty thousand spirit stones?”
The four of them couldn’t scrape together even a thousand spirit stones if they emptied their pouches—he had no idea where they’d gotten the nerve to try bidding on Divine Tree Vines in the first place.
Though Chongjue held the lofty title of World-Honored One, after years meditating in the shrine at Mount Sumeru, even if he’d descended into the world, he probably didn’t know what spirit stones were—even more detached from worldly matters than Su Hansheng himself.
One, two, three, four—a total of five paupers.
Su Hansheng stared at the wall where his plaque number sat beside the Divine Tree Vines and muttered miserably, “I’m done for. I’m going to be sold to a pleasure house as someone’s concubine to pay off the debt.”
Chongjue: “…………”
***