Pillborn Immortal

The sect's streets were alive with activity, a vibrant tapestry of commerce and cultivation. Stone-paved pathways wound through the inner sect, lined with stalls and small shops run by disciples and sect-affiliated merchants. The air was thick with the aroma of sizzling meat and fragrant herbs as food vendors prepared quick meals for busy cultivators. Disciples moved about, some haggling over goods, others exchanging stories or rushing to their next task.

On one side of the street, an elderly man sat behind a wooden counter, his wares neatly arranged: rows of jade bottles containing medicinal pills of varying potency. A young disciple stood before him, nervously haggling over the price of an Energy Recovery Pill, his pouch of spirit stones clutched tightly in his hand. The merchant's voice was calm but firm, his patience wearing thin as the boy tried to negotiate.

Nearby, a group of men walked down the street, their laughter loud and carefree. Suddenly, a disheveled old man stumbled into them, reeking of alcohol. "Hey! Watch it, old man!" one of the men barked, shoving him back.

The old man staggered, his face a full of misery. "Have you seen my sons?" he slurred, holding up a crumpled picture of a young man. "Li Zhen and Li Feng—have you seen them?"

The group exchanged uneasy glances. "Uh, no, old man," one of them replied, eager to move on. As the old man fumbled in his pockets, trying to pull out another picture, the group quickly walked away, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the street.

Defeated, the old man sank to his knees, tears streaming down his face. He took a long swig from a bottle of cheap wine, his hands trembling. Passersby ignored him, their eyes averted, as if his grief were contagious.

Just then, a young man in plain clothes walked past, his expression indifferent. It was Zhuan Ming. He glanced at the old man but didn't stop, his steps steady and unhurried.

"A fool who only learned to cherish his family after losing them—how predictably human," Zhuan Ming thought coldly. "It seems to be in our nature to take what we have for granted, only recognizing its worth when it's gone, reduced to nothing but a memory."

He didn't spare the man a second glance. After all, he knew exactly who the old man was. Before carrying out the kill, Zhuan Ming had researched the family thoroughly. He had chosen them for a specific reason: their low status and fractured family situation made them an easy target, unlikely to draw attention or retaliation.

As he walked away, the old man's sobs faded into the background, drowned out by the lively hum of the sect's streets. Zhuan Ming's mind was already elsewhere, focused on his next move. The world moved on, indifferent to the suffering of one broken man.

Zhuan Ming moved through the bustling streets of the inner sect, his eyes scanning the crowd with a calculated precision. The vibrant energy of the marketplace, filled with the chatter of disciples and the clinking of spirit stones, was a stark contrast to the cold, methodical thoughts running through his mind. He wasn't here to enjoy the atmosphere or partake in the commerce. He was hunting.

His next target needed to meet the same specific criteria: low status, minimal connections, and a family situation that would ensure no one would miss them. The last thing he needed was unnecessary attention or complications. As he wandered, his gaze fell upon a young disciple selling spiritual herbs on the side of the street. His attire was poor, and the herbs he picked were mostly common, but one caught Zhuan Ming's eye: a bundle of Rank 1 Moon Light Bloom plants.

Moon Light Blooms were delicate and uncommon, only blooming under the light of a full moon and capable of absorbing the moon's spiritual energy. They were notoriously difficult to harvest, as they had to be picked at night and would wither within a day or two. The fact that this boy had even a few of them suggested he was willing to venture deep into the forest at night—a perfect opportunity for Zhuan Ming.

"I think I've found my prey," Zhuan Ming thought, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He approached the boy's stall slowly, his movements casual and unhurried. To avoid drawing suspicion, he occasionally paused to glance at other stalls, pretending to browse before finally stopping in front of the boy.

"What do you sell the Moon Light Bloom plants for?" Zhuan Ming asked, his tone friendly but businesslike.

The boy looked up, his eyes wide with a mix of hope and nervousness. "Seven low-grade spirit stones per plant," he replied, his voice soft but firm. Despite his ragged appearance, there was a determined glint in his eyes, as if he were used to fighting for every scrap of opportunity.

Zhuan Ming feigned surprise, raising an eyebrow. "Seven? That's quite a low price for Moon Light Blooms. Are they freshly picked?"

The boy nodded eagerly. "Yes, sir. I gathered them last night. They're still fresh."

Zhuan Ming smiled, though the gesture didn't reach his cold, calculating eyes. "In that case, I'll take all of them."

The boy's face lit up with relief and gratitude. "Thank you, sir! That's ten plants, so seventy low-grade spirit stones."

Zhuan Ming handed over the spirit stones, his mind already working through the details of his plan. As the boy counted the coins, Zhuan Ming casually added, "There's just one small problem. I actually need thirty plants. Do you think you could gather twenty more by tomorrow night?"

The boy hesitated, his expression torn between excitement and apprehension. "Thirty? That's... a lot. Moon Light Blooms aren't easy to find, and I'd have to go out again tonight..."

Zhuan Ming nodded sympathetically. "I understand. It's a big ask. But I'm willing to pay extra for your trouble. How about this: I'll give you an additional twenty spirit stones for the effort. That's ninety in total. What do you say?"

The boy's eyes widened at the offer, and for a moment, he seemed unsure whether to believe it. "Ninety spirit stones?" he repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief. "You'd really pay that much?"

Zhuan Ming's smile widened, though it was devoid of any genuine warmth. "Of course. I need the plants, and you seem like someone who knows how to get them. Consider it a bonus for your hard work."

The boy hesitated, his gaze flickering to the Moon Light Blooms on his stall. Zhuan Ming could almost see the thoughts racing through his mind—the promise of extra spirit stones, the chance to prove his worth, the opportunity to finally earn something substantial. It was clear the boy was struggling, his thin frame and tattered clothes speaking volumes about his circumstances. He likely had no family to support him, no one to care if he disappeared.

Finally, the boy nodded, a small smile breaking through his cautious demeanor. "Alright. I'll do it. I'll gather the twenty plants by tomorrow night."

Zhuan Ming's smile widened, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Excellent. I'll meet you here tomorrow evening. Don't let me down."

As he handed over the spirit stones for the initial ten plants, Zhuan Ming's mind was already working through the details of his plan. The boy's willingness to venture out at night to harvest the Moon Light Blooms made him the perfect target. No one would miss a poor, low-status disciple who spent his nights alone in the forest. And by the time anyone noticed his absence, Zhuan Ming would be long gone, his cultivation advanced another step.

As he walked away, Zhuan Ming glanced back once, his eyes lingering on the boy's thin, determined figure. "A shame," he thought idly, "I was once the same."

The boy, oblivious to the danger he had just invited, carefully counted the spirit stones in his hand, a rare spark of hope lighting up his weary face. Little did he know, this would be his last transaction.