Only those who truly dedicate themselves are willing to shed the useless attire.

By the western edge of Qulin City, a Daoist selling "fate" had become wildly popular.

At first, people were wary—after all, things shrouded in mystery could have unforeseen consequences. No one in their right mind would casually throw away their fortune, except perhaps the most reckless.

But as more and more people sold their "fate," some grew rich overnight and remained perfectly healthy, seemingly unharmed. Just as the banner proclaimed—"An immortal’s fate is as fleeting as mist, but the gold in your hands secures the next hundred years."

Seeing so many profit from selling their fate while they remained poor gnawed at people’s hearts. Another’s poverty might soothe one’s wounds, but another’s sudden wealth only deepened the sting.

Even the stingiest would share their misery, and the most generous could hardly bear being the only one left in want.

After much deliberation, only one conclusion remained—Sell it!

They had lived for who knew how many years without ever glimpsing an immortal. Hopes of cultivation had long faded—immortal fate was nothing but mist, but the silver in their palms was real.

At the very least, tomorrow’s plain pancake could be swapped for roast chicken.

Besides, a meager fate fetched a dozen copper coins, while a weighty one could bring ten taels of gold.

A subtle competition emerged—ten taels of silver naturally trumped a handful of coins, and soon, the contest shifted from fate to fortune itself.

Whatever the reason, the stall before Chu Xingchen had exploded in popularity. Some even feared startling him into refusing their fate, so they began maintaining order on their own.

Naturally, mortals only needed to consider whether selling their fate was worth the price. But others had to ponder whether this was even legitimate.

A young man in plain hemp robes stood watching the absurdly long line with apparent curiosity.

Had the woman from the cave been here, she would have recognized him as the same youth from their earlier meeting.

Beside him stood a sun-darkened man who looked every bit the farmer.

"Yumi, what do you make of this guy?" the young man suddenly asked. "What’s his game?"

"Bend your back to till the soil if you want to eat. What’s picked up from the ground usually costs your life," the farmer replied after a moment’s thought, then turned the question back. "Xigua, what do you think?"

The young man’s smile remained gentle, but his voice carried skepticism:

"Bait draws fish in droves—countless fight for it, but only the hooked ones die."

The farmer nodded slightly, his usually dull expression flickering with approval—Xigua had always been sharp, and this answer aligned with his own view.

"Should we intervene?" the farmer asked again. "It wouldn’t be hard. Those two seem to be only Qi Refining cultivators."

Xigua’s brow lifted slightly. "Back at the meeting, Donggua said things have been strange lately—that the demonic cultivator might be bait. I didn’t think so then, but with all these odd occurrences… Qi Refiners selling fate… Donggua’s caution might be warranted."

The farmer stayed silent. This was beyond his scope—his role now was to wait quietly for orders.

Whether they dealt with the fate-selling Daoist or ignored him entirely.

"Donggua’s handling the demonic cultivator. We can’t let our home be undermined," Xigua finally decided. "Whether they’re after us or not, we need to know."

His gaze shifted. "Yumi, aren’t you curious how much your fate is worth?"

Understanding, Yumi stood and strode toward the line.

Xigua rose leisurely, his eyes returning to the fate-selling Daoist—only to freeze as the Daoist suddenly looked up, his gaze locking onto him as if he’d been spotted.

A jolt of alarm tightened Xigua’s pupils.

A Qi Refiner sensing me? Bait? How? What kind of monster is this?

But the next moment, the Daoist merely pursed his lips and glanced away—as if he’d been looking past him.

Xigua followed the direction and spotted a sesame pancake nearby.

The Daoist’s still at Qi Refining—he hasn’t reached fasting yet… But even so, would a cultivator crave a mere pancake?

When he looked back, the Daoist was calmly resuming his trade, paying him no further attention.

To each their own appetite, I suppose.

Xigua dismissed the thought. There was no way a Qi Refiner could have sensed him.

They’d wait for Yumi’s report before acting.

A fate-selling Daoist…

Xigua picked up the sesame pancake, took a bite, and chewed thoughtfully.

Not bad. No wonder the Daoist glanced this way.

Munching on the pancake, he walked off without noticing the faint smile that flickered across the Daoist’s face.

Xigua missed it, but Xie Lingyu at Chu Xingchen’s side didn’t.

For two days, Chu Xingchen had been spinning tales while she sat holding the banner, waiting. She’d expected boredom, but strangely, it never came.

Listening to Chu Xingchen’s nonsense, the prices for fate didn’t seem entirely random.

She sat there absorbing his silver-tongued lies—partly to learn his craft, partly to memorize them so she’d catch him if he ever tried recycling them on her.

One day, he’ll slip up in my hands, and I’ll make sure he thinks twice before lying again.

Because she was observing so closely, she noticed the shift immediately.

Did we actually catch something?

She glanced at Chu Xingchen, who remained utterly composed as he continued his trade. After a brief hesitation, she stayed silent, gripping the banner.

Curious, but I’ll ask later. Better not to know—I’m no actor. If I knew, I might give it away.

Ignorance needs no performance.

She held her ground.

Time passed, dusk settling in.

As the dark-skinned farmer approached, Chu Xingchen suddenly turned to her:

"Disciple, this master lacks culinary discernment. Fetch me a sesame pancake from that stall."

Xie Lingyu blinked, staring at him.

Chu Xingchen waved her off. "What’s the delay? Hungry? Get one for yourself too."

"Oh…" She said nothing more, taking the banner and weaving through the crowd toward the vendor.

With Xie Lingyu—who scrutinized his every expression yet couldn’t hide her own—gone, Chu Xingchen allowed a faint smile as he faced the farmer now before him.

"Daoist, how much is my fate worth?" The farmer stood firm, his plain eyes fixed on Chu Xingchen.

Chu Xingchen studied him theatrically, then feigned astonishment.

"Yours is the richest fate I’ve ever seen. Mere coin can’t measure its value."

The farmer’s gaze sharpened. "Then what can?"

"That… requires a closer look."

Chu Xingchen rose from his chair and reached out to touch the farmer’s arm. At the moment of contact, a faint trace of blood qi seeped into the farmer’s body.

The farmer instantly sensed the energy invading his veins, his eyes narrowing as his dull expression sharpened.

“Your chance at immortality comes at the price of a pancake!” Chu Xingchen declared loudly, then immediately lowered his voice to a near-whisper, “I didn’t realize a tiger lurked here. I’m just here for a bite to eat—once my business is done, I’ll be gone.”

The farmer gripped Chu Xingchen’s wrist in return, his voice equally hushed:

“How do you know I’m not here to capture you?”

“Those sent to catch me wear silks and brocades. Only those who truly risk their lives would dress so plainly.”

Chu Xingchen’s smile remained gentle.

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