Chapter 027: Cultivating Merit

“If only I could modify this manual to suit the human body for cultivation, it would be perfect.” He murmured to himself, filled with regret.

Just then, a sudden impulse stirred within him, making his expression change slightly as he immediately glanced down to the corner of his eye. There, ‘Blue Star’ suddenly appeared, radiating waves of warmth. He focused on it and noticed that the information displayed had changed without him realizing it.

Yao Qian—
Five Tigers Severing Blade: Third Level (Minor Achievement)
Iron Shirt: First Level
Binding Technique: Beginner
Demonic Ox Force: Not Learned
Potential: 6

Blue Star was now showing information about Demonic Ox Force, which he had not yet learned—something that had never happened before. Looking closely, he saw a blood-red symbol next to Demonic Ox Force, resembling a tiny ‘Modify’ character.

Yao Qian’s face twitched; he already had an idea and immediately concentrated on the symbol. Instantly, an insight flooded his mind, making him beam with joy, his eyes shining with delight.

“I never expected Blue Star could actually modify manuals, allowing them to be adapted for human cultivation. But the consumption…”

Seeing the potential cost, the joy on Yao Qian’s face was tinged with bitterness. He had just focused his energy on that blood-red ‘Modify’ symbol, but his mind received the message: ‘Insufficient Potential, unable to modify.’

“It seems I need to collect more potential points, but this thing is so rare—I have no idea where to look.”

His thoughts spun; his previous acquisitions of potential points had been bizarre and unrepeatable.

If he tried to find more using the same methods, he feared he’d become a corpse before gathering any.

“I need to think of other ways. From what I’ve seen, items capable of storing potential are either tainted by the aura of malevolent spirits or are themselves objects of such nature. If Chen Shanqi possessed such an item, perhaps more ghostly artifacts are still out there?”

He recalled how, upon picking up that black pearl, a beautiful woman’s illusion manifested, ensnaring him without his noticing. If other similar items were loose in the world, panic and chaos would surely follow.

Thinking this, his eyes lit up.

This was undoubtedly a shortcut to finding such objects, and with his identity, searching wouldn’t arouse suspicion.

The more he thought, the more eager he became, wishing he could go out and investigate at once.

But he quickly suppressed the urge. The danger of ghostly artifacts aside, his strength was only at forty or fifty percent; encountering one now might not be a blessing.

Still, at least he had a way forward, and felt a bit more at ease.

For the next seven days, he didn’t report to the magistrate’s office. With the prefect covering for him, he wasn’t worried about losing his salary—and he hardly cared about the meager pay anymore.

He rested at home for seven days, sparing no expense on the finest healing salves and physician’s acupuncture, with every meal consisting of blood-replenishing medicinal dishes. His injuries finally recovered ninety percent. Unless he was drawn into a prolonged battle, there was little risk of deterioration.

The cost was steep. In just seven days, the healing medicines and medicinal foods alone had nearly depleted his treasury by a thousand taels of silver, leaving him in agony for half a day.

Pingyang Tavern.

Once the Chen family tavern, it closed after tragedy befell the family. Uncle Wang took over, redecorated, and reopened it under a new name.

In fact, Yao Qian owned a thirty percent stake in the tavern—a gift from Uncle Wang. But he paid it little mind; such mid-tier establishments in a small town like Pingyang hardly brought in much profit.

Was it even worth a life?

Yao Qian sat alone at a table, pouring himself drinks, looking quite at ease.

In the main hall, a storyteller was spinning a new tale, “The Side Story of Martial Valor.”

It told of a wealthy household beset by strange events, with its heirs dying mysteriously one after another. Amid the panic, a wandering scholar arrived, sword in hand to banish evil, only to find that a painting made from human skin had spawned a malevolent spirit, bringing calamity upon the house.

Listening to the storyteller’s voice—sometimes somber, sometimes heroic, sometimes righteous, sometimes chilling—Yao Qian glanced at the patrons, nodding in satisfaction.

Yes, this was a story he crafted while recuperating.

In his previous world, he was widely read, albeit mostly online novels. But by borrowing and adapting those tales for this world, and giving them a new veneer, the locals—unacquainted with such things—found themselves endlessly fascinated.

“Hopefully this method will be useful.”

He wrote the story not to draw business to the tavern, but to use its plot as a pretext for gathering information.

When he acquired the black pearl, hallucinations nearly trapped him. This story, though dressed differently, carried the same essence. If similar events had occurred, they would certainly resonate with the patrons, prompting discussion and gossip.

Over the past two days, Yao Qian had gathered several clues, two of which especially caught his attention, though his injuries had kept him from investigating.

After all, he only had one life—he needed to cherish it.

When he’d finished his wine, Yao Qian sauntered out of the tavern, sent off respectfully by the staff.

They were employees of the tavern, well-informed, and knew the storyteller’s tale originated from Yao Qian, attracting many patrons and boosting their own earnings, so they treated him with deference.

After about the time it takes an incense stick to burn, Yao Qian arrived at the west end of town, the commercial district of Pingyang. As he entered, myriad shouts and hawkers’ cries assaulted his ears, the temperature rising noticeably as a warm current washed over him.

All around were bargaining voices, shops, stalls, and carts laden with trinkets. The sidewalks teemed with people, bustling to the extreme, with many young women out shopping for small novelties.

Yao Qian kept moving, shops thinning out and the crowd dwindling as he walked deeper. This was the residential area of the west city merchants—nearly sixty or seventy percent of the district’s inhabitants were merchants.

When Yao Qian reached the gate of a spacious mansion, he stopped, gazing at it with interest.

The estate sprawled widely, clearly the home of a wealthy merchant. Yet now, it looked desolate; not a single servant or guard was in sight, the main door was half-open, and not a sound could be heard from within.

He was about to enter when he heard a creaking sound from inside.