Elder Lin Wei spoke calmly, his fingers tapping the armrest in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

  “Brute force is only viable when certainty is on our side,” he said. “Right now, it is not. Our movements are watched more closely than we would like. Any large mobilization will ripple through the city like a stone dropped into still water, and the Iron Fang Gang will sense it immediately.”

  He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing.

  “More importantly, we do not even know when or where to find their two leaders at the same time. Our eyes outside the hall have tried, but their whereabouts remain blurred. Sometimes they appear near the river docks, sometimes they vanish for days. Acting blindly would mean striking air.”

  A brief silence followed.

  The flickering lamps in the main hall cast long shadows on the pillars, making the gathered figures seem taller, heavier, as if the hall itself was listening.

  “Without confirmation,” Elder Lin Wei concluded, “an attack risks turning into a trap. And if even one of the two escapes, the Iron Fang Gang will not die. It will rot slowly… and come back biting harder.”

  The tension in the room thickened, like qi gathering before an eruption.

  The Alchemy Elder finally spoke, his voice measured, neither hurried nor slow, carrying the calm of someone used to weighing powders and lives with the same precision.

  “Perhaps,” he said, “we are looking at this too narrowly. Crushing the Iron Fang Gang is one path, but not the only one.”

  He folded his hands within his sleeves. “Forging more alliances may be wiser at this stage. For now, raw materials are not our greatest concern. Our reserves can still support the halls and the disciples.”

  His gaze swept across the chamber, lingering briefly on each figure.

  “But if this situation drags on,” he continued, “the strain will show. Pills, elixirs, refining reagents… none of these are infinite. Trade routes remain blocked, and external purchases grow more expensive by the day. If nothing changes, shortages are inevitable.”

  The lamps hissed softly as oil burned low.

  “Once that happens,” the Alchemy Elder added, “it will not just be the disciples who suffer. The entire foundation of the Silver Crane Martial Hall will weaken. Alliances may buy us time… and time, in moments like these, is as valuable as any spirit stone.”

  Sect Master Han Zhen finally spoke, his voice steady yet heavy with authority, instantly pressing down on the undercurrents in the hall.

  “What you have all said makes sense,” he said slowly. “But using force must be postponed for now. The City Lord will not allow open chaos, and it is obvious the other factions are trying to choke us little by little.”

  His fingers tapped lightly against the armrest.

  “As for allies,” Han Zhen continued, “we could call upon our friends in the prefecture city, but that is unrealistic at this stage. Such a move would cost far more than it gains.”

  He let out a faint breath.

  “It seems we must seek the City Lord instead. Although I dislike owing him a favor, it is the only viable path for now. Otherwise, the other factions will only grow more brazen and begin covertly targeting our businesses and disciples alike.”

  No one spoke.

  Elder Gu, who had been bristling moments ago, finally sat back down. His expression was far from satisfied, but the Sect Master’s words had already sealed the decision.

  The lamps flickered.

  Once more, silence returned to the main hall, thick and oppressive, as if the Silver Crane Martial Hall itself was holding its breath.

  Chen Mo sat cross-legged in the quiet of his formal disciple quarters, the evening shadows stretching across the walls. The room was simple—just a low wooden table, a straw mat, and his few belongings neatly arranged—but that was all he needed.

  He held a qi boosting pill in hand, swallowing it slowly, savoring the bitter yet invigorating taste. Almost immediately, he felt the familiar hum of energy coursing through his veins, his qi awakening like a restless stream eager to move.

  Closing his eyes, Chen Mo began circulating the qi deliberately, following the breathing techniques and meridian paths memorized from the Silver Crane skin refining booklet. With each cycle, the flow became smoother, stronger, and more vibrant. He could feel the qi pushing against the barriers of his body, urging him forward, whispering of potential he had yet to unlock.

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  Half an hour passed, and sweat dampened his temples, but he remained seated, steady and focused. In this silence, punctuated only by his controlled breath and the quiet pulse of his qi, Chen Mo reflected inwardly: the road to skin refining realm would be long, but with disciplined training and careful use of resources, he could finally break through in due time.

  After finishing the evening session, Chen Mo opened his small box and glanced at the eight remaining qi boosting pills. If he consumed one per day, they would last only eight more days. His eyes flicked to the panel—still no changes. He let out a low sigh.

  With only fourteen taels of silver left, he could afford just seven more pills. That meant a gap, a period where he’d have to manage without the precious qi reinforcement. Chen Mo’s brow furrowed. The reality was clear: he urgently needed more money if he wanted to maintain his training pace.

  He leaned back on his mat, thinking through his options, weighing which paths could bring him the most immediate gain without compromising his position in the Silver Crane Hall. Every choice had to be calculated; the wrong step now could slow his breakthrough.

  Chen Mo stared at the panel and muttered under his breath, frustration lacing his voice: “Damn it… if only this thing tracked other life skills, like Alchemy. I could just pose as some pill-refining prodigy and rake in silver like those average novel protagonists.”

  He shook his head, a bitter smile forming. Life didn’t hand out convenient shortcuts, not even in a world that sometimes felt like a storybook. Every step forward had to be earned, and the panel wouldn’t lie about his progress. He’d have to find another way to secure the resources he needed—fast.

  Chen Mo clenched his fists, thoughts darkening. Banditry… theft? Damn it… I can’t risk going down that path. I’m still too weak… I can’t gamble with my life.

  He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to think clearly. Every reckless shortcut now could cost him everything—his freedom, his cultivation, even his future. Survival meant patience, careful planning, and biding his time until he was strong enough to make bold moves safely.

  Chen Mo’s eyes darkened as he muttered to himself: No wonder Elder Lian didn’t make me sign any contract… that damn snake knew perfectly well my poor background. I’d be relying on him for resources.

  A shadow of resentment crossed his face at the thought of being a puppet to the higher-ups. But I still have the edge… he thought, a spark of determination igniting. So what if I humble myself for benefits now? They don’t know I have the panel. The panel guarantees I won’t hit any bottleneck. As long as I stay steady, I’ll grow stronger every day… and when that time comes, that old bastard Master Lian will be the one asking me for favors.

  A slow, cunning smile tugged at Chen Mo’s lips, the tension of subservience already shifting into a patient strategy.

  By the next morning, Chen Mo woke early, pulling on his formal disciple uniform and fastening his token carefully. After a quick breakfast in the cafeteria, he decided to take a stroll to the outer courtyard. The morning air was crisp, and the sounds of training echoed faintly across the yard.

  He spotted a familiar face among the youths—Jia Tao—and gave a small wave. “Might as well check in with the old acquaintance,” Chen Mo thought.

  Making his way toward Master Lian’s office, he carried a calm confidence, already thinking about what to discuss—training progress, resources, and perhaps quietly gauging how much leverage he now held as a formal disciple.

  Chen Mo knocked on the office door, and soon Master Lian’s voice called out: “Enter.”

  Chen Mo pushed the door open, cupped his hands, and bowed slightly. “Greetings, Master Lian.”

  Master Lian’s face brightened. “Oh, Chen Mo, I was about to send someone to call for you. It’s good you are here. Sit.”

  Chen Mo obediently took a seat, and Master Lian didn’t wait to start. “How was your first night at our school?”

  Chen Mo replied respectfully: “It is all thanks to Master’s guidance.”

  Master Lian smiled and waved his hand. “No worries. What you need now is to breakthrough quickly to the Skin Refining realm. Only then can you show your value and begin receiving tasks.”

  Chen Mo hesitated for a moment, then said: “Actually, that is what I wanted to talk to you about…”

  Master Lian interrupted with a knowing chuckle: “I know what you are worrying about… the qi boosting pills. But you don’t need to worry too much. We already have you covered. You will receive two pills daily for the next two months. You need to work hard—it’s imperative that you breakthrough within these two months.”

  Chen Mo furrowed his brow, asking cautiously: “May I know why it is so important?” He feared that this old snake might send him somewhere as cannon fodder.

  Master Lian’s eyes narrowed slightly, his voice calm but firm: “You are one of us now, so you need to see the whole picture. Martial arts are all about resources. The competition is fierce, and although everyone is loyal to the school, people are inherently selfish. The school has many industries in the city, and each of them is looked after by a steward at the Skin-Refining realm at least. On the surface, the steward appears to just oversee the business, but in reality, they hold far too much sway.”

  He leaned forward, looking meaningfully at Chen Mo. “The Alchemy department needs trustworthy people to oversee those industries… people who will report only what we allow them to report. If you understand what I mean.”

  Chen Mo’s eyes flickered as he processed the implications, but he nodded outwardly: “This disciple understands, Master Lian. I will not disappoint you.”

  Master Lian gave a satisfied nod. “Good. For now, focus on your training. Two pills a day, disciplined practice, and don’t get distracted. Opportunities will come to those who are ready, Chen Mo. Understand?”

  Chen Mo inclined his head seriously: “I understand, Master Lian. I will follow your instructions.”

  Master Lian’s faint smile returned, eyes glinting with a mixture of approval and calculation. “Very well. Now go—prepare yourself. The next two months will be decisive.”

  Chen Mo stood up, cupped his hands in respect once more, and left Master Lian’s office. As he walked through the courtyard, his thoughts churned. “So even this world can’t escape bureaucracy and corruption… it seems martial arts or not, wherever there are people, there is Jianghu.”

  He let out a faint sigh but a small smile appeared. “Well, this is also an opportunity. Might as well take the maximum benefits while I can.”

  With that decision settled in his mind, Chen Mo glanced toward the outer yard. He knew Jia Tao would be taking his midday rest soon, and it would be a good time to catch him and have a casual conversation.