Chen Mo found a hidden spot in the nearby forest to stow his bow. It was bulky, and he knew bringing it directly into the city would draw unwanted attention. In Lian City, he had been able to sneak such items out easily with the help of an information broker, but here in Jian City, everything was unfamiliar.

  He restrained his aura, blending seamlessly with a long queue of people waiting to enter the city gates. Step by step, he moved forward, keeping calm and unassuming. Another half hour passed, and finally, he was granted entry.

  Jian City stretched before him, far larger than Lian City and set away from the mountains. Its streets were crowded, bustling with merchants, travelers, and caravans. It was a crossroads where traders from distant regions stopped before continuing toward the capital. The city felt alive, a hub of trade, commerce, and constant motion.

  Security was tight; guards patrolled the walls and checkpoints diligently. Auctions were held here monthly, and news of high-value goods traveled fast. Unlike Lian City, Jian City was not under the shadow of the martial halls. Instead, the renowned Commercial Chamber maintained control, its influence felt in trade regulations, taxes, and the orderly flow of commerce.

  Chen Mo took it all in silently, noting the city’s layout and the flow of people. He kept to the shadows where he could, knowing that for now, blending in was far safer than drawing attention. The city offered opportunity—and he intended to seize it carefully, step by step.

  The city was under the firm grip of the Imperial Trade Hall. Its influence stretched far beyond Jian City, reaching deep into the empire itself. Many factions might covet the wealth and power concentrated here, but none were bold enough to openly challenge the royal family. The Trade Hall’s ties to the crown were profound, making it one of the pillars upholding the dynasty’s rule. Its control over commerce, caravans, and even city governance made Jian City a hub no one dared disrupt.

  Chen Mo moved through the streets with measured caution, his senses alert but his demeanor calm. He chose an ordinary inn to rest first, blending in easily with the steady flow of merchants and travelers. After settling in, he stepped back into the city, strolling along the bustling avenues, taking note of gates, guards, and the ebb and flow of people.

  Eventually, hunger nudged him toward a small restaurant tucked between two larger buildings. The aroma of freshly cooked dishes drew him in, and he took a quiet seat, observing the patrons while keeping his movements and expressions unremarkable. For now, blending in, observing, and staying invisible was far more important than drawing attention or taking action.

  As Chen Mo sat in the restaurant, the waiter approached with a practiced bow.

  “Sir, would you like to order?” he asked politely.

  Chen Mo looked up casually. “What do you recommend?”

  The waiter’s eyes sparkled. “Our braised chicken with steamed rice is quite popular, sir—only three taels of silver, but I assure you, the taste is excellent.”

  Chen Mo nodded slightly. “Okay. If the food is good, I’ll make sure you get a reward.”

  The waiter’s face lit up, and he dashed off energetically to prepare the order, muttering to himself about earning extra praise.

  Chen Mo returned his gaze to the street outside, observing quietly as the city bustled around him.

  The food was delicious, and Chen Mo wasn’t stingy—he slipped a few extra coins to the waiter.

  Chen Mo leaned back and said, “If you answer some of my questions, this tael of silver will be yours.”

  The waiter’s eyes widened with excitement. A customer this generous was rare, and he agreed without hesitation.

  “You see,” Chen Mo continued, “I’m new to the city. Can you tell me what you know about the forces here, the prominent pharmacies, and anything useful? My small caravan intends to perform some transactions here.”

  The waiter nodded calmly, unfazed. Strange people came and went every day, asking all sorts of questions.

  “Oh, that’s easy,” he said. “Jian City has many independent shops, pharmacies, escort agencies, and so on—but none are comparable to the Imperial Trade Hall. If you want to buy or sell anything of value, you’d better deal with them.”

  The waiter continued, lowering his voice slightly as if sharing common sense rather than a secret.

  “Just head to the city’s central square. Most of the large shops and courtyards there belong to the Imperial Trade Hall. You can’t miss it. Even if you close your eyes and follow the flow of people, you’ll end up there sooner or later.”

  He smiled, confidence thick in his tone.

  Chen Mo headed toward the city center square, and it was exactly as the waiter had said.

  The deeper he went, the wider the streets became, paved with clean stone and crowded with people of every sort. At the very heart of the square stood the grand pavilion of the Imperial Trade Hall, its towering structure dominating the skyline. Banners embroidered with the imperial emblem fluttered in the wind, and streams of merchants, stewards, and cultivators passed in and out without pause. This was where auctions were held, contracts signed, and disputes quietly settled.

  Surrounding the pavilion were rows of shops and courtyards, all well-maintained and bustling with business. Pharmacies with ornate signboards displayed rare herbs and medicinal pastes behind glass cases. Escort agencies advertised their routes and guards openly, their confidence rooted in imperial backing.

  What truly caught Chen Mo’s eye, however, was a massive courtyard not far from the pavilion, its gates wide open and crowded with people of all kinds. Above it hung a bold plaque engraved with two characters: Mercenary Hall.

  Chen Mo lingered only a moment, memorizing its location. Then, without drawing attention to himself, he turned and chose one of the nearby pharmacies, stepping inside with calm, measured steps.

  The pharmacy’s interior was far more spacious than it appeared from outside. Long wooden counters lined the hall, each attended by neatly dressed clerks. The air was thick with the mingled scents of dried herbs and medicinal pastes. Customers haggled in low voices, silver clinking softly as transactions were struck and sealed.

  Chen Mo moved calmly through the crowd and stopped at an unoccupied counter.

  “I wish to inquire about the prices of some medicine,” he said.

  The attendant looked him over with a practiced glance. His expression remained polite, but his expectations were clearly modest. Judging by Chen Mo’s simple attire, he assumed this was at most a Skin Refining cultivator, perhaps even lower. Still, business was business.

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  “Which medicine does the customer wish to buy?” the attendant asked courteously. “We carry various formulas for Qi Sensing and Skin Refining.”

  Chen Mo did not react to the subtle condescension. “I want to inquire about Muscle Refining medicine.”

  The attendant froze. His pupils shrank, and his breath hitched before he could stop himself. Muscle Refining? For a moment, a dangerous thought crossed his mind. Could this young man be…

  He straightened at once, his tone changing completely. “Young master, please wait a moment. One of our stewards will attend to you shortly.”

  Without waiting for a response, he turned and hurried away.

  Not long after, a middle-aged man in a finely tailored robe approached, his bearing calm and assured. He offered Chen Mo a respectful smile and gestured toward a side room.

  “Please, young master,” the steward said. “Let us speak inside.”

  The middle-aged man studied Chen Mo as they walked, his gaze sharp yet carefully restrained. The youth before him looked barely twenty, perhaps not even that. Calm posture, steady breathing, no trace of arrogance, no trace of fear either.

  If this customer truly sought Muscle Refining medicine, then there was only one reasonable conclusion. Such a young Muscle Refining expert…

  The man’s heart stirred.

  This is no loose martial artist.

  He did not even entertain that possibility. In this era, talents of this caliber were almost always nurtured by powerful forces. Great clans, hidden sects, or organizations with deep roots. Someone like this was either a core disciple sent out to temper himself or a protected heir gaining experience. Either way, offending him would be courting disaster.

  His smile grew warmer, more genuine. Every step he took became more measured, every word more careful.

  Worth befriending, he decided.

  Even if this young man did not represent a great force openly, the fact that such talent existed behind him was reason enough. In a place like Jian City, relationships were as valuable as silver, sometimes far more.

  As they took their seats, a maid quietly poured tea, the fragrance curling gently through the small side room. Only after everything was settled did the middle-aged man clasp his hands with a courteous smile.

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said. “I am Steward Liu, one of the stewards of this pharmacy. I will personally handle Young Master’s needs.”

  Chen Mo accepted the teacup but did not drink immediately. “Does this pharmacy belong to the Imperial Trade Hall?”

  Liu chuckled softly. “Young Master has sharp eyes. Indeed, it does. In fact, most of the establishments around the city square fall under the Imperial Trade Hall’s banner.”

  “That is a relief,” Chen Mo said calmly. “Doing business with trustworthy people is always preferable, especially for a newcomer like me.”

  Liu nodded in understanding. “Perfectly reasonable. Jian City sees many travelers, but caution is wisdom, not suspicion.”

  Chen Mo placed the teacup down and spoke without detour. “I require Muscle Refining medicine for cultivation. I wonder if Steward Liu could give me an idea of the prices.”

  As the words fell, Chen Mo did not bother concealing his intent. There was no need. A man who asked this question here had already revealed enough.

  Liu’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly. The warmth remained, but a layer of seriousness surfaced beneath it. He straightened slightly, his tone becoming respectful rather than merely polite.

  “Of course, my lord,” Steward Liu replied. “Muscle Refining medicine is far rarer than Skin Refining formulas, and the prices differ greatly depending on potency, origin, and refinement method. I will explain everything in detail.”

  Inside, Liu’s thoughts raced. So he truly is at Muscle Refining… and at such an age.

  Outwardly, however, he remained composed, already calculating how best to serve this guest.

  Steward Liu took a slow sip of tea, then set the cup down, his voice measured and professional as he began to explain.

  “For the Muscle Refining realm, orthodox cultivation follows a fairly standardized path,” he said. “At the foundation lies the Iron Tendon Pill. This is a primary refining pill, designed to strengthen muscle fibers themselves, increasing both contraction force and resilience. It allows the body to safely exert power far beyond mortal limits without tearing itself apart. Typically, one pill is taken every three to five days, usually after intense training or controlled striking sessions. The effect is a steady rise in raw strength; the muscles become dense and spring-like rather than bulky. Its price is 120 taels per pill, and among orthodox sects, this is considered the bare minimum entry medicine for Muscle Refining.”

  He continued without pause. “Next is the Marrow-Warming Muscle Decoction, an auxiliary liquid medicine. Its role is to warm the marrow and stabilize muscle growth, preventing spasms, tearing, and internal bleeding. It is drunk hot after training sessions and is commonly brewed in sect medicine halls. While it does not directly increase strength, it greatly improves refinement efficiency and shortens recovery time. Each dose costs 40 taels, and it is often bundled into weekly training routines.”

  Liu’s tone grew slightly heavier as he added, “Finally, there is the Clear Pulse Recovery Pill, which is not optional. This pill repairs the countless micro-tears that form during refinement and clears stagnant qi from overworked meridians. It must be taken immediately after refinement sessions. Without it, long-term damage is almost guaranteed; skipping this pill is the fastest way to cripple oneself. Each pill costs 60 taels.”

  He folded his hands and concluded, “For a cultivator at the first stage of Muscle Refining following the orthodox path, the typical weekly expense amounts to roughly 360 taels: one Iron Tendon Pill, three decoction doses, and two recovery pills. This is why Muscle Refining is often described as a realm where wealth and talent are equally tested.”

  Chen Mo drew a slow, steady breath, his expression calm but his thoughts churning like an undercurrent beneath still water.

  So damn expensive…

  Three hundred and sixty taels a week, just to walk the orthodox path at the very beginning. Even after looting an entire bandit stronghold, this rate would bleed him dry in a matter of tow weeks. His mind instinctively compared it to the Blood-Burning Body Powder he had bought on the black market. One hundred and eighty taels per dose, brutal, dangerous, but terrifyingly effective.

  Unorthodox methods are cheaper upfront, he mused, but they ask for blood instead of silver.

  His gaze drifted slightly, unfocused. Muscle Refining was only the second major realm. If this was the cost now, what about the later stages? Mid stage, late stage… and beyond. Each step forward would demand purer ingredients, rarer pills, and increasingly absurd prices. The silver required would only swell like a rolling avalanche.

  No wonder sect disciples never worry about money, Chen Mo thought coldly. They don’t cultivate with silver. They cultivate with backing.

  For a lone cultivator like him, every breakthrough was a calculation, every breath weighed against coin, risk, and survival.