That was surprising. She hadn’t sold talismans in years—only a few hundred first-grade ones back when she was just starting out. That was before she’d realized she was a ridiculously wealthy second-generation cultivator who didn’t actually need to sell anything.

  After all this time, there were still some of those talismans floating around?

  Cornelius led her into the main hall. A long table stood in the center, covered in yellow talisman paper and brushes, with a few old scrolls spread out. Three faded talismans lay neatly on a tray.

  Lauren took one look and immediately recognized them—they were hers, all right.

  Cornelius nodded gravely. “After discovering these, I made sure they were preserved. Some have already been used; these three are all that remain. It took me a while to trace the original source… and that’s when I found out it was you, Lauren.”

  “Oh.” Lauren tilted her head. “So what’s the problem?”

  “Come take a look.” He gestured to another stack of talismans beside them. “These are what the disciples have drawn.”

  Lauren sifted through them one by one.

  All Explosive Spirit Talismans—but every single one looked different. The strokes, the structure, the flow of the spiritual energy—each had its own distinct variation. Some even looked like they belonged to entirely different schools.

  What the hell?

  Lauren frowned. She’d only ever learned how to draw talismans by herself—never had a proper teacher—so she didn’t quite understand what caused these differences.

  After a moment of thought, she sent a voice message to Edmund.

  “Hey, what’s going on here? Why do all their talismans look different?”

  Edmund’s voice came lazily through the connection. “I’m not a talismanist. How should I know?”

  “…” Lauren pressed her lips together. “You know everything else. Haven’t you at least seen how others draw talismans before?”

  “I’m an outsider. I can recognize what type a talisman is, but not how it’s drawn.”

  Useless dragon.

  Edmund added after a pause, “Everyone perceives the power of heaven and earth differently. So naturally, the talismans they draw will vary. It’s not a flaw—it’s individuality. Let them draw according to their own understanding.”

  That… actually made sense.

  Lauren put the jade away and turned back to Cornelius. “Drawing talismans is like handwriting. Everyone’s style is different. As long as the structure and flow of spiritual energy are right, a little variation doesn’t matter.”

  Cornelius frowned slightly. “But we’ve been practicing for months. So far, only Sebastian and I can manage third-grade talismans. Most of the younger ones are still stuck at first-grade. Could it be the runes themselves are wrong?”

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  “This…” Lauren hesitated. How do I say this nicely without crushing their egos?

  She cleared her throat. “Cornelius, you’ve noticed this technique isn’t the same as what you practiced before, right?”

  He nodded. “Yes. Uncle-Master said this Talisman Tradition was lost tens of thousands of years ago.”

  “Exactly,” Lauren said. “And there’s a reason it disappeared. Hardly anyone in this world can even practice this system anymore. Reaching third-grade talisman mastery within just a few years? That’s already amazing.”

  Cornelius exhaled slowly. Amazing, sure—but still frustrating.

  He had been a third-grade talisman master thousands of years ago. He thought relearning would be easy. Instead, it felt like he was starting from scratch.

  Still, as a talisman master, he couldn’t let this ancient art fade away again. Even if it took decades, he would preserve it.

  Lauren saw his expression and offered a small smile. “Cornelius, you’re really not slow. If you feel drained, just go brew some tea with Weak Tree leaves. It helps restore spiritual and mental energy.”

  Cornelius nodded thoughtfully—then suddenly froze.

  “Wait,” he said. “Lauren… what rank are you?”

  Lauren blinked. “Uh…”

  How was she supposed to explain that without sounding like a total show-off?

  Well, she’d be selling talismans soon anyway. No point hiding it.

  She scratched her cheek and said honestly, “I’m a fifth-rank talisman master.”

  Now that she’d successfully reached the Nascent Soul stage, Lauren finally had time to focus on her Talisman practice. At her current pace, it wouldn’t be long before she broke through to sixth rank.

  “Fifth rank?” Cornelius repeated, staring at her like she’d just told him she’d personally rewritten the laws of cultivation.

  She was barely in her twenties.

  When he was in his twenties, he’d been running errands for elders and bragging to his fellow disciples about how he’d finally made second rank.

  And she—this soft-spoken, wide-eyed junior sister—was already a fifth-rank Talisman master?

  And not just any fifth-rank master, but one who was cultivating a lost Talisman technique from tens of thousands of years ago?

  “Junior Sister,” he finally managed, “how did you become a fifth-rank Talisman master in such a short time?”

  Lauren smiled. “Master said my mental power is unusually strong, so I progressed faster.”

  Cornelius nearly choked. Faster? That was the understatement of the century.

  Still, he could only sigh. Some people were born gifted, and others—well, they had to work for it.

  “Alas,” he muttered, rubbing his temples. “All these years, I thought I was the most talented Talisman cultivator in the Thunder Sect. Turns out there’s always someone more gifted waiting to knock you off your pedestal.”

  He gave a rueful chuckle and bowed slightly. “Thank you, for clearing up my confusion.”

  Lauren smiled faintly. “Anytime, Senior Brother.”

  A few days later, she tried reaching out to her teammates, but all of them were still in seclusion. With nothing pressing to do, she decided to head to Hyakka Valley.

  The Valley Master was as she remembered him—hunched over, carefully tending to the rows of spiritual plants that covered the valley floor like an emerald carpet. His hands moved with the patience of centuries, brushing away dust, trimming leaves, murmuring to each root as if it could hear him.

  After she explained her reason for coming, the old man chuckled softly. “You can dig up the entire tree if you want. Each peak has a yearly quota, but no one from Starfell Summit ever comes here except you. Take whatever you need, just don’t damage the roots.”

  “Thank you, Senior,” Lauren said, bowing. “I’ll only take from the dense patches.”

  The old man smiled. “Good. As long as you know what you’re doing.”

  Lauren wasn’t as reckless as Edmund—who would simply scoop up every living thing within reach and leave nothing but bare soil behind.

  She chose her plants carefully, loosening the soil and spacing out her digging so that the surrounding growth could flourish better afterward.

  So while Lauren dug outside, Edmund worked inside.

  In the inner dimension, Edmund had already taken on a humanoid form, making his job easier. Whenever Lauren dug up a plant, he’d immediately replant it in the lush soil of the inner world.

  Three days later, the old man started to get curious.

  She was still digging.