I regarded Andrew calmly. “We never actually discussed the final price. What do I owe you?”

  His smile sharpened, a merchant’s instinct glittering in his eyes.

  “The total comes to 100,807 low-grade spirit stones. In light of our staff’s… discourtesy, I will round it down to an even 100,000.”

  A sensible gesture. Reputation was worth more than a few spirit stones.

  “You’re most generous,” I replied. “While I’m here, I would also like a selection of your highest-quality weapons. A variety — blades, spears, perhaps defensive artefacts.”

  Andrew’s composure slipped for a fraction of a second.

  “That would bring the total to 200,000 low-grade spirit stones.”

  I nodded. “Do you accept medium-grade stones?”

  His eagerness was almost indecent. “Naturally.”

  I withdrew twenty medium-grade spirit stones — each equivalent to ten thousand low-grade stones — and placed them on the counter.

  For an instant, naked greed flared in his gaze.

  Then calculation.

  Two centuries in trade had taught him restraint. Anyone spending that amount so casually either possessed formidable backing or concealed formidable power. Neither category was worth provoking.

  Before leaving, I turned to the young attendant.

  “I never received your name.”

  She stiffened. Andrew placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

  She bowed deeply, hand over heart. “This junior is called Amber.”

  “Amber,” I repeated. “See that she is treated well, Manager Andrew. I will be making purchases regularly.”

  His smile brightened. “The Pavilion looks forward to your patronage.”

  With a final nod — and the newly gifted storage ring secured — I departed.

  The streets were livelier now.

  Food vendors filled the air with steam and spice. I followed my nose to a dumpling stall where an elderly woman folded wrappers with precise, practised fingers. The scent was extraordinary — rich broth, ginger, and something subtly sweet.

  She reminded me painfully of Nina from my old life — the takeaway cook who used to press leftovers into my hands at closing.

  “I’ll take five portions,” I said.

  Her brows rose but she packed them carefully into bamboo containers.

  “That will be fifty silver.”

  I placed two low-grade spirit stones on her table. “I don’t carry silver. Will this suffice?”

  Her hands trembled. “Of course, esteemed immortal.”

  “I’ll return,” I said with a small smile. “These smell exceptional.”

  She looked close to tears.

  I continued through the market, purchasing additional food — cooked dishes, rice, preserved vegetables. Mortal meals first. Saint-realm meat could wait until their bodies were ready.

  It was then I noticed them.

  The expelled Pavilion women.

  They had acquired company — three men whose attire screamed hired muscle. Broad shoulders, ostentatious weapons, the cultivated sneer of petty authority.

  I suppressed a smile.

  How predictable.

  As I approached the city gate, I slipped a few spirit stones into the palm of the mortal guard who had admitted me earlier.

  “I’m about to entertain some idiots who believe they can rob me,” I murmured. “Do not interfere until they are on the ground.”

  He hesitated — then nodded subtly.

  A mile beyond the walls, shrill voices pierced the quiet.

  “Hey, old woman! Hand over everything you bought. Do that and we might let you live.”

  I turned slowly, posture slightly stooped — the harmless widow.

  Six of them. Three women. Three men. All Qi Refining.

  “Do you truly believe,” I asked mildly, “that six Qi Refining worms can kill me?”

  One thug snarled. “Hand it over now or we’ll feed you to the wolves.”

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  My gaze cooled.

  “Bring it.”

  They attacked in a crude star formation — three men advancing, women covering the flanks.

  Against my former Foundation Establishment self, it might have posed inconvenience.

  Against a Great Emperor?

  It was theatre.

  The first blade slashed for the back of my legs. I stepped forward by a hair’s breadth. Steel kissed air.

  The other two joined in, swinging wildly.

  Left.

  Right.

  Back.

  Half-step pivot.

  Each strike missed by a centimetre.

  With a casual tap of my Cane of Origin, I deflected all three blades simultaneously. They tore free from their owners’ grips and embedded themselves neatly in the dirt behind the women.

  I did not release any visible aura.

  I didn’t need to.

  “On your knees,” I said softly. “I may not kill you.”

  I let the final word linger.

  They collapsed instantly.

  “Guards! Arrest us! Please!”

  Moments later, mortal guards arrived carrying faintly glowing shackles — suppression restraints, likely Pavilion-supplied. The six were bound and dragged upright.

  Relief flooded their faces.

  Prison was preferable to death.

  As they were marched away, I flicked a pebble with a strand of controlled force. It struck the lead thug’s heel.

  All six toppled in a tangle of limbs.

  The guards burst into laughter, thoroughly enjoying the humiliation of local troublemakers who had long plagued the town.

  I adjusted my sleeve, gathered my parcels, and resumed my walk.

  Mortal food in one hand.

  Two hundred thousand spirit stones lighter.

  Six fewer nuisances in circulation.

  All before lunch.

  Raising children, it seemed, would not lack entertainment.

  By the time I returned to the pagoda, nearly two hours had passed.

  I arranged the food neatly across the long dining table in the main hall — bamboo boxes of dumplings, steaming rice, braised vegetables, simple soups. With a casual sweep of my hand, I layered a preservation seal over the containers. Spiritual light flickered briefly, then settled into invisibility.

  The aroma remained warm and fresh, suspended in perfect stasis.

  Satisfied, I turned my attention to the seeds.

  The third mountain loomed behind the main pagoda complex — terraced, lush, and already threaded with faint spirit veins.

  “System,” I asked, ascending toward the herb fields, “is there a specific location I should plant these? I assume the peak is… excessive.”

  Ding-Ding-Ding

  Host is correct.

  Base-tier celestial soil at the mountain’s foundation is optimal for current herbs.

  Peak soil is Origin Soil — the first soil formed at the dawn of existence.

  Any mortal herb planted there would evolve to Emperor-grade quality.

  I paused.

  “So if I planted wormwood at the peak…?”

  It would become Emperor-grade wormwood.

  I exhaled slowly.

  That was absurdly useful.

  I descended to the lower terraces and began planting with deliberate care. Even the so-called “regular” celestial soil thrummed with vitality far beyond anything Falling Star City had likely seen. Each seed sank eagerly into the earth, drinking in ambient Qi.

  Within minutes, faint sprouts were already visible.

  These children wouldn’t just have resources.

  They would have inevitability.

  As I brushed soil from my hands, another thought surfaced.

  “So, System. Alchemy. How do I begin?”

  Ding-Ding-Ding

  Host, please access the central lift and request transport to the Alchemy Hall.

  At the rear of the hall are the Heavenly Flames.

  All future alchemists may claim one and if it's gone can claim it, upon refresh every 100 years.

  Host is advised to select Flame Number One — the Primordial Flame.

  It is the origin of all flames.

  It will not regenerate.

  I did not hesitate.

  The lift hummed softly as it carried me upward. When the doors opened, the Alchemy Hall revealed itself — vast, circular, lined with engraved formation arrays. The air was dense with refined spiritual essence.

  At the far wall hovered a series of suspended spheres — each containing a different flame.

  Crimson. Azure. Violet. White-gold. Black-gold.

  They roared silently within their prisons, twisting like living entities seeking release.

  At the centre of the lineup burned a flame unlike the rest.

  It was not merely bright — it was foundational. Its colour shifted subtly between gold, pale white, and the faintest hue of dawnlight. It did not rage.

  It endured.

  I approached and placed my hand upon the sphere.

  Heat radiated outward — not scorching, but ancient. Familiar.

  The sphere dissolved.

  The flame coiled outward like a serpent of light, wrapping around my wrist, tracing the meridians of my arm. There was no resistance — only recognition.

  It sank into me.

  Through skin. Through flesh. Through meridians.

  Down into my dantian.

  Where it settled.

  Not as a tool.

  As a sovereign.

  For a moment — perhaps seconds, perhaps an eternity — my consciousness expanded alongside it. I glimpsed fire at the dawn of civilization. Flames warming beasts and early humans. Flames splitting, differentiating, evolving into every Heavenly Fire recorded in legend.

  When I opened my eyes, the hall felt… smaller.

  The inheritance of alchemy surged through my mind — lifetimes of refinement, failed batches, perfected ratios, instinctive timing. Sensory calibration so precise it bordered on prophetic.

  I approached the central cauldron.

  It was deep black, polished to a mirror sheen, edged with gold inlays. Around its body danced engraved depictions of mythical beasts — phoenix, qilin, serpent, lion — all circling as if in reverence.

  The Primordial Cauldron.

  I began with something simple.

  Qi Refining Pill.

  One Lily of the Emerald Valley.

  Two pinches of refined wormwood.

  Two hundred millilitres of purified water.

  I added each component at intervals dictated not by memory alone, but by sensation — the way the Qi in the room shifted, the subtle fragrance notes rising and falling, the precise resonance between herb and flame.

  The Primordial Flame ignited within the cauldron without smoke.

  It did not flare violently.

  It spiralled — controlled, deliberate.

  The ingredients dissolved into luminous powder. The flame compressed it rhythmically, shaping, refining, purifying.

  Twelve spheres formed.

  Perfect.

  When I lifted the lid, a rich herbal fragrance burst outward, layered and clean. Each pill gleamed faintly, marked by twelve flawless rings.

  As I lifted one between my fingers, the rings shifted.

  Merged.

  Reconfigured.

  For a fleeting instant, the lines formed the shape of a mythical beast from the cauldron’s engravings.

  “System,” I murmured, examining it. “Explain.”

  Ding-Ding-Ding

  Host is utilising the Primordial Cauldron once wielded by the God of Support.

  Each pill is infused with a trace essence of primordial beasts.

  Effects:

  — Reinforces meridians

  — Fortifies skeletal structure

  — Solidifies foundation

  — Enhances breakthrough probability

  — Contains 0% pill toxin

  These pills may be consumed repeatedly without accumulation risk.

  I stared at the twelve pills.

  Zero pill toxin.

  In cultivation doctrine, pill toxin accumulation was the limiting factor in rapid advancement. Even elite disciples had to moderate intake or risk unstable foundations.

  This eliminated the constraint entirely.

  I leaned back slightly, staring at the cauldron.

  “This isn’t assistance,” I muttered. “It’s structural dominance.”

  Outside, somewhere within the pagoda grounds, I could sense faint fluctuations from the children — curiosity, nervousness, hope.

  I rolled one pill between my fingers.

  They would start as mortals.

  But not for long.

  Breakfast first.

  Then—

  Entering the path