Two days later at dawn.
The forest clearing was alive with the hustle and bustle of a thriving marketplace. Low-stage cultivators stood behind their stalls, hawking wares to the steady stream of visitors. Camps were scattered among the trees, their makeshift tents fluttering in the breeze. Today was the day—the infamous Thousand Illusions Labyrinth secret realm was set to open, and cultivators from all corners of the Tianxu Continent had gathered for the occasion.
The atmosphere was electric, a mix of excitement and tension. Some cultivators had set up shops to take advantage of the crowd, their stalls brimming with alchemy pills, potions, spiritual weapons, and artifacts. The scent of spirit beast meat wafted through the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the forest. It was like a cultivation-themed festival, complete with overpriced snacks and questionable merchandise.
Amid the chaos, a young man of about sixteen strolled through the crowd. His black robe was simple but elegant, with intricate designs near the wide sleeves that half-covered his slender hands. His youthful face had a soft, jade-like feature, and his deep, piercing eyes scanned the area with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. People couldn't help but stare—his ethereal beauty was hard to ignore.
This, of course, was none other than Mo Yichen.
Two days ago, he had carved those low-grade talisman techniques into his soul and spent the entire time meditating. When he finally woke up, he'd made a run for the location Jing Yu had given him. Now, standing in the middle of the bustling marketplace, he couldn't help but feel a sense of apprehension. This looks like an inter-school festival!
His eyes wandered over the stalls selling alchemy pills and potions. Thanks to his storage ring, he already had a decent supply, so he moved on without a second glance. Next, his gaze landed on the stalls selling spiritual weapons and artifacts. A slight smile tugged at his lips as he made his way to a relatively isolated shop tucked away from the main crowd.
As he approached the shop, he couldn't help but notice the shopkeeper—a grizzled old man with a white beard. The man was hunched over a table, meticulously arranging a set of talismans. Mo Yichen's eyes lit up.
Mo Yichen pointed to a stack of sage green talismans on the stall. "How much are these?" he asked, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.
The old shopkeeper's face lit up. "Ah, young master, you have a good eye! These are low-grade talismans, imbued with both fire and ice attributes. Each one is ten taels of gold." He paused, gauging Mo Yichen's reaction with the practiced skill of a seasoned salesman.
Mo Yichen nodded, his expression as serene as a still lake. "Do you have mid or high-grade charms too?"
The old man's eyes widened, and he hurriedly replied, "Yes, yes! I have mid-grade fire attribute charms here. But high-grade charms…" He shook his head, his voice tinged with regret. "Those are as rare as a humble cultivator. They're mostly sold in auctions."
He rummaged through a shelf and pulled out a small box, opening it to reveal six faded yellow talismans. "These are mid-grade charms. Each one is 130 gold taels."
Mo Yichen nodded again, his face giving nothing away. "What about blank talisman papers? Do you sell those too?"
The old man blinked, caught off guard. "...Blank talisman papers?" he repeated.
"Yes," Mo Yichen replied, his tone as calm as ever. "Blank talisman papers."
The old man hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Yes, young master, I do have blank talisman papers. They're cheaper if you buy in bulk."
Mo Yichen raised an eyebrow. "Show me."
The old man scurried to a large cupboard and pulled out a stack of blank white papers, each cut into neat rectangles. "Here they are. I have 351 papers in total, all made from low-grade spirit grass."
Mo Yichen's eyes scanned the stack. "How much for all of them?"
The old man wiped a bead of cold sweat from his forehead. "Well, generally, 500 blank talisman papers made of low-grade spirit grass cost five silver taels. But since I only have 351…"
"I'll take them all," Mo Yichen interrupted, pulling out a single gold tael from a familiar golden storage pouch. His lips twitched into a thin line as he looked at the pouch—the same one Yan Yeqing had used to give him the Heavenly Nectar Peach. Of course, he thought bitterly.
As he handed over the gold tael, a rich, familiar voice came from behind him, smooth and deep. "Did you perhaps take a liking to that storage pouch?"
Mo Yichen froze, his hand hovering mid-air. He didn't need to turn around to know who it was. That voice, that tone, that... it could only belong to one person.
Yan Yeqing.
A surge of fury bubbled up in Mo Yichen's stomach, threatening to spill over like a pot of boiling water. The audacity! he thought, his jaw tightening as he stiffly bent over to collect the stack of blank talisman papers. He shoved them into his storage bag with more force than necessary, as if the papers themselves had personally offended him.
After taking ten deep breaths (and silently counting to a hundred in his head), he finally turned around, his eyes colliding with Yan Yeqing's deep, piercing gaze.
There he stood, in all his infuriating glory, draped in his usual light blue silk robe with wide sleeves. The intricate carvings along the hems and shoulders shimmered faintly as if mocking Mo Yichen's far simpler attire. Yan Yeqing's posture was as straight and imposing as ever, exuding a formidable yet mysterious aura that made Mo Yichen want to punch him even more.
Mo Yichen's fists clenched, crimson qi enveloping his pale, slender fingers as he prepared for an attack. His eyes burned with a mix of fury and frustration, but Yan Yeqing's expression remained unbothered. In fact, there was a flicker of something in those light eyes—amusement, perhaps?—as if he could read Mo Yichen's thoughts like an open book.
After what felt like an eternity of trying to calm himself (and failing miserably), Mo Yichen finally managed to speak through gritted teeth. "What. Do. You. Want?" Each word was a struggle, like pulling teeth from a particularly stubborn dragon.
Yan Yeqing's lips curved into a faint smile, the kind that made Mo Yichen's blood boil even more. "Are you sure you want to talk here?" he asked, his tone casual as he gestured to the bustling marketplace around them.
Mo Yichen glanced around. The crowd was thick with cultivators haggling over pills, weapons, and spirit beast meat. A few curious onlookers were already casting glances their way, no doubt drawn by the tension crackling between the two.
"Fine," Mo Yichen snapped, his voice low but laced with venom. "Come with me," he strode forward with wide, purposeful steps, trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and Yan Yeqing. But no matter how fast he walked, Yan Yeqing was always just a breath away, his presence looming like a shadow that refused to be shaken. It was as if the man had mastered the art of being annoyingly close without actually touching him.
Mo Yichen gritted his teeth, his irritation growing with every step. Why does he have to be so… so… infuriatingly tall and fast? he thought, resisting the urge to turn around and yell.
Finally, he stopped at a small counter manned by an elderly man. "Are there any camps available?" Mo Yichen asked, his voice sharp enough to make the old man flinch.
"Y-yes, yes, there are!" the man stammered, clearly intimidated. "Each camp costs one gold tael."
Without hesitation, Mo Yichen slapped a gold tael onto the table, his movements quick and impatient. The old man handed him a small token with the number 34 engraved on it. Mo Yichen was about to snatch it and leave, only to find Yan Yeqing already holding the token, his expression as calm as ever.
"After you," Yan Yeqing said, gesturing toward the camps with a faint smile.
Mo Yichen's eye twitched. This guy… He trailed behind Yan Yeqing, his face flushed with fury. Every step felt like a battle, and by the time they reached the camp, Mo Yichen was ready to explode.
The camp was surprisingly well-equipped bur pretty small for something that cost one gold tael. A small jade bed sat in one corner, accompanied by a table and two chairs. There was even enough space to walk around without bumping into anything.
But Mo Yichen wasn't in the mood to appreciate or complain about the accommodations. Before Yan Yeqing could even sit down, Mo Yichen lunged at him, his fist glowing with crimson qi. The air crackled with energy as he aimed a punch straight at Yan Yeqing's annoyingly perfect face.
In a blink of an eye, Yan Yeqing dodged the attack, his movements so fluid it was almost insulting. Before Mo Yichen could react, his arm was caught in a firm hold, Yan Yeqing's grip unyielding.
A tense moment passed as Yan Yeqing's dark, inscrutable eyes locked with Mo Yichen's burning ones. Slowly, Yan Yeqing loosened his grip, but his fingers lingered, sliding along Mo Yichen's pale, slender wrist until they brushed against the black jade bangle.
Mo Yichen's face flushed with a mix of fury and embarrassment. This is so bizarre! he thought, his mind racing. How can this man just… force something like this on another man? Isn't this kind of thing supposed to be for women? Or at least consensual!?
Yan Yeqing, seemingly oblivious to Mo Yichen's internal meltdown, spoke smoothly, his face as expressionless as a stone statue. "I suppose you already know its purpose, don't you?" He released Mo Yichen's wrist and took a seat in one of the chairs, his movements unhurried and deliberate.
Mo Yichen didn't respond, his chest rising and falling with deep, controlled breaths as he tried to keep his temper in check.
Yan Yeqing continued, his voice calm but carrying an edge of finality. "If I die, you perish."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence. The camp fell silent, the only sound being Mo Yichen's heavy breathing as he processed the gravity of the situation.
After what felt like an eternity of staring into Yan Yeqing's deep, unreadable eyes, Mo Yichen finally found his voice. "...Why did you do this?" he asked, his tone low and strained. "What is your purpose?"
Yan Yeqing didn't answer immediately. Instead, he studied Mo Yichen with the intensity of a predator sizing up its prey. Finally, he spoke, his voice steady and matter-of-fact. "You're an alchemist."
It wasn't a question—it was a statement, delivered with such certainty that it caught Mo Yichen completely off guard.
"W-what are you talking about?" Mo Yichen stammered, his voice cracking slightly. "Can't you see I'm clearly a martial artist!" He tried to sound confident, but his soul trembled at the accusation. How the hell does he know? he thought, panic rising. I haven't concocted any pills or done anything remotely alchemist-like since I got here! How could he possibly—?
Yan Yeqing's piercing gaze didn't waver. "I can feel your soul," he said, his tone cold and unyielding. "It's so pure and strong that I've never felt anything like it before. You're clearly an alchemist."