Near Yanwei's cave, someone was watching.
"That brat saw nothing in the room?" the man muttered with a hint of curiosity.
He wasn't standing too close, but his spiritual sense was already sweeping past the stone walls.
Spiritual sense—it was something every cultivator learned to use. A method of perception beyond sight, able to feel things that eyes couldn't detect: presence, intent, traces of energy, and movement. It could slip into places, uncover illusions, or reveal truths left behind.
But it wasn't used lightly. Most cultivators avoided using it without reason. After all, you might accidentally see something you weren't supposed to—offend someone you shouldn't.
But this man was a rank higher than Yanwei. He didn't care if the boy got offended.
He let his spiritual sense brush through the cave carefully, slow and methodical, as if probing for answers.
Then he paused.
"Hm? But that kid… he's just sleeping in there?"
His tone was puzzled.
"Is brat kid half-blind or what? Came all the way here in a panic and couldn't even tell someone was inside?"
A brief silence followed as he scanned again.
"Nothing suspicious at all. Maybe that brat either has bad vision or was too desperate. Maybe hallucinating too."
With that, the man withdrew his spiritual sense, the faint ripple in the air fading like it had never been there.
….
Yanwei, who was still "sleeping" on the cold floor, suddenly opened his eyes.
His gaze was clear—sharp, not groggy in the slightest.
"Did that guy leave already?" he muttered, voice low.
He didn't move immediately. His body remained still, his breathing calm, controlled—like a predator waiting for danger to pass.
Sensing that no one was spying on him anymore, Yanwei let out a quiet sigh.
"Tsk. Being weak is annoying as hell," he muttered. "I can't even do anything against a Rank 2."
His jaw tightened as he sat up slowly, irritation flickering behind his eyes.
He stood up, dusted off his clothes, and adjusted his collar with practiced hands.
"But still… I have to find those materials to break through to Rank 2."
His voice was steady, but beneath it, something simmered—not quite fury, but a sharp, bitter edge.
"Just you wait," he muttered, eyes narrowing. "I'll definitely torture your shitty soul one day."
It wasn't rage that colored his words, but a deep sense of being wronged—of having to swallow pride under pressure he couldn't yet resist.
Though in the end, it didn't matter. For the sake of his ambitions, he would let this kind of humiliation slide—for now.
Yanwei sighed softly, rubbing the back of his neck as his thoughts swirled with the risks ahead.
"But I have to go to the market with only one face," Yanwei said quietly. "There's a big chance I could get ambushed if I buy expensive stuff—stuff necessary for my breakthrough."
He paused, fingers tapping thoughtfully on his arm.
"Although, as a Rank 9, I'd definitely have a good disguise technique… but…"
His expression shifted, weighing pros and cons.
"It would take time to cultivate it, and it's not compatible with the nature of what I have to build for the long run. So even if I had the time to cultivate it, it would still mean I'd need to make another plan for the future."
He then continued, voice steady again.
"Well, I have to go to the market first. See what's going on, rent a cave there, and use the mirror to check if there's a technique compatible with the path I'm building toward."
His eyes flicked toward the cave wall, as if imagining the layers of eyes behind it.
"After all, I'm being monitored here in the sect—this is their domain. But if I rent a cave inside the market, though they could still monitor me, their reach would be more limited."
He gave a light snort.
"That's also why I haven't dared to stay inside the Growth Space for too long, or even use the mirror. I knew someone could spy on me whenever they pleased."
He smiled nonchalantly, as if the weight of his concerns had melted away. Calmly, he began wrapping every piece of his plan into place, tucking it deep into the folds of his mind.
…
The market buzzed with life.
Cries of vendors filled the air, their voices rising and falling in a practiced rhythm that cut through the ambient noise like knives through silk. Cultivators weaved through narrow alleys lined with stalls, their robes fluttering behind them, spiritual artifacts glinting under the fractured sunlight. Incense curled in the air—thick, fragrant, almost choking—as if trying to mask the subtle scent of blood, sweat, and old secrets.
Spiritual beasts in cages growled softly, their eyes tracking every passerby. Some vendors wore practiced smiles, beckoning customers with deals too good to be true, while others sat in silence behind their goods, their stares sharp and unblinking. Every movement felt calculated. Every glance weighed.
Though it was loud, bustling, almost chaotic—there was an edge beneath it all. Like a blade hidden under silk robes. A current of restraint, as though everyone walking these paths understood an unspoken truth: the market was neutral ground, yes—but only until it wasn't.
The chatter was lively, but no one truly laughed.
And when they did, it was quiet. Controlled. Like they were always checking over their shoulder.
Even the air felt heavy. Not humid, not foul—but dense, like it carried too many unspoken things.
Yanwei moved through the crowd with careful steps, his expression calm but detached. Eyes scanning. Ears tuned. He didn't walk like a shopper—he walked like someone slipping through the cracks, unnoticed, unremarkable.
Yet inside, he was alert. This was a place where secrets changed hands as often as coins—and where the wrong question could cost you more than money.
Still, Yanwei wasn't uneasy—just… unaccustomed.
He glanced around, eyes trailing over the vibrant stalls and hurried passersby. The market was bustling, yes—full of movement, noise, color. Laughter rose here and there. Bargains were shouted. Spiritual tools flared softly in the sunlight. Yet despite all the liveliness, there was a weight in the air.
It wasn't dangerous—not openly. It wasn't even quiet.
But the atmosphere felt heavy, like tension buried beneath layers of routine. Like everyone was smiling just enough to seem normal, but not a thread more. As if the vibrance of the place was something maintained, not natural.
Yanwei had seen disorder before. Had seen chaos, violence, the noise of places far more ruthless than this. But the market's strangeness wasn't loud—it was subtle.
Maybe it was the way no one lingered too long in one spot. Or the fact that certain stalls had crowds—but no sound near them. Or maybe it was just the way the air pressed slightly on his skin, as if watching him back.
This wasn't an atmosphere he was used to.
But he moved forward anyway.