**Chapter 3: The Price of Peace and the Roots of Defense**
The butchering of a demonic beast was not a delicate affair; it was an exercise in industrial dismantling.
Under the cold, unforgiving light of the full moon, Lin Mo worked with methodical precision. His small skinning knife, usually reserved for the occasional mortal rabbit that wandered too close to his radishes, was woefully inadequate for the task. The Shadow Cat's hide was tough, akin to hardened leather woven with steel threads. Every cut required significant physical force, and within ten minutes, Lin Mo's iron saber had to be repurposed as a makeshift cleaver to separate the joints.
He didn't mind the labor. In fact, he found a grim sort of meditation in it.
The beast's black blood had a sharp, metallic tang mixed with the scent of rotting leaves. It stained Lin Mo's hands and forearms, but he ignored the griminess. He carefully separated the pelt first. It was ruined in the center where his saber had cleaved the cat's chest, but the flanks and back were intact—a massive swath of midnight-black fur that would serve excellently as a winter cloak or fetch a high price in town.
Next came the claws and fangs. Using the heavy pommel of his saber, Lin Mo cracked the beast's jaw, extracting four canine teeth, each the length of his index finger and glowing with a faint, residual yellow energy. The claws took longer; he had to sever the digits completely and dig the retractile bone-hooks from the muscle tissue.
By the time he finished, the eastern horizon was beginning to bleed a pale, bruised purple. The ambient spiritual energy of the morning was already starting to rise, washing away the stagnant, violent aura the Shadow Cat had brought to the farm.
"Breakfast, Baozi," Lin Mo called softly, wiping his bloody hands on a rag he'd brought from the cabin.
The Earth-Burrowing Hound, who had spent the last three hours watching Lin Mo from the safety of the porch with wide, unblinking eyes, cautiously trotted over. Lin Mo had separated the most tender cuts of the beast's hind legs—dense, dark red meat marbled with black veins of dormant demonic qi.
Baozi sniffed the meat. The ambient demonic energy made him sneeze, but the rich, overpowering scent of raw vitality was too much for his bottomless stomach to resist. He took a tentative bite, then swallowed the chunk whole. A second later, he was tearing into the pile with ravenous enthusiasm.
"Take it easy. That meat is dense. If you eat too much, your meridians will clog," Lin Mo warned, though he knew the hound's unique earth-attribute constitution was incredibly resilient when it came to digestion.
While Baozi ate, Lin Mo carried the valuable parts—the pelt, the fangs, the claws, and a small, hardened sac of bile from the liver—to his shed, packing them into a sturdy wooden crate. The rest of the carcass, the shattered bones and ruined offal, he dragged to the edge of his property. He spent an hour digging a deep hole with his shovel, burying the remains to ensure the scent of blood wouldn't attract other predators from the mountains.
When he finally returned to the cabin, the sun was fully above the horizon.
Lin Mo stripped off his ruined, blood-soaked robes. He stood entirely naked by his water barrel, drawing up bucket after bucket of cold well water, splashing it over his head and shoulders. The freezing water washed away the blood and the stench of the beast.
He looked down at his left forearm. Where the Shadow Cat's claws had torn through flesh and muscle just hours ago, there was only smooth, pale skin. He traced his fingers over the area. There wasn't even a phantom ache. The Immortal Lotus had erased the injury from existence, treating it as a temporary glitch in his otherwise perfect physical state.
"Endless vitality," Lin Mo murmured, a small smile playing on his lips. "It really is the ultimate cheat."
He dried off, dressed in his spare set of clothes—a slightly rougher gray linen tunic and trousers—and stepped back out to survey his farm.
The adrenaline of the night had fully faded, leaving him in a state of calm clarity. The wooden fence near the chicken coop was in splinters, a glaring vulnerability. He walked over, picking up the broken pieces of wood.
*[Carpentry proficiency +1]* The notification chimed softly in his mind as he began to assess the damage. He had spent hours in the past repairing his cabin, and the system had dutifully tracked it. He fetched his tools—a simple handsaw, a hammer, and a box of iron nails—and spent the next two hours cutting fresh planks from a pile of seasoned wood he kept behind the shed, measuring, cutting, and nailing them into place.
By the time the sun reached its mid-morning peak, the fence was whole again. It wasn't beautiful—the new planks were a lighter shade than the weathered older ones—but it was sturdy.
*[Carpentry proficiency +1]*
*[Carpentry: Beginner (45/100)]*
Lin Mo stretched his back. The physical exertion felt good. It kept him grounded.
He walked over to his Golden Jade Spirit Rice field. The stalks were heavy, bowing under the weight of the plump, glowing grains. They had turned from a vibrant green to a rich, luminous gold over the past few days.
"It's time," Lin Mo said, his eyes crinkling in satisfaction.
Harvesting spirit rice was a delicate operation. If cut improperly, the residual spiritual energy in the stalks would leak out, causing the grains to lose their potency and turn into slightly nutritious mortal rice within hours. A high-level cultivator would simply use a wind-attribute spell to gently slice the stalks and lift the grains into a storage ring.
Lin Mo, armed only with infinite patience and a sickle, had to do it the hard way.
He stepped into the field, the mud squelching beneath his boots. He grasped a bundle of stalks with his left hand, feeling the faint, warm pulse of wood-qi within them. With his right hand, he brought the curved blade of the sickle down.
He didn't just hack at it. He synchronized his breathing with the *Azure Wood Breathing Art*. As the metal blade touched the stalks, he channeled a minuscule amount of his own wood-qi into the sickle, creating a temporary seal as the metal severed the plant.
*Snick.*
The stalks came free cleanly. The spiritual glow of the grains remained vibrant and contained.
It was agonizingly slow work. He moved row by row, bending, cutting, sealing, and laying the harvested bundles carefully into large woven baskets. Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes. His lower back, despite the constant healing of the Lotus, began to throb with a dull, persistent ache from the repetitive bending.
But Lin Mo didn't stop. He found a rhythm. The *Azure Wood Breathing Art* flowed continuously, his meager dantian emptying and refilling at a steady pace.
*[Farming proficiency +1]*
*[Azure Wood Breathing Art proficiency +1]*
*[Farming proficiency +1]*
The notifications provided a steady beat to his labor. By the time the sun began its descent in the late afternoon, the two-acre field was completely cleared. Ten massive woven baskets, overflowing with golden spirit rice, sat at the edge of the dirt.
Lin Mo sat heavily on the ground, leaning against one of the baskets. He was exhausted, but it was a good, clean exhaustion. The harvest was bountiful. This was his rent for the magistrate, his food for the year, and his primary source of income.
He looked over at the porch. Baozi was completely immobilized, lying on his back with his four paws sticking straight up into the air. His stomach was visibly distended, tight as a drum. Occasional, faint black sparks of demonic qi crackled around his nose as he snored loudly. He was digesting the heavy meat, entering a minor evolutionary sleep.
"Sleep well, glutton," Lin Mo chuckled.
He spent the next hour threshing the rice, using a heavy wooden flail to separate the golden grains from the stalks. He then used a wide, flat basket to winnow the harvest, tossing the grains into the air and letting the evening breeze carry away the lighter chaff.
When it was done, he had exactly four hundred pounds of pure, unadulterated Golden Jade Spirit Rice. It was a perfect yield, a testament to his painstaking daily application of the *Spring Breeze Drizzle Art*.
He packed two hundred pounds into thick canvas sacks—the magistrate's tax. The remaining two hundred pounds he loaded onto his wooden cart, alongside the crate containing the Shadow Cat parts.
Baozi was out of commission, utterly useless for draft work today. Lin Mo didn't mind. He grabbed the wooden handles of the cart himself. With his recently improved physical strength, hauling a few hundred pounds of weight was manageable, if slightly tedious.
"To the market," he announced to the empty farm, and began the long walk toward Clear Water Town.
The atmosphere in Clear Water Town in the late afternoon was different from the morning. The hawkers were louder, trying to clear their daily stock. The taverns were beginning to fill with returning mercenaries and loose cultivators, their voices boisterous, recounting near-death experiences and boasting of their meager loots.
Lin Mo navigated the cart through the crowded, uneven cobblestone streets. He didn't head toward Uncle Wang's vegetable stall. Today, he was dealing in cultivator goods.
He pushed his heavy cart toward the center of the town, an area clearly demarcated by a sudden shift in architecture. The wooden stalls gave way to sturdy stone buildings with tiled roofs and heavy iron doors. The air here smelled less of sewage and more of incense, refined medicinal herbs, and hot metal.
His first stop was the Magistrate's Tax Office, a cold, imposing building guarded by two bored-looking cultivators in the dark blue robes of the Azure Mist Sect's outer disciples. They were merely Qi Condensation Level 4, placed here as a formality, but to the mortal townspeople, they were gods.
Lin Mo waited in line behind a few other loose cultivators, his face impassive. When it was his turn, he hauled the heavy sacks of spirit rice onto the weighing scale.
The clerk behind the counter, a pinched-faced mortal with a monocle, inspected the rice. He picked up a handful, letting the glowing grains slip through his fingers.
"Golden Jade Spirit Rice. Excellent quality. Full spiritual retention," the clerk noted, his voice flat. He marked a ledger. "Two hundred pounds. Your rent for the outer eastern plots is paid for the next twelve months, Lin Mo."
Lin Mo offered a polite nod, taking the small jade token that served as his receipt. No words were wasted. He stepped back out into the bustling street, feeling a significant weight lift from his shoulders. His home was secure for another year.
Now, for the profits.
He guided his cart toward a shop called the "Myriad Treasures Pavilion." It was a grandiose name for a moderately sized establishment that dealt in low-level alchemical ingredients and beast parts. It was run by a shrewd merchant named Jin, a man known for his silver tongue and ruthless lowballing.
Lin Mo hauled his wooden crate inside. The shop was dimly lit, the walls lined with glass jars containing preserved eyeballs, dried roots, and strange, pulsing organs. The air smelled strongly of formaldehyde and dried blood.
Merchant Jin was behind the counter, a portly man in fine silk robes, polishing a set of brass scales. He looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly as he recognized Lin Mo.
"Ah, Farmer Lin. I don't buy mortal cabbages here, you know that," Jin sneered mildly, not bothering to stop polishing.
Lin Mo didn't react to the slight. He lifted the crate onto the counter and flipped the latch open. "I'm not here to sell cabbages, Shopkeeper Jin."
Jin sighed dramatically and looked into the crate. His bored expression vanished instantly, replaced by a sharp, calculating gleam. He reached in, pulling out the massive, folded midnight-black pelt.
"A Shadow Cat," Jin murmured, running a hand over the fur. "And not a normal one. The fur density... the residual qi... this is from a mutant. Rank 1 Peak, at least."
He inspected the fangs and the claws, noting the heavy damage to the chest area of the pelt. "A pity about the hole in the center. Ruined its value as a seamless cloak. Still, the material is solid. And the claws are pristine. Where did a Qi Condensation Level 2 farmer like you stumble upon the corpse of a Rank 1 Peak beast?"
"It stumbled onto my farm," Lin Mo replied plainly. "I had to defend my chickens."
Jin barked a short, incredulous laugh. "Defend your chickens. Right. A Level 2 cultivator killed a mutant Shadow Cat that recently slaughtered a squad of mercenaries in the weeping willow basin. You expect me to believe that?"
"I don't expect you to believe anything, Shopkeeper Jin. I expect you to evaluate the goods," Lin Mo said, his voice calm, polite, and utterly unyielding.
Jin stared at him for a long moment, trying to gauge if the young man was a fool or hiding some terrifying secret. Finding nothing but a placid, unbothered expression, Jin clicked his tongue.
"Fine. I don't care if you stole it from a dying elder. The goods are real." Jin pulled an abacus toward him, his fingers flying over the beads. "The pelt is damaged. The claws are good for low-grade weapon forging. The fangs have decent earth-attribute resonance. The bile sac is small but pure. I'll give you... three low-grade Spirit Stones for the lot."
Lin Mo leaned against the counter. In his past life, he had audited the accounts of multi-million dollar logistics companies. He knew when someone was trying to skim off the top.
"Shopkeeper Jin, a standard Shadow Cat pelt goes for two Spirit Stones. This is a mutant; even damaged, the sheer size yields enough material for two bracers and a vest. The fangs are glowing, indicating a near-breakthrough state, making them prime alchemy material. Three stones is an insult to both of us. Let's not waste time. Seven Spirit Stones."
Jin scoffed, slapping the counter. "Seven? Are you mad? I have to process the pelt, find a buyer for the fangs..."
"Six Spirit Stones and fifty silver coins," Lin Mo countered smoothly. "And I'll throw in a basket of fresh spirit rice, unweighed, for your personal table."
Jin paused. Good quality spirit rice was expensive, and Lin Mo's crops were notoriously excellent. He weighed the options, his eyes darting between the crate and Lin Mo's unblinking stare.
"Five Spirit Stones. Final offer. Take it or take your rotting cat elsewhere," Jin said, crossing his arms.
"Six Spirit Stones. No rice," Lin Mo replied, moving to close the crate.
"Five Stones and fifty silver!" Jin hastily grabbed the lid to keep it open.
"Deal," Lin Mo said instantly, releasing the lid.
Jin blinked, realizing he had just negotiated himself *up* from his 'final' offer. He grumbled something foul under his breath, but he opened his strongbox and pulled out five glowing, semi-translucent hexagonal crystals—low-grade Spirit Stones—along with a heavy pouch of fifty silver coins.
Lin Mo accepted the payment, the cool energy of the Spirit Stones thrumming against his palm. Five Spirit Stones was a fortune for a loose cultivator of his level. Old Man Xu had died trying to find an herb worth half that amount.
"Pleasure doing business with you, Shopkeeper Jin," Lin Mo said, offering a slight bow before taking his empty crate and leaving the shop.
With wealth in his pocket, Lin Mo faced a choice. He could buy a low-grade artifact sword, or perhaps some Qi-gathering pills to speed up his cultivation.
He immediately dismissed both ideas. Pills left toxic impurities in the body over time, and an artifact sword would draw unwanted attention. He didn't want to fight faster; he wanted to *not* fight at all.
He needed security. The Shadow Cat had breached his fence too easily. He needed a warning system, a barrier to protect his sanctuary.
He wheeled his cart toward the northern edge of the market district, a quieter street lined with specialty shops. He stopped in front of a small, dusty storefront with a faded wooden sign that read: *Silent Peak Array Formations*.
A small silver bell chimed as Lin Mo pushed the door open. The interior was chaotic. Scrolls were piled haphazardly on tables, wooden stakes carved with intricate runes lay in heaps on the floor, and the air was thick with the smell of burnt incense and ozone.
Sitting cross-legged on a mat in the center of the room was a middle-aged woman. Her hair was a tangled mess of gray and black, and her eyes were dark with heavy bags. She was a Qi Condensation Level 7 cultivator, far stronger than anyone Lin Mo usually interacted with. She was currently staring intently at a floating piece of jade, muttering rapidly under her breath.
"Excuse me, Senior," Lin Mo said quietly.
The woman didn't look up. "If you want a combat array, go to the sect pavilion. If you want an illusion array to cheat at dice, get out. I only sell practical formations."
"I need a practical formation," Lin Mo replied. "A defensive ward for a small farm. Two acres. Something that repels low-tier beasts and alerts me if the perimeter is breached."
The woman finally snapped her fingers, dispelling the floating jade. She looked Lin Mo up and down. "A farmer. You want a *Minor Wood-Spirit Ward*. It ties into the ambient wood qi of your crops. Keeps out anything below Rank 1 Peak, and rings like a bell in your head if something breaks through. But it requires four node-stakes and a central array disc."
"How much?" Lin Mo asked.
"To buy a pre-made set? Ten Spirit Stones. I have to carve the nodes myself, and my time is expensive," she said, already turning back to her mat.
Lin Mo frowned. Ten stones was out of his budget. "And the manual to learn it myself?"
The array master laughed, a dry, rasping sound. "Learn it yourself? Boy, array making requires divine sense, precise qi control, and an understanding of natural laws. You are Level 2. Your divine sense couldn't push a feather across a table. You'll give yourself a qi-deviation trying to carve a single rune."
"I am a patient man," Lin Mo said calmly. "How much for the manual and a set of blank node-stakes?"
The woman stared at him, seeing the stubborn set of his jaw. She sighed, standing up and dusting off her robes. "Fools. All of you loose cultivators are fools trying to reach the heavens on a broken ladder."
She walked over to a cluttered shelf, pulling down a thick, heavy tome bound in tough leather, and grabbed a bundle of four polished, uncarved wooden stakes.
"The manual is *Fundamentals of Earth and Wood Formations*. It covers the basic theory, the rune-carving techniques, and the layout for the Minor Ward. Three Spirit Stones for the book, one Stone for the stakes. Four total. No bargaining."
Lin Mo didn't hesitate. He pulled out four of the precious Spirit Stones he had just earned and placed them on the counter. The woman took them, shaking her head.
"Don't come crying to me when you fry your meridians," she warned as she handed over the heavy book and the wood.
"I'll be careful, Senior. Thank you," Lin Mo said, carefully packing the items into his cart.
The sun was a sliver of red on the horizon by the time Lin Mo returned to his farm. The air was cool, the crickets were starting their evening song, and the scent of freshly harvested earth lingered in the air.
Baozi was still asleep under the porch, his breathing deep and steady. The chickens were safely locked in their coop.
Lin Mo didn't rest. He unhitched the cart, carried his new purchases into the cabin, and lit a small oil lamp on his wooden table. He cooked a quick meal of the remaining spirit rice and some boiled greens, eating mechanically while he opened the *Fundamentals of Earth and Wood Formations*.
The array master hadn't lied. The manual was incredibly dense. It wasn't just a matter of drawing lines on wood; it required channeling spiritual qi through a carving tool while maintaining a specific mental image, creating a circuit that could capture and direct ambient heaven-and-earth energy.
"A complete nightmare," Lin Mo muttered, turning a page filled with complex, overlapping geometric diagrams.
He loved it.
This was a skill that couldn't be rushed. It required meticulous attention to detail, endless repetition, and a complete lack of ego. It was exactly the kind of thing he excelled at.
He took his small skinning knife—he would have to buy a proper carving tool later, but this would do for practice—and picked up one of the blank wooden stakes. He found the diagram for the simplest component of the ward: the *Qi-Gathering Node*.
He closed his eyes, centering himself. He drew upon his meager dantian, guiding a thread of wood-qi down his arm and into the tip of the knife. He pressed the blade into the polished wood.
The moment the qi-infused metal touched the wood, resistance flared. The ambient energy in the room pushed back against his forced attempt to mold it. His mind felt as if it was being squeezed in a vice. The mental strain of holding the visualization while physically carving was immense.
He managed to trace half of the first rune before his focus slipped.
*Crack.*
The wooden stake splintered slightly at the carving point, the chaotic release of uncontrolled qi burning a black scorch mark into the wood. A sharp pain shot up Lin Mo's arm, and his head throbbed violently. He gasped, dropping the knife.
*This* was why low-level cultivators didn't study arrays. The backlash from a simple mistake was enough to cause severe headaches and meridian damage.
But as Lin Mo sat there, clutching his head, the Immortal Lotus spun.
A gentle wave of pearlescent light washed over his mind. The throbbing headache vanished like smoke in a strong wind. The strained pathways in his meridians were instantly soothed and fortified. Within seconds, he was perfectly fine. Better than fine. His mind felt sharp, clear, and unburdened.
A blue screen flickered to life.
**[Array Formations proficiency +1]**
**[Array Formations: Novice (1/100)]**
Lin Mo let out a breathy laugh, picking up the skinning knife again. The system had registered the attempt. The knowledge of *why* he failed was now permanently etched into his brain. He would never make that exact mistake with the qi-flow again.
He looked at the scorch mark on the stake, adjusted his grip, and channeled his qi once more.
He failed again. And again. And again.
He spent the entire night at the table. He burned through his entire reservoir of spiritual qi a dozen times over. The mental fatigue should have rendered him comatose, driving him to the brink of insanity. Every failure resulted in a localized burst of chaotic energy that shocked his hands and rattled his brain.
And every single time, the Immortal Lotus caught him. It acted as an infinite safety net, healing his mind, restoring his vitality, and allowing him to push past the biological limits that hindered every other array master in the world.
By the time the first light of dawn crept through his window, Lin Mo was surrounded by wood shavings. The wooden stake in his hand was covered in scorch marks and shallow gouges, but in the center, glowing with a faint, steady green light, was a perfectly carved *Qi-Gathering Node*.
Lin Mo set the knife down, his hands steady despite twelve hours of agonizing mental labor.
**[Array Formations proficiency +15]**
**[Array Formations: Novice (16/100)]**
"One down," Lin Mo whispered to the empty room, a profound sense of accomplishment washing over him. "Only three more, and the central disc to go."
He stood up, stretching his perfectly healthy body. He hadn't slept a wink, yet he felt entirely energized. He walked out onto his porch to greet the new day.
His farm lay before him, peaceful and quiet. The freshly harvested field was bare dirt, waiting to be tilled again. Baozi was still asleep, a low, rhythmic snore vibrating from under the floorboards.
Lin Mo breathed in the cool morning air. He didn't have the power to split mountains or dry oceans. He couldn't fly on a sword or summon thunder from the heavens. He was just a Level 2 cultivator on a small patch of rented land.
But as he looked at the perfectly carved rune glowing faintly in his hand, and felt the infinite, unyielding pulse of the Lotus in his soul, Lin Mo knew one thing for certain.
He was building an impenetrable fortress, one excruciatingly slow, absolutely permanent step at a time. And he had all the time in the world to finish it.
He walked over to the cleared dirt patch behind his cabin, drew his heavy iron saber, and fell into the horse stance.
"First stance. Splitting the Peak," he murmured, and began his morning swings.