**Chapter 5: The Faceless Merchant and the Whispering Canyon**
The three days leading up to the Ghost Market were an exercise in extreme, agonizing restraint.
Lu Yuan possessed an arsenal capable of turning a small mountain into a crater, but to the outside world, he had to remain the pathetic, ailing farmer at the second level of Qi Condensation. He could not afford to leak a single trace of his newfound confidence or the residual fire-attribute Qi that clung to his clothes from the mass production of the talismans.
The morning after his marathon crafting session, Lu Yuan stood in the center of his hut, staring at the intimidating stacks of *Basic Fireball Talismans*. He needed a disguise. More than that, he needed a persona.
In the cultivation world, strength was measured by spiritual pressure. A high-level cultivator radiated a natural, oppressive aura that instinctively warned weaker beings to submit or flee. Lu Yuan, at Level 2, radiated the spiritual equivalent of a damp matchstick.
If he walked into the Ghost Market trying to act tough, any Level 4 thug would see right through him, sense his weak aura, and murder him for his spatial pouch before he could even blink.
"I cannot fake strength," Lu Yuan reasoned, pacing the small room. "The sect disciples have artifacts that can project false auras, but I don't have access to those, nor the spirit stones to buy them. If I can't project overwhelming power... I must project absolute, unreadable nothingness."
He dug into the memories of his past life, pulling up tropes from wuxia films, psychological thrillers, and his own experiences dealing with aggressive corporate negotiators. Humans, and by extension cultivators, feared what they could not understand. If a predator encountered a strange creature that displayed no fear, no aggression, and no readable energy signature, the predator's instinct was often to hesitate.
Furthermore, high-level cultivators—those at the peak of Qi Condensation or in the Foundation Establishment realm—often possessed such profound control over their internal energies that they didn't leak a single drop of Qi. They appeared entirely mortal until the moment they struck.
"I will play the part of the mortal," Lu Yuan decided, a cold smile touching his lips. "A mortal who walks into a den of wolves without a flinch. They will assume I am a hidden master who has returned to the natural state."
To achieve this, he needed to modify his *Evergreen Qi Art*. The cultivation method was naturally unobtrusive, mimicking the ambient energy of trees and grass. Over the next few hours, Lu Yuan sat in meditation, willfully suppressing the circulation of his Qi, slowing it down until his Dantian was practically stagnant. It felt suffocating, like holding his breath for hours on end, but eventually, his external spiritual signature vanished. To the magical senses of another cultivator, he would feel like an ordinary rock or a dead stump.
Next came the physical disguise.
He didn't have the funds to buy a specialized concealing cloak. He had to make do with mundane materials. He took his spare set of hemp robes—the dark brown ones he usually wore during the muddy harvest season. He boiled a large pot of water, throwing in a massive handful of common black soot from his hearth and the crushed, highly pigmented berries of the Nightshade bush that grew wild near the canyon.
He submerged the robes, stirring the boiling, toxic concoction for hours until the hemp was stained a deep, light-absorbing pitch black.
While the robes dried in the hidden shadows behind his hut, he set to work on his face. A cloth mask was too common; every petty thief wore a cloth mask. He needed something unsettling.
He walked into the dense pine forest bordering his fields, searching until he found a fallen branch of an Iron-wood tree. The wood was notoriously dense, heavier than stone, and nearly impossible to carve with ordinary mortal tools.
Perfect.
He carried a thick chunk back to his hut, set it on the table, and raised his hand.
*"Wind Blade."*
*Ding.*
**[Wind Blade Spell proficiency +1]**
The crescent of compressed air struck the dense wood, chipping away a small, precise sliver. Lu Yuan didn't just want to carve a mask; he wanted to grind his spell proficiency. Using a lethal combat spell as a precision carving tool required an agonizing level of control, forcing him to modulate the power and angle of the blade down to the millimeter.
For the next two days, whenever he wasn't tending his fields, he was carving.
*Swish. Thwack.* (Proficiency +1)
*Swish. Thwack.* (Proficiency +1)
His control over the *Wind Blade Spell* skyrocketed. The spell transformed from a clumsy, hissing projectile into a silent, invisible scalpel.
By the evening of the second day, the chime he had been waiting for echoed in his mind.
*Ding.*
**[Wind Blade Spell proficiency +2]**
**[Breakthrough!]**
**[Wind Blade Spell (Initiate: 1/200)]**
He fired one last blade at the mask. It made absolutely no sound as it left his fingers, slicing through the dense Iron-wood like hot a knife through butter, shaving off the final rough edge.
Lu Yuan held up his creation.
It was a completely featureless mask, polished smooth with river sand. There was no nose, no mouth, no demonic fangs or painted designs. It was just a smooth, curved plate of dark wood with two narrow, horizontally slanted slits for the eyes.
It was a face of absolute, expressionless void. When he tied it to his face using strips of leather, it stripped away his humanity, turning him into an unknowable monolith.
"Perfect," his voice sounded slightly muffled and deeper behind the thick wood.
The final, and most crucial, step of his preparation was the tactical rigging of his new black robes.
Having two hundred and thirty-eight talismans was useless if they were stuffed at the bottom of his storage pouch. In a life-or-death situation, reaching into a pouch, finding the talisman, drawing it, and injecting Qi took at least two seconds. Two seconds was enough time for a Wind Blade to decapitate him three times over.
He needed instant, reflexive access.
Using bone needles and coarse thread, Lu Yuan spent the entirety of the third day sewing dozens of small, overlapping pockets into the inner lining of his black cloak. He rigged them along the forearms, the chest breastplates, and the inside of his wide belt.
He distributed one hundred *Basic Fireball Talismans* across these quick-draw pockets.
He spent hours practicing his draw. He stood in the center of his room, wearing the heavy black cloak and the featureless mask.
*Flick.* His hand darted into his sleeve, his fingers catching the rough texture of the yellow paper, instantly channeling a microscopic thread of Qi, and snapping his arm forward.
He didn't release the talisman, of course, but the muscle memory was burned into his nervous system. Draw. Prime. Aim. He got his reaction time down to less than half a second. If anyone made a hostile move within thirty feet of him, they would be staring down the barrel of a blinding crimson sun before they could finish drawing their sword.
Meanwhile, his life as an immortal farmer continued seamlessly.
The Azure Spirit Rice demanded heavy watering. He pushed the *Spring Breeze and Rain Spell* relentlessly, emptying his Dantian twice a day. The constant strain, coupled with the restorative power of the Immortal Lotus, continued to expand his meridians.
On the afternoon of the third day, as he watered his fields under the warm sun, a heavy, satisfying wave of comprehension washed over him.
*Ding.*
**[Spring Breeze and Rain Spell proficiency +3]**
**[Breakthrough!]**
**[Spring Breeze and Rain Spell (Proficient: 1/400)]**
The moment he broke through, the spell changed fundamentally. He no longer needed to aggressively drag the water vapor from the air. He merely extended his will, and the ambient moisture eagerly coalesced, obeying his command with effortless grace. The spiritual rain that fell was denser, glowing with a richer blue hue, and it cost him half the spiritual energy to maintain.
"Efficiency," Lu Yuan sighed happily, watching the rice stalks practically shiver with delight under the profound nourishment. "My farming yield is going to increase by at least twenty percent."
He also reached the 'Initiate' level in the *Golden Shield Spell*. The wobbly, translucent barrier transformed into a solid, convex shell of golden light that felt as hard as tempered steel. It still wouldn't stop a full-powered blow from a Level 5 cultivator, but it would easily deflect stray arrows, low-level wind blades, or the explosive backblast of his own talismans.
As the sun began to set on the third day, painting the Azure Cloud Realm in hues of blood and bruised purple, Lu Yuan locked himself inside his hut.
The night of the half-moon had arrived.
He ate a hearty meal of Azure Spirit Rice and another boiled spirit egg, ensuring his physical stamina was at its peak. He cycled the *Evergreen Qi Art* until his Dantian was a pristine, overflowing pool of wood-attribute Qi. Then, he actively suppressed it, locking the energy down until his aura vanished completely.
He strapped on his storage pouch, containing the remaining one hundred and thirty-eight talismans. He put on the heavily modified, soot-dyed black robes. He tied the featureless wooden mask securely to his face, pulling the deep black hood over his head.
He looked at his reflection in the cracked bronze mirror.
Lu Yuan the farmer was gone. Standing in the dim hut was a shadow, an anomaly, a void in the shape of a man.
"Time to go to market," the Faceless Merchant whispered.
He slipped out the back window of his hut, avoiding the main dirt paths entirely. He utilized his improved *Wind Blade* spell to silently clear away thorny brush, moving like a ghost through the dense pine forests that bordered the southern edge of the Clear Breeze Valley.
Whispering Canyon was five miles away. The terrain was treacherous, filled with steep ravines, loose shale, and the occasional low-tier demonic beast.
Lu Yuan moved with a steady, unhurried, mechanical pace. He didn't sprint. Sprinting implied haste, and haste implied fear or weakness. A true master walked as if the world belonged to him.
The air grew noticeably colder as he approached the canyon. The trees here were twisted and gnarled, their branches scraping together in the wind, creating the eerie, susurrating sound that gave the canyon its name. The moonlight barely penetrated the dense canopy, casting long, skeletal shadows across the rocky ground.
As he stepped onto the main trail leading down into the canyon's mouth, Lu Yuan's enhanced senses picked up a subtle shift in the environment.
The crickets had stopped chirping.
He was being watched.
He didn't turn his head. He didn't break his stride. He kept his eyes fixed dead ahead through the narrow slits of his mask, his hands resting loosely at his sides, mere inches from the hidden pockets in his cloak.
Up in the branches of a massive, dead oak tree to his right, two men in camouflage cloaks were perched like vultures. They were the outer sentries of the Ghost Market, thugs hired by the black-market merchants to weed out the weak and alert the guards to high-profile targets.
*"Hey, look at that one,"* a faint, spiritually transmitted whisper drifted down, caught by Lu Yuan's paranoia-heightened senses. *"Another idiot trying to play the mysterious master?"*
*"I can't read his cultivation,"* the second sentry whispered back, a hint of unease in his voice. *"Nothing. Not even a ripple. Either he's a mortal who took a wrong turn, or he's wearing a high-grade concealing artifact."*
*"Or he's Foundation Establishment,"* the first muttered. *"Don't mark him. Let the gatekeepers deal with him. Not worth the risk."*
Lu Yuan walked past the tree without acknowledging them, a cold bead of sweat rolling down his spine beneath his heavy robes. The psychological warfare was working. By projecting absolute nothingness, he was forcing their paranoid minds to fill in the blanks with their worst fears.
The trail descended sharply, winding between sheer rock faces that blocked out the moon entirely. The only light came from patches of bioluminescent moss clinging to the damp stone walls, casting a sickly green pallor over the path.
After a mile of descent, the narrow passage opened up into a massive, subterranean cavern.
This was the Ghost Market.
It was a stark contrast to the Myriad Treasures Pavilion. There were no neat display cases, no smiling attendants, no grand defensive arrays. The cavern was a chaotic sprawl of ragged tents, crude stone tables, and cultivators shrouded in heavy cloaks and terrifying masks.
The air was thick with the smell of cheap incense designed to mask the metallic tang of dried blood, the pungent aroma of illegal grave-dirt, and the wild musk of poached demonic beast parts.
The silence of the market was heavy and oppressive. There was no shouting. Bargains were struck in harsh whispers, and threats were communicated with hands resting on sword hilts.
Before Lu Yuan could fully enter the cavern, his path was blocked by a crude barricade of spiked wooden logs.
Two massive men stood in front of a gap in the barricade. They wore heavy iron armor over their robes, and their faces were obscured by brutal, grinning iron oni masks.
Lu Yuan analyzed their auras instantly.
Level 5 Qi Condensation. Both of them. They were elite enforcers, likely mercenaries hired by the syndicate that ran this underground bazaar.
"Halt," the left guard rumbled, his voice echoing in the damp cavern. He crossed a massive, serrated greatsword over the entrance. "Entry toll. Two low-grade spirit stones. Or equivalent goods."
Two spirit stones just to enter. It was extortionate, double the price of the outer market. It was a filter to ensure only those with actual wealth or valuable stolen goods made it inside.
Lu Yuan stopped three paces away. He did not speak. Speaking could reveal his age, his background, or his anxiety.
Slowly, deliberately, he reached into his sleeve. The guards tensed, spiritual energy flaring around their bodies, ready to strike if he pulled a weapon.
Lu Yuan withdrew his hand, holding a single, flawless *Basic Fireball Talisman* pinched between his index and middle fingers.
He didn't hand it to them. He simply held it up, letting the sickly green light of the cavern moss illuminate the dried, blood-red Cinnabar ink.
The right guard leaned in, his eyes narrowing behind his iron mask. He was a seasoned mercenary; he knew the difference between a cheap, unstable amateur talisman and a masterfully crafted tool of destruction.
He saw the perfect, unwavering runic lines. He felt the terrifying, condensed, violently stable fire-attribute Qi trapped within the paper. This single piece of paper, if detonated point-blank, could blow a hole straight through his iron armor.
The guard's aura visibly receded, taking on a defensive, cautious posture.
"A flawless Fireball Talisman," the guard muttered, exchanging a quick, tense glance with his partner. "Market value is easily one and a half spirit stones. As entry toll... we accept it."
He reached out to take the talisman.
Lu Yuan didn't hand it over. Instead, with a flick of his wrist that was so fast the Level 5 guards barely tracked it, the talisman vanished back into his sleeve.
In its place, his hand emerged holding two dull, glowing low-grade spirit stones. He tossed them lazily onto the wooden table next to the guards.
The message was brutally clear, broadcast without a single spoken word: *I have high-grade lethal weapons, but I view them as too valuable to waste on a petty toll. I have the cash. Do not cross me.*
The guards stared at the two spirit stones, then back up at the featureless, dark wooden mask. The complete lack of aura, combined with the casual display of both wealth and lethal firepower, firmly cemented Lu Yuan's persona in their minds.
This was a dangerous, wealthy, and eccentric master.
The left guard lowered his greatsword, stepping aside respectfully. "Welcome to the Whispering Canyon, Senior. May your transactions be profitable."
Lu Yuan offered a slow, almost imperceptible nod, and glided past them into the chaotic heart of the Ghost Market.
Once inside, the sheer variety of illegal and restricted goods on display was staggering.
He walked past a stall where a hunched figure was selling vials of deep crimson liquid. "Fresh Blood Refinement fluid," the vendor rasped. "Harvested from mortal martial artists. Excellent for strengthening the physical body. Ten spirit stones a vial."
Lu Yuan felt a flicker of disgust, but he buried it instantly. This was the dark underbelly of the cultivation world, where human lives were distilled into resources. He kept walking, his steps even and silent.
He saw stolen sect manuals, their covers burned to hide the insignia. He saw weapons still stained with the blood of their previous owners. He saw cages containing rare, exotic spirit beasts, their eyes wide with terror, destined for a rich cultivator's cooking pot or alchemical furnace.
He did not stop. He was not here to browse. He was here to act as a wholesaler.
Selling one or two talismans to desperate rogues would take all night and expose him to dozens of potential tracking spells. He needed a bulk buyer. He needed a syndicate fence.
He navigated toward the deepest, most secure section of the cavern. Here, the ragged tents gave way to solid stone pavilions carved directly into the cavern walls, protected by faint, shimmering privacy arrays.
Above the largest pavilion, a banner hung limp in the damp air, depicting a coiled black serpent swallowing a spirit stone.
The Black Serpent Syndicate. They were a notorious black-market merchant guild that operated across multiple valleys, dealing in everything from stolen artifacts to large-scale mercenary contracts. They had the capital to buy his entire stock, and more importantly, they operated strictly on a code of profitable neutrality. They didn't care who you were, as long as your goods were real and you didn't cause trouble in their territory.
Lu Yuan approached the entrance. Two guards, clad in sleek black leather armor and radiating the oppressive auras of Level 6 Qi Condensation, crossed halberds over the door.
"State your business," one guard demanded sharply. "The Pavilion Master does not see beggars."
Lu Yuan didn't stop walking. He kept his measured pace, stepping directly into the cross of the halberds.
The guards tensed, ready to strike.
When he was exactly one arm's length away, Lu Yuan's hands moved. He didn't draw a talisman. Instead, he reached into his outer robes and pulled out a thick, heavy stack of yellow paper, slapping it firmly onto the flat blade of the right guard's halberd.
It was a stack of thirty *Basic Fireball Talismans*.
The sheer, concentrated volume of fire-attribute Qi radiating from the tightly packed stack hit the guards like a wave of physical heat. Their eyes widened behind their masks.
"I am a supplier," Lu Yuan said. His voice, filtered through the thick ironwood mask, sounded distorted, deep, and utterly devoid of emotion. "I am here to conduct wholesale commerce. If your Pavilion Master is too poor to handle bulk, I will take my business to the Blood Hand pavilion."
The guards stared at the stack of perfectly crafted talismans. Finding a rogue talisman master who could produce such flawless work in bulk was incredibly rare. Most independent crafters had a success rate so low they could barely feed themselves.
The right guard carefully lowered his halberd, leaving the talismans resting in Lu Yuan's outstretched hand.
"Forgive the intrusion, Senior," the guard bowed slightly, his tone shifting from aggressive to respectful caution. "Please, enter. Pavilion Master Zhao is inside."
Lu Yuan stepped past the guards, pocketing the stack of talismans. The adrenaline was pounding in his ears, a frantic, deafening drumbeat, but his external demeanor remained a statue of dark, unyielding calm.
He passed through the shimmering curtain of the privacy array.
The interior of the stone pavilion was shockingly opulent. Thick, plush carpets lined the floor, woven from the silk of high-tier demonic spiders. Glowing pearls the size of fists were embedded in the ceiling, casting a warm, natural light that banished the sickly green of the cavern.
Behind a massive desk carved entirely from fragrant, calming spirit wood sat Pavilion Master Zhao.
He was an older man, possessing a well-groomed gray beard and wearing luxurious robes of deep purple silk. Unlike the thugs outside, he did not wear a mask. His eyes were sharp, intelligent, and completely ruthless.
Lu Yuan's senses flared violently.
Zhao was not at Qi Condensation. The spiritual pressure radiating from the man, despite his attempts to restrain it, felt like a towering mountain compared to the anthill of Lu Yuan's Level 2 cultivation.
Foundation Establishment Realm.
Lu Yuan's breath hitched microscopically, a terrifying realization settling over him. If this man decided to kill him, his talismans would be useless. A Foundation Establishment cultivator could erect a spiritual shield thick enough to tank fifty fireball talismans without breaking a sweat, and their reaction speed would sever Lu Yuan's head before he could even twitch his fingers.
*I am standing in the jaws of a dragon,* Lu Yuan thought, his heart turning to ice.
But he could not retreat. To show fear now was to die.
"Welcome, friend," Pavilion Master Zhao said, his voice smooth and melodious, carrying a subtle, hypnotic undertone of spiritual energy designed to lower a merchant's guard. "My guards inform me you possess high-quality offensive talismans in bulk. A bold claim in these turbulent times."
Zhao leaned back, his sharp eyes scrutinizing Lu Yuan's featureless wooden mask and his complete lack of a spiritual aura.
"Please," Zhao gestured to a carved wooden chair across the desk. "Sit. Let us discuss the nature of your... supply."
Lu Yuan did not sit. A subordinate sat. An equal commanded the space.
He stepped forward, unhooked the heavy leather storage pouch from his belt, and slammed it onto the pristine spirit wood desk. The heavy *thud* echoed in the quiet room.
"Two hundred *Basic Fireball Talismans*," Lu Yuan's deep, distorted voice rang out, carrying the absolute confidence of a man who possessed an endless lifespan. "Flawless quality. The yield is ten percent higher than standard Myriad Treasures Pavilion stock due to optimized runic seals."
He paused, letting the silence stretch, forcing Zhao to absorb the sheer volume of the claim.
"I am looking for a reliable, silent liquidator," Lu Yuan continued, his tone turning razor-sharp. "I have no interest in haggling over copper coins in the mud. Name your wholesale price, Pavilion Master."
Zhao's polite smile vanished. He sat forward, his eyes locking onto the storage pouch. A bulk drop of two hundred high-quality talismans was a massive influx of military power. In the current climate of gang wars and sect instability, this was a kingmaker's cache.
Zhao reached out, untying the pouch, and pulled out a single stack. He activated a specialized eye technique, his pupils glowing with a golden light as he inspected the top talisman.
He analyzed the Cinnabar distribution, the precision of the zigzag, and the absolute perfection of the final sealing loop.
"Incredible," Zhao breathed, dropping his merchant facade for a fraction of a second. "The runic path is terrifyingly efficient. There is zero wasted Qi. I have seen master crafters from the inner sect who cannot maintain this level of consistency."
He looked up at the featureless mask, a deep, cautious respect warring with his innate predatory instinct. The complete lack of aura from this man was no longer just suspicious; it was genuinely terrifying. Only a master with profound, terrifyingly deep foundations could craft talismans of this quality and completely mask their presence from a Foundation Establishment cultivator.
"The market rate for standard talismans is one spirit stone," Zhao began, his tone shifting to a rapid, serious negotiation. "But selling two hundred at once floods the local market, driving down the price. Furthermore, the Black Serpent Syndicate takes a risk moving unregistered armaments."
"Do not insult my intelligence, Zhao," Lu Yuan cut him off smoothly, projecting aggressive impatience. "We both know the Black Tiger Gang and the Iron Blood Brotherhood are preparing for a massive turf war over the northern spirit mines. The demand for offensive consumables is about to skyrocket. You will sell these for one and a half stones apiece to desperate men."
Zhao's eyes narrowed. This stranger was deeply informed about local syndicate politics.
"What is your price?" Zhao asked softly, his fingers tapping the desk.
"Sixty-five low-grade spirit stones for the entire lot," Lu Yuan stated. It was a calculated number. Roughly one spirit stone for every three talismans, but slightly higher to account for the premium quality. It guaranteed Zhao a massive profit margin, ensuring a fast, frictionless transaction.
Zhao did the math instantly. It was a steal. The profit margin for the syndicate would be enormous.
"Agreed," Zhao said immediately, not wanting the 'master' to change his mind. "Sixty-five stones."
Zhao opened a hidden drawer in his desk and pulled out a heavy, embroidered velvet bag. He placed it on the table. The sound of dozens of spirit stones clinking together was the most beautiful music Lu Yuan had ever heard.
"However," Zhao continued, his voice dropping an octave, probing for an advantage. "A master capable of such volume... the Syndicate would be highly interested in a long-term, exclusive contract. We can provide high-grade materials, protective arrays, and a percentage of the gross profits. You would never want for resources again."
It was a trap. A golden cage. If Lu Yuan accepted, he would be tied to the syndicate, forced to meet quotas, and his true identity would eventually be discovered.
Lu Yuan picked up the velvet bag. He didn't bother counting it. He trusted his aura of intimidation to prevent Zhao from shortchanging him. He tied the bag securely inside his black robes.
"I do not work for syndicates," Lu Yuan replied, his voice echoing coldly behind the wood. "I follow the Dao of freedom. When I require funds, I will produce. When I produce, I will find you. If you track me, if you attempt to scry my location, or if you send your hounds after me..."
Lu Yuan took a deliberate step back, his hand brushing against the hidden pocket containing his remaining thirty-eight talismans. He let a microscopic, precisely controlled fraction of the fire-attribute Qi from the talismans leak out, blending with a sliver of his own killing intent honed by the brutal memories of his predecessor.
The air in the room suddenly grew stiflingly hot, carrying the phantom scent of ash and blood.
"...I will return," Lu Yuan finished, his tone devoid of anger, stating it simply as a fact of the universe. "And I will erase your pavilion from this canyon."
Zhao did not flinch, but his golden eyes hardened. He gave a slow, respectful nod. "Understood, Senior. The Black Serpent Syndicate values mutually profitable relationships above all else. You will not be followed."
Lu Yuan turned, his black cloak sweeping dramatically, and walked out of the pavilion.
He maintained his terrifying, unhurried pace past the Level 6 guards, past the spiked barricade, and back up the long, dark trail out of the Whispering Canyon. He ignored the sentries in the trees. He ignored the howling wind.
He did not let out a breath until he was two miles into the dense pine forest, entirely obscured by the darkness and the natural interference of the woods.
Then, and only then, did the Faceless Merchant stumble, catching himself against a rough pine trunk.
Beneath the wooden mask, Lu Yuan was gasping for air, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The sheer, overwhelming terror of standing in a room with a Foundation Establishment cultivator finally crashed over him.
He reached into his robes, pulling out the heavy velvet bag. He loosened the drawstring.
The milky-white glow of sixty-five low-grade spirit stones illuminated the dark forest. Combined with his rent money, he now possessed seventy-five spirit stones.
He had started the week as a destitute, dying farmer facing eviction and slavery. He was now wealthier than ninety percent of the independent cultivators in the entire Azure Cloud Realm.
A manic, trembling laugh escaped Lu Yuan's lips, muffled by the dark wood of his mask.
"Capital secured," the immortal accountant whispered to the silent trees. "Now, the real grind begins."