**Chapter 6: The Weight of Wealth and the Sutra of Hidden Origins**
The journey back from the Whispering Canyon was a blur of adrenaline-fueled paranoia. Every rustling leaf sounded like a Foundation Establishment cultivator's flying sword; every shifting shadow looked like a Black Serpent Syndicate assassin.
Lu Yuan did not relax his posture, nor did he allow his suppressed Qi to fluctuate, until he had completely bypassed the outer perimeter of the Clear Breeze Valley and slipped through the dense pine forest bordering his own farm.
He approached his thatched hut from the rear, utilizing the *Wind Blade Spell* with surgical precision to silently sever a tripwire of thin hemp rope he had rigged across his back window. He slipped through the narrow opening, landing on the hard dirt floor with scarcely a whisper of sound.
The moment the wooden shutters closed behind him, the Faceless Merchant died, and Lu Yuan the exhausted farmer collapsed.
He tore the featureless ironwood mask from his face, gasping for air as if he had been submerged underwater for hours. The heavy, soot-dyed black robes felt suffocating. He stripped them off with trembling hands, kicking them under his wooden bed into the darkest corner of the room.
He stumbled to his rickety stool and sat down heavily, resting his elbows on the charred table where he had manufactured his terrifying arsenal just a day prior.
His entire body was shaking. It wasn't physical fatigue; his Dantian was full, and his meridians were robust. It was the psychological toll of dancing on the razor's edge of death. Standing before Pavilion Master Zhao had required a level of mental fortitude Lu Yuan hadn't known he possessed. If he had blinked, if his voice had wavered, if his aura had leaked even a fraction of his true Level 2 cultivation, he would be a corpse right now, bleeding out on a plush spider-silk carpet.
But he hadn't blinked.
Lu Yuan reached into his inner robe and pulled out the heavy, embroidered velvet bag.
He upended it over the table.
*Clack. Clack. Clink.*
Sixty-five low-grade spirit stones tumbled out, forming a glowing, milky-white mountain of condensed wealth. Added to his hidden stash of ten stones, he now possessed seventy-five low-grade spirit stones.
To a core disciple of the Flowing Water Sect, seventy-five spirit stones might be a month's allowance. But to an independent farmer in the outer valleys, it was generational wealth. It was the kind of money that bought assassinations, ruined families, and paved the way to the Foundation Establishment realm.
The soft, luminescent glow of the stones bathed the dark hut in a divine light. Lu Yuan stared at them, his trembling hands slowly coming to a halt.
The accountant within him immediately took over, overriding the panicked survivor.
"Capital," Lu Yuan whispered, his breathing finally stabilizing. "I have the capital. But capital is a beacon. If I spend this recklessly, I will draw the wolves."
He began to sort the stones into neat, precise piles, laying out his budget for survival.
"Pile one. Ten spirit stones." He slid ten stones to the left. "Rent for Landlord Ma. Due in three days. This is non-negotiable. It keeps the sect off my back and maintains my cover as a struggling tenant."
"Pile two. Twenty spirit stones." He formed a second pile. "Strategic reserves. Emergency liquid capital. To be buried deep beneath the floorboards. If I am forced to flee the valley, this is my travel fund to reach the next mortal kingdom or cultivation city."
That left forty-five spirit stones of disposable income.
"I cannot buy high-grade offensive artifacts or flying swords," he reasoned, staring at the largest pile. "A Level 2 cultivator carrying a high-grade flying sword is like a toddler walking through a slum holding a brick of solid gold. It is begging to be murdered. My offensive power is entirely covered by my talisman crafting anyway."
What did he actually need?
"Security," he answered himself. "And secrecy."
His manual suppression of his aura was a crude, exhausting method. It required constant focus, and if he fell asleep or lost concentration, his Level 2 aura would leak out. Furthermore, his hut was completely defenseless. A stray demonic beast or a drunken thug could kick his door down in two seconds. He needed a proper array formation to protect his home, and he needed a specialized technique to hide his cultivation base passively.
He spent the next hour meticulously planning his purchases, weighing the risks of every single spirit stone spent.
When he was satisfied, he packed the stones away, burying the twenty-stone emergency fund in a sealed clay jar beneath the dirt floor under his bed.
He climbed onto the bed, assuming the lotus position. He was not tired, but he needed to clear his mind. He initiated the *Evergreen Qi Art*.
The Immortal Lotus flared within his sea of consciousness. Its azure light washed over his mind, stripping away the lingering terror of the Ghost Market, replacing it with the cold, absolute tranquility of eternal time.
*Ding.*
**[Evergreen Qi Art proficiency +1]**
The night passed in silent, glowing progress.
The next morning, Lu Yuan resumed his life as a peasant.
He dressed in his standard, slightly frayed hemp robes. He ate a modest bowl of Azure Spirit Rice porridge. He walked out into the crisp morning air to tend his fields.
The two acres of Azure Spirit Rice were magnificent. Thanks to his 'Proficient' level *Spring Breeze and Rain Spell*, the stalks were thick, vibrant green, and bowed heavily under the weight of the forming spiritual grains. The harvest was less than a week away, and it promised to be the best yield this plot of land had seen in a decade.
He cast his spells, watching the proficiency numbers tick up like clockwork.
*Ding.*
**[Spring Breeze and Rain Spell proficiency +1]**
**[Earth Turning Art proficiency +2]**
Just as he finished feeding his Black-Feathered Spirit Chickens, a loud, obnoxious sound echoed across the rolling hills of the farming district.
It was the harsh, metallic clanging of a bronze gong.
Lu Yuan paused, wiping his dirt-stained hands on a rag. He knew that sound. Every tenant farmer in the Clear Breeze Valley knew that sound. It was the sound of a parasite coming to feed.
Down the main dirt path, flanked by two burly guards, rode Deacon Zhou.
Deacon Zhou was an outer sect disciple of the Flowing Water Sect, but more importantly, he was the primary enforcer and tax collector for Landlord Ma—the inner sect disciple who technically 'owned' the southern farming districts.
Zhou rode a Level 2 Iron-Hooved Stallion, a massive, ill-tempered beast with scales covering its legs. Zhou himself was a man in his late thirties, wearing pristine white robes trimmed with silver. He was at the fourth level of Qi Condensation, and he projected his aura aggressively, letting the heavy, water-attribute spiritual pressure wash over the fields to intimidate the farmers.
Lu Yuan watched as Zhou stopped at Fatty Wang's plot, three acres over.
Even from this distance, Lu Yuan could hear the shouting.
"Ten spirit stones, Wang!" Deacon Zhou's voice was amplified by Qi, booming across the valley. "The rent is due! Hand it over, or we take the wheat before it's even ripe!"
Fatty Wang was on his knees in the dirt, practically weeping, holding out a small, pathetic pouch. "Deacon Zhou, please! The Iron-Headed Centipedes ruined a quarter of my crop! I only have seven stones! Just give me until the harvest! I can sell my spirit plow—"
*Smack.*
One of Zhou's guards stepped forward and kicked Wang squarely in the chest. The chubby farmer rolled backward into the dirt, coughing violently.
"Landlord Ma does not run a charity, fat pig," Zhou sneered from atop his stallion. "Seven stones covers the interest on your late fee. You have three days to produce the remaining three stones, or we confiscate the land, and you go to the mines. Move on!"
The procession moved down the path, heading directly toward Lu Yuan's farm.
Lu Yuan's face remained a mask of polite subservience, but internally, his mind was a fortress of ice. A younger man might have felt a surge of righteous fury. A hot-blooded transmigrator might have drawn a talisman and blown Deacon Zhou off his horse to save Fatty Wang.
Lu Yuan felt nothing of the sort. He did not care about Fatty Wang's rent, nor did he care about the cruelty of the Flowing Water Sect. Getting involved meant exposing himself. Exposing himself meant risking his endless lifespan.
*Endure,* his accountant mind whispered. *Pay the tax. Remain invisible.*
As Deacon Zhou's stallion came to a halt in front of Lu Yuan's bamboo fence, Lu Yuan was already bowing deeply, his hands clasped in front of him.
"Greetings, Deacon Zhou," Lu Yuan said, pitching his voice to sound slightly strained and nervous. "You honor my humble fields with your presence."
Zhou looked down his nose at Lu Yuan, his eyes sweeping over the perfectly maintained two acres of Azure Spirit Rice. A hint of surprise flashed in his arrogant eyes.
"Your crop looks surprisingly robust, Lu," Zhou noted, a suspicious edge to his voice. "I heard you suffered a severe Qi deviation last month. I expected this field to be a withered mess."
"Heaven was merciful, Deacon," Lu Yuan replied smoothly, keeping his head bowed. "I managed to stabilize my breath, though my foundation is ruined. I have spent every waking hour, day and night, manually carrying spring water and tending the soil to ensure Landlord Ma receives his due. It nearly killed me, but I dare not disappoint the sect."
It was the perfect lie. It flattered the sect, explained his healthy crops as the result of desperate, backbreaking manual labor rather than spell mastery, and reinforced his status as a crippled, harmless peasant.
Zhou sneered, his suspicion evaporating, replaced by standard aristocratic disdain. "Good. At least you know your place. Rent. Ten stones."
Lu Yuan reached into his robe with trembling hands. He didn't pull out ten pristine stones. He pulled out a dirty, worn cloth sack. Inside were five whole spirit stones, and exactly fifty spirit stone fragments of varying sizes—the equivalent of the other five stones.
He handed the sack to the guard, making sure his fingers lingered for a fraction of a second, displaying the agonizing reluctance of a man parting with his life savings.
The guard took the sack, weighed it, and gave a brief nod to Zhou.
"Ten stones, Deacon."
Zhou sniffed in disgust at the fragments. "Peasant change. But it counts. However, remember, Lu... harvest is in a week. The agricultural tax is twenty percent of your gross yield. Don't think about hiding any grain. We will weigh it to the ounce."
"I would never dream of it, Deacon," Lu Yuan bowed even lower.
Zhou pulled hard on the reins of his stallion, turning the beast around. "Let's go. We have three more farms to bleed before noon."
The gong sounded again, and the procession moved away.
Lu Yuan slowly stood up, dusting off his knees. He looked at the retreating back of Deacon Zhou.
*Level 4 Qi Condensation,* Lu Yuan analyzed clinically. *Water attribute. Slow casting speed, heavily reliant on physical intimidation. Three Basic Fireball Talismans, detonated simultaneously in a triangle formation, would vaporize him and his horse before he could erect a water shield.*
He filed the tactical assessment away in the back of his mind. He had paid his rent. He had bought another month of invisibility.
He walked back into his hut, packed thirty spirit stones into his inner robe, and set out for the Clear Breeze Valley Market.
He did not go to the Myriad Treasures Pavilion. Returning there with massive funds so soon after claiming he was on the brink of ruin would instantly alert the sharp-eyed attendant.
Instead, he waded into the chaotic, sprawling sea of the outer market stalls. This was the domain of independent merchants, disgraced sect disciples, and grave robbers. The quality was suspect, the prices fluctuated wildly, and scams were everywhere.
Lu Yuan spent two hours wandering the muddy aisles, his hands tucked into his sleeves, his face projecting the weary, guarded expression of a typical rogue cultivator.
He found what he was looking for in a dusty, dimly lit corner of the market, shaded by a massive, tattered canvas tarp.
It was a small stall littered with cracked jade slips, broken compasses, and faded yellow scrolls. Sitting behind the table was an incredibly old man. His hair was sparse and white, his robes were stained with centuries of ink, and his aura was a chaotic, erratic mess that fluctuated between Level 1 and Level 3 Qi Condensation. He smelled strongly of cheap rice wine.
This was Old Man Sun. In the memories of Lu Yuan's predecessor, Sun was once a promising Array Master of a minor sect that had been wiped out decades ago. Now, he was a drunken relic, selling scraps of his former glory to buy liquor.
Lu Yuan approached the stall, picking up a cracked jade slip. "Greetings, Senior Sun."
The old man cracked open one bloodshot eye. "If you're looking for an array to kill a Foundation Establishment beast, bugger off. If you're looking for something to keep the rats out of your pantry, it's one spirit stone."
"I am looking for privacy, Senior," Lu Yuan said softly. "An array to conceal the spiritual fluctuations within a small dwelling. Something to keep prying eyes and divine senses away from my cultivation."
Sun snorted, sitting up slightly. "Privacy? In this valley? You'd have better luck hiding from the sun. But... I have something. Not a grand sect defense, mind you. But a decent illusion."
The old man rummaged under the table, his hands trembling slightly, and pulled out a small wooden box. Inside were five smooth, dark jade stones, heavily inscribed with intricate, silvery runic lines. Accompanying them was a thin, worn manual.
"The *Minor Dust Obfuscation Array*," Sun rasped, tapping the box. "Five nodes. Earth and Water attribute. It won't stop a physical attack—a blind man with a hammer could break it—but it warps spiritual senses. To anyone scanning your hut, it will appear as empty, mundane dirt. It hides spiritual light, dampens sound, and conceals Qi signatures up to Level 5. Ten spirit stones."
Ten stones was steep for a non-defensive array, but it was exactly what Lu Yuan needed to hide his talisman mass-production.
Lu Yuan didn't haggle aggressively. He wanted the array, and he wanted the manual.
"I will take it," Lu Yuan said, pulling out ten spirit stones.
Before he handed them over, he pointed to a dusty, leather-bound book sitting at the back of the stall. "I also require a technique to manage my own aura. Something to keep my Qi from leaking when I am in the market."
Sun glanced at the book, waving his hand dismissively. "The *Sutra of Hidden Origins*. Found it on a dead rogue twenty years ago. It's a trash technique. It doesn't increase your cultivation, doesn't provide combat power. It just wraps your Dantian in a layer of dead Qi, making you look like a mortal. Takes years to master the flow. Most cultivators would rather spend that time learning how to stab someone. Five spirit stones."
Lu Yuan's heart leaped, but his face remained impassive. A technique that took 'years to master' was garbage to a normal cultivator with a limited lifespan. But to Lu Yuan, with his endless life and absolute proficiency panel, it was a priceless treasure. He could grind it to perfection.
"Fifteen stones for both," Lu Yuan said, placing the glowing rocks on the table.
Old Man Sun swept the stones into his robes with astonishing speed, a toothless grin appearing on his face. "Pleasure doing business with you, youngster. Don't blow yourself up setting the nodes."
Lu Yuan took the array box and the leather-bound book, stowing them securely in his pouch. He spent another two spirit stones buying two hundred sheets of Yellow Spirit Grass Paper and two jars of Cinnabar from a different, heavily crowded bulk merchant, ensuring he blended in with the throng.
He returned to his farm by mid-afternoon, locking his door securely behind him.
He didn't immediately start on the talismans. Security came first.
He opened the wooden box containing the *Minor Dust Obfuscation Array*. He picked up the worn manual and began to read.
Array crafting and deployment were fundamentally different from talismans. Talismans were about explosive, single-use releases of energy. Arrays were about establishing a continuous, self-sustaining loop of spiritual resonance with the environment.
The manual detailed the exact geometric placement of the five jade nodes—one in the center, and four at the cardinal directions. It required channeling Earth and Water Qi to connect the nodes into a seamless dome.
Lu Yuan did not have Earth or Water spiritual roots; he practiced the wood-attribute *Evergreen Qi Art*. However, the five elements generated and countered each other. Water nourished Wood, and Wood parted Earth. He could use his pure wood Qi as a bridge, though it would require immense control and likely fail many times.
He took the central jade node and placed it directly under his wooden bed. He then took the other four and buried them exactly one inch deep at the four corners of his hut.
He sat in the center of the room, closed his eyes, and extended his Qi, attempting to visualize the runic connections between the five stones as detailed in the manual.
He pushed a thread of his Qi toward the north node.
*Fzzt.*
The connection snapped immediately, the incompatible Qi scattering uselessly into the dirt.
*Ding.*
**[Array Formation Deployment proficiency +1]**
**[Profession Unlocked: Array Master (Novice: 1/100)]**
**[Minor Dust Obfuscation Array proficiency +1]**
Lu Yuan smiled, his eyes flying open. The familiar, glorious chime of guaranteed progress.
"Let the grind begin," he whispered.
For the next four hours, Lu Yuan subjected himself to spiritual torture. Deploying an array required maintaining multiple threads of Qi simultaneously. It was like trying to pat your head, rub your belly, juggle three balls, and recite poetry all at the same time.
He failed continuously.
*Fzzt.* (Proficiency +1)
*Fzzt.* (Proficiency +1)
*Fzzt.* (Proficiency +1)
Every failure drained a massive chunk of his Dantian. He was forced to stop every twenty minutes to initiate the *Evergreen Qi Art*, relying entirely on the Immortal Lotus to repair his violently overstressed mind and replenish his core.
But with every failure, the proficiency panel injected a sliver of flawless geometric understanding into his brain. He learned exactly how to angle his wood Qi to mimic the necessary resonance. He learned the exact depth required for the nodes to interact with the natural ley lines of the earth.
By the time the sun set, his proficiency stood at **(Novice: 65/100)**.
His head was throbbing with a migraine so intense it made his vision blur, but he refused to stop. He pushed through the pain, entering a state of absolute, mechanical focus.
*Fzzt.* (80/100)
*Fzzt.* (95/100)
At the ninety-ninth attempt, his Dantian was a hollow, aching void. He had enough Qi for exactly one more try.
He sat in the darkness of his hut, surrounded by the faint, pulsing glow of the buried jade stones. He closed his eyes. He didn't force the Qi. He let the system's muscle memory guide him.
He extended five microscopic threads of incredibly pure wood-attribute Qi. They traveled through the dirt, striking the five jade nodes simultaneously.
Instead of violently rejecting his energy, the runes on the jade stones flared with a soft, harmonious yellow-blue light. The Qi connected, forming a perfect, invisible dome that enveloped the entire hut.
A profound silence descended. The ambient sounds of the crickets and the wind outside were instantly muffled, sounding as if they were miles away. The spiritual energy inside the hut stabilized, trapped within the obfuscation field.
*Ding.*
**[Array Formation Deployment proficiency +2]**
**[Breakthrough!]**
**[Minor Dust Obfuscation Array (Initiate: 1/200)]**
Lu Yuan let out a long, ragged exhale, collapsing backward onto the dirt floor.
He had done it. His hut was now a blind spot. To the divine sense of any passing cultivator below the Foundation Establishment realm, this plot of land would register as nothing more than an empty patch of ordinary dirt. If he drew a talisman inside, the blinding crimson light and violent Qi fluctuations would be completely suppressed.
He was safe to operate.
He lay on the floor for an hour, letting his body recover naturally while the array hummed silently around him.
When he finally found the strength to sit up, he didn't go to sleep. He lit a single tallow candle, pulling the dusty, leather-bound book toward him.
The *Sutra of Hidden Origins*.
He opened the first page. The text was archaic, describing a method of reversing the flow of Qi in the outermost meridians, creating a 'dead zone' that swallowed spiritual signatures. The author noted that attempting this technique usually resulted in excruciating pain, temporary paralysis, and a high risk of permanently crippling one's cultivation if practiced incorrectly.
"Takes years to master," Lu Yuan quoted Old Man Sun, a savage grin appearing on his exhausted face in the candlelight. "Let's see if we can shave that down to a few days."
He crossed his legs, assumed the meditative posture, and forcefully drove his Qi backward against the natural flow of his meridians.
A blinding, white-hot agony tore through his chest. It felt as though someone had poured molten lead into his veins. His muscles spasmed violently, and he coughed up a small speck of blood.
*Ding.*
**[Sutra of Hidden Origins proficiency +1]**
**[Skill Unlocked: Sutra of Hidden Origins (Novice: 1/100)]**
The Immortal Lotus immediately pulsed, its azure light rushing to repair the torn meridian walls, soothing the agony instantly.
Lu Yuan wiped the blood from his chin, his eyes burning with fanatic determination.
"Again."
He forced the Qi backward.
Agony. Blood.
*Ding.* (Novice: 2/100).
Repair.
"Again."
For the rest of the night, the immortal farmer engaged in a brutal war of attrition against his own body. He broke his meridians, the Lotus healed them, and the system permanently recorded the progress.
He was forging his ultimate disguise in a crucible of endless pain.
Days bled into nights.
Lu Yuan fell into a rhythm of absolute, terrifying efficiency.
In the mornings, he was the humble farmer. He watered the Azure Spirit Rice, marveling at the heavy, spiritually rich grains that were nearly ready to burst. He greeted Widow Zhang politely when she walked past. He acted frightened when the Black Tiger Gang thugs swaggered down the distant paths.
In the afternoons, cloaked by the *Minor Dust Obfuscation Array*, he was the mass-production talisman machine. He burned through his two hundred sheets of paper, utilizing his 'Proficient' rank to churn out one hundred and eighty flawless *Basic Fireball Talismans*, maintaining his lethal arsenal.
And in the depths of the night, he was the masochistic cultivator, endlessly shattering his own internal pathways to master the *Sutra of Hidden Origins*.
Four days after he purchased the manual, the breakthrough finally arrived.
Lu Yuan was sitting on his bed, his clothes soaked in sweat. He initiated the Sutra.
Instead of pain, there was only a smooth, chilling sensation that washed over his skin. His outer meridians locked down, forming an impenetrable, deadened shell around his Dantian.
*Ding.*
**[Sutra of Hidden Origins proficiency +2]**
**[Breakthrough!]**
**[Sutra of Hidden Origins (Initiate: 1/200)]**
He opened his eyes and looked down at his hands. He felt entirely mundane. If another cultivator scanned him now, they wouldn't just feel a suppressed aura; they would feel an absolute void. They would sense the precise biological signature of a mortal who had never cultivated a day in his life.
It was flawless camouflage. He no longer needed the featureless wooden mask to project nothingness; he *was* nothingness.
Lu Yuan stood up, walking to the window and pushing open the bamboo shutters.
The morning sun crested the peaks of the Flowing Water Sect, washing the Clear Breeze Valley in golden light.
Before him, the two acres of Azure Spirit Rice rippled in the wind like a sea of green and gold. The spiritual energy radiating from the field was thick and intoxicating.
Today was the day.
The grains were perfectly formed, practically vibrating with wood-attribute Qi.
It was harvest day.
Lu Yuan retrieved a crescent-shaped iron sickle from the corner of the room. He didn't need to use spells for the harvest; this required the careful, loving touch of physical labor to avoid damaging the delicate grains.
He stepped out into the field, the morning dew soaking his hemp boots.
He had survived his first month. He had paid his rent, secured his home, hidden his aura, and armed himself with enough explosive power to level a small army.
As he swung the sickle, cutting down the first heavy stalk of spirit rice, a deep, resonant sense of peace settled over him.
The world of cultivation was a meat grinder, filled with arrogant sect disciples, demonic cultivators, and bloodthirsty gangs. They fought for scraps of time, burning their lives away for a chance at immortality.
Let them fight.
Lu Yuan gathered the rice into a bundle, a genuine smile touching his lips.
He had forever. And he was just getting started.
*Ding.*
**[Farming proficiency +1]**
**[Profession Unlocked: Spirit Farmer (Novice: 1/100)]**
Lu Yuan laughed aloud, the sound ringing clear and bright in the morning air.
"Perfect," he said to the wind, swinging the sickle again. "Absolutely perfect."