Jiao Han continued, his tone careful.
"Refined Beast Bone Shards, Master. Qi-infused, sharpened fragments." He pulled out a reinforced pouch, loosening the bindings just enough to reveal rows of tiny, gleaming bone splinters. "When they hit, they burrow slightly. Painful, difficult to remove. Not instantly crippling, but they'll slow an enemy down."
Li Wei picked one up, rolling it between his fingers. The craftsmanship was clear. The edges were honed razor-thin, and even without actively infusing Qi, he could feel residual energy inside. These were meant to create lingering problems—wounds that wouldn't close properly, movement hindered just enough to shift a fight's balance in his favor.
Li Wei nodded slightly in approval, satisfied by Jiao Han's insight. Even a small, nagging injury could be decisive during a critical encounter.
Then Jiao Han tapped two bags, his expression carefully neutral.
"Two full mortal skeletons, Master. Cleaned. Intact."
A good find, though not particularly rare. Still, fresh materials made things significantly easier. Two new bone slaves would be invaluable during the Reaping—his old one was still functional but dragging it around in his storage pouch was impractical. It took up too much space.
And then there was the bigger question: Could he even store something like that? Did bone slaves count as living? If they were animated but not conscious, did that make them objects or entities?
Not something he wanted to test carelessly. The last thing he needed was to lose his trusty servant—it had been extremely useful for menial tasks like guarding his cave, fetching water, moving heavier materials, and even standing watch while he cultivated. Losing such a convenient resource due to a careless experiment wasn't a risk Li Wei intended to take lightly. Besides, the reliability of having multiple servants available during the Reaping could significantly improve his tactical options. Flexibility was crucial, and he'd learned firsthand that every advantage counted.
Then Jiao Han hesitated—a barely perceptible pause. Li Wei caught it immediately.
"There's one more thing, Master," the shopkeeper admitted, lowering his voice slightly as if sharing a guarded secret. "I thought… you might find these particularly useful."
He carefully extracted a folded contraption composed of dark steel wires and gleaming, sharpened hooks.
"Barbed Recoil Snares."
Li Wei raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
Jiao Han gently tapped the mechanism. The tension wires shifted subtly, coiled tightly, poised like a predator awaiting prey.
"Spring-loaded trap, Master. When triggered, the wires snap shut instantly, embedding the barbs deep into the flesh of whoever sets it off. Any attempt to struggle only tightens it further. Simple, yet brutally effective. Unlike talismans, spiritual sense cannot detect it—it's purely mechanical. Anyone careless enough to trigger it, no matter their cultivation level, will feel its bite."
Li Wei considered the explanation carefully.
Talismans were obvious when activated, instantly alerting an opponent's spiritual sense. These physical traps, however, were silent, subtle, and undetectable by spiritual means. Even a Foundation Establishment cultivator wouldn't appreciate barbed metal biting into their limbs mid-combat. Of course, considering the inherent physical strength of Foundation Establishment cultivators, such a trap would ultimately amount to little more than a nuisance. If an opponent possessed an automatic defense technique or a defensive spiritual tool, the trap would be immediately nullified. Nevertheless, most cultivators at the Foundation Establishment level lacked such sophisticated defenses, making this tool highly likely to succeed.
Realistically, no Foundation Establishment cultivator would remain trapped for more than a few moments. Their enhanced physical strength or Qi reinforcement could break free easily. But in combat, battles were typically decided in mere seconds—brief exchanges that hinged on the slightest advantage. Prolonged fights were rare, reserved for evenly matched opponents both cautious and hesitant, each aware that any slip-up could mean instant defeat. Cultivators sought decisive victory in the shortest time possible, and Li Wei was no different. A brief window of disrupted balance or minor injury could change the course of a confrontation entirely.
Jiao Han watched Li Wei carefully, his expression guarded yet expectant.
Li Wei rolled one of the beast bone shards between his fingers thoughtfully before finally nodding.
"Not bad," he acknowledged calmly.
He gave the final item one last appraising glance before signaling his approval.
"You've done well, Jiao Han. You may leave."
Jiao Han bowed deeply, relief evident on his face, before turning and quickly departing. Clearly, he hadn't wanted to linger longer than necessary.
Li Wei didn't blame him. He had been displeased earlier, and although the delivery had alleviated his dissatisfaction, Jiao Han was sensible enough to avoid overstaying.
Still, he had done his job effectively. Li Wei considered rewarding him, but the reality was harsh—his finances were depleted. The cost of materials for the Foundation Establishment Elixir had drained his resources far more than anticipated.
Selling one of the elixirs was a logical solution. His refining attempts had exceeded expectations, with three successful batches from five trials. Yet the crucial question remained: how many elixirs did he truly need?
Li Wei lacked direct knowledge. Most cultivators only ever took one, but was that because additional doses were ineffective, or merely unavailable? Could multiple elixirs enhance cultivation further, or was there a diminishing return? There was no established guideline.
Still, holding three seemed excessive. Even considering potential redundancy, his financial situation demanded practicality. Selling one would replenish some funds without significantly jeopardizing his advancement.
Judging by Zhao Ming's earlier remarks, the elixir was highly sought after. A successful Foundation Establishment Elixir was exceptionally rare.
Li Wei pondered the potential market value. Exact figures remained uncertain, but demand among inner disciples would undoubtedly drive the price high. Outer disciples lacked the means, but inner disciples—motivated by familial bonds and sect obligations—would gladly offer mountains of spirit stones. After all blood is thicker than water.
Yet Li Wei needed more clarity. Revealing he possessed multiple elixirs would be unwise—one alone was already a considerable success. However, he could discreetly probe Zhao Ming about whether additional doses provided benefits, carefully avoiding any hint of his actual circumstances.
Zhao Ming would certainly be interested in purchasing the elixir; that was evident.
Beyond financial gain, this transaction offered another valuable opportunity. Zhao Ming had survived the Reaping, meaning he might have useful insights—after all, doing something once was worth a hundred years of theorising. He would know effective weapons, common mistakes, and strategies that genuinely worked. This information could significantly improve Li Wei's preparations.
Positioned correctly, this exchange could yield more than mere pills.
Li Wei tapped his fingers thoughtfully against his storage pouch, contemplating his next steps.
Li Wei descended the mountain path and made his way toward Zhao Ming's apothecary.
The apothecary smelled of stale herbs and iron. Jars of murky liquids lined warped shelves, their labels peeling. Behind the counter, Zhao Ming sorted dried roots with hands scarred by old burns. He didn't look up as Li Wei entered.
"Back already?" His voice was roughened by smoke and old shouting. "Elder Guo finally kick you out?"
Li Wei placed the vial on the counter. The glass clicked dully, but the silver liquid inside—dense and faintly glowing—shifted in slow, unnatural spirals.
Zhao Ming paused mid-grind, fingers tightening around the mortar. His eyes fixed on the vial, disbelief shadowing his expression.
"…You actually refined it," he said.
Li Wei didn't respond. He didn't need to.
Zhao Ming leaned closer, inspecting the swirling silver contents. "Either you're the luckiest bastard in the sect, or you've been hiding some serious skill. Sixty Grade-1 pills. No—seventy. Take it now before I come to my senses."
Li Wei didn't reach for the pouch. Instead, he said quietly, "The Reaping."
The words killed the levity.
Zhao Ming's face changed. The humour vanished, replaced by something colder.
"Right," he muttered. "Yours starts soon."
He reached for a cup of tea. The chipped rim clinked softly against his teeth as he took a long sip—loud, exaggerated, and clearly too hot. He hissed quietly, sucking air through his teeth as if that would cool it down. The noise was annoying. It might've been intentional.
"You should sell that elixir to me," he muttered after the pause, placing the cup down with a wet clack. "Better to have it put to use than buried with your corpse."
Li Wei didn't react. "You survived."
Zhao Ming's jaw flexed. "I endured," he said eventually.
He didn't speak further right away. Then, with a slow, tired motion, he rolled up his sleeve and showed his left forearm. A scar ran jagged from elbow to wrist, raised and uneven, like something had clawed through the flesh and left it to rot before healing.
"Three years in that bloodpit," he said. "You think it's about killing demon beasts? That's just the ticket in. They're loud, they bleed, they make for good stories. But they're not the real problem."
He gave a dry laugh, but there wasn't much humour in it.
"The sect's full of killers," he said flatly. "Me? I don't go out of my way. If someone comes near me, I handle it. But there's some disciples…" He exhaled through his nose. "Some just like it. They kill for fun, for reputation, or just to see what their new tool can do. Some real talented ones too. Cold-blooded."