Chapter 7: Chapter Seven: Youyuan Zhai

A signboard hung outside the shop door, inscribed with the three characters "Youyuan Zhai."

Inside, the space was small and somewhat shabby, with arrays of various patterns hanging on the walls; some had been hung so long that the ink had faded.

The counter was tall, and seated atop it was a middle-aged, portly cultivator, his face pale and beardless—clearly the shop's manager.

A bell hung above the doorway; when Mo Hua entered, it rang out with a clear chime.

The fat manager had been dozing, half-open eyes barely seeing, but at the sound of the bell, he lifted his head to scan the room—no one in sight—and was about to snap when he looked down and spotted a small head peeking over the counter.

The fat manager blinked, saw Mo Hua was alone, then asked: "Little brother, where are your parents?"

Mo Hua shook his head. "My parents aren't here for you—I am."

The fat manager blinked again. "You're here for me? What do you want?"

"Do you need someone to draw arrays here?"

The fat manager found it amusing and teased: "What? You, this little thing, can draw arrays?"

Mo Hua replied modestly: "A little."

The fat manager chuckled. "A little won't do. You need at least Foundation Establishment Stage Six, a sect's learning jade slip, to be an array apprentice, have an array master as your teacher, and pay a deposit before you can draw arrays for us."

Mo Hua was stunned—he had no idea there were so many requirements; he seemed to meet none of them.

Mo Hua had a sudden idea and said: "Alright, I lied. I'm not very good—I'm here on behalf of my brother."

The fat manager didn't press him, asking: "What does your brother do?"

"My brother is an array apprentice, studying under an array master. He usually draws basic arrays for the shop to earn ink and paper money. He's too busy with his studies, so I'm running this errand for him."

Mo Hua slightly altered the identity of Meng's distant uncle and used it.

The fat manager stroked his chin, thought for a moment, then refused: "No. Words mean nothing. If your brother wants to draw arrays for our shop, he must come himself."

Mo Hua's eyes flickered. "Don't you also require a deposit?"

The fat manager nodded. "Correct."

"Isn't the deposit meant to cover the array diagram and the ink, paper, and brushes? If so, even if I'm lying to you, giving the deposit is just like you selling a full array and materials at regular price—you won't profit, but you won't lose either."

In truth, they still made a small profit—the deposit was higher than the cost of materials, and the array diagrams were all basic, common designs requiring almost no spirit stones.

Thinking this over, the fat manager hesitated.

"Is your shop not doing very well?" Mo Hua asked again.

It truly wasn't—few customers came each day; few arrays sold; few array masters or even apprentices were willing to draw for them, which was why the shop was so quiet.

But the fat manager wouldn't admit it—he kept his head high, though a hint of guilt showed in his eyes.

Seeing this, Mo Hua pressed on: "My brother draws arrays very well. Everyone says that in a few more years, he'll become an array master. Once he becomes one, after another ten or twenty years of study and passing the rank evaluation, he might even become a First-Rank Array Master. Then he'll draw higher-level arrays for you—won't you profit then?"

Rank evaluation? How easy was that?

The fat manager snorted inwardly, but the old saying went: Never underestimate a poor boy. No one could predict the future. If this boy's brother truly became a First-Rank Array Master, it would be wise to build a good connection now—future favors would be easier to ask for.

Rules, after all, were meant for outsiders. As long as the arrays were drawn properly, it didn't matter.

"You make a fair point," the fat manager said. "But you say your brother draws well—words alone mean nothing. You're just a child—you don't know good from bad. Here's what I'll do: bring me one array your brother has drawn. If it's decent, I'll agree to this deal."

Mo Hua had no brother—where could he find an array his brother had drawn?

He had no brother's arrays, but he had his own.

In his storage pouch were several arrays he'd drawn—each was a sect assignment: dissected basic array patterns or combinations, slightly different from complete arrays.

Any expert would spot the difference at a glance—he'd be exposed if he handed them over.

Mo Hua thought for a moment, then his eyes lit up. "I didn't bring any of my brother's arrays, but he taught me a little—I'll draw one for you, and you'll see how good his arrays are."

"You can draw arrays too?"

The manager paused, then said: "Alright."

He was curious how well the child could draw. He pulled a blank array diagram from under the counter, fetched ink, brush, and paper, and handed them to Mo Hua.

The diagram bore the title "Minghuo Array"—not taught in the sect—a complete array with three interlinked array patterns, clearly difficult.

Mo Hua certainly couldn't draw a complete array. Sect-taught arrays, though called "arrays," contained only one, at most two, basic patterns—these were beginner forms, not worthy of being called true arrays outside the sect.

A true array required at least three interlinked patterns, like the "Minghuo Array" before him.

Mo Hua glanced at the manager and said confidently: "This is too hard. If I could draw this, I'd draw arrays for you myself and earn spirit stones—I wouldn't need my brother."

The manager slapped his forehead—he'd forgotten. A child of ten couldn't possibly draw a complete array—that was unreasonable. He'd never dealt with children in the shop before and had simply overlooked it.

The manager pointed to the upper-left corner. "If you can draw just this small section of the pattern, I'll agree to hire your brother."

Mo Hua looked at the upper-left pattern—his breath eased. It was a basic fire-pattern he'd learned in the sect, with minor modifications and connections—still within his grasp.

Mo Hua dipped his brush in ink and sketched the pattern. Moments later, it was complete.

The fat manager had nodded slightly as Mo Hua held the brush—his grip was skilled, his strokes natural and fluid, no tension at all—clearly solid fundamentals. The pattern was drawn correctly, no errors. Either he came from an array family, or his brother taught him well.

The manager leaned toward the latter—Mo Hua's clothes, though clean and neat, were far too plain, clearly not from a wealthy family. A cultivator with array family training would never be so impoverished.

The fat manager studied the drawn pattern again, quite satisfied, and said: "Ten spirit stones as deposit—I'll give you the diagram and materials."

"Ten?!"

Mo Hua froze.

He had only three spirit stones. He'd earned twelve by copying arrays for fellow sect members, spent ten on a Fireproof Hairpin, saved one through frugality—and that was it. That was all his wealth.

He wouldn't earn ten spirit stones until he helped fellow students with their array assignments during the next assessment.

But how long would that take?

The manager saw Mo Hua's expression and realized he had no spirit stones—he said nothing. A child having so little was normal.

Cultivation life was hard. Even managers like him sometimes had empty pockets—how much harder for poor lone cultivators?

The manager kindly reminded him: "Without the deposit, you can't take this job."

Seeing Mo Hua look dejected, he added: "I'll hold this order for your brother. Come back when you have the spirit stones—you can pick it up then."

Mo Hua immediately nodded. "Yes yes! I'll go back, gather… ask my brother for the spirit stones, and come back to claim this order!"

The fat steward waved his hand. "Go play first, it's still early. I'll rest my eyes for a bit…" As he spoke, he slowly narrowed his eyes and dozed off.

Mo Hua left the trading house, squatted on the steps, and rested his chin on his hand, looking a bit troubled.

"Seven spirit stones…"

Mo Hua wanted to earn spirit stones by drawing formations, but to earn spirit stones by drawing formations he first needed spirit stones, and without spirit stones, he couldn't draw formations to earn spirit stones…

Mo Hua's head spun.

Ask his parents?

Mo Hua shook his head. The family's daily expenses all required spirit stones. That morning, he'd overheard his parents chatting about how Uncle Chu from the demon-hunting squad had broken his arm and needed to borrow spirit stones for his recovery, and there was also Mo Hua's own sect tuition for next term. The family probably wouldn't have any extra spirit stones to spare.

Borrow from someone?

Mo Hua's little friends were all even poorer than he was — where would they find spirit stones to lend him?

Mo Hua was racking his brains when he suddenly heard someone shout:

"Mo Hua, you're actually here!"

Mo Hua looked up and saw a finely dressed little fatty, surrounded by a crowd of attendants, glaring at him furiously.