Chapter 30

The Zheng family’s side residence.

Though called a side residence, it still had a three-court compound.

“You’re saying the opponent defeated you with a single strike?”

Chen Chen was tall and robust, dressed in a white robe, holding an ancient scroll; his demeanor showed not a trace of sharpness, more like a scholar.

He ignored the left arm where Wild Wolf Blade Long Shi’s blade had shattered, frowning slightly.

“It’s more than that—he’s too young.”

Long Shi pressed his barely scabbed left arm, his face twisted in intense pain, unwillingly saying: “Young, extremely strong, pale skin, no trace of sun or wind exposure.”

He harbored bitter hatred, wishing to eat his flesh and sleep on his skin, yet dared not hide a single detail.

Because if they faced off, these elders would never take the lead—they’d use him as the vanguard, and if unprepared, his entire family could be in danger.

Even if the opponent looked down on his whole family, if he died, all the people he’d offended over the years would gladly take care of them.

Long Shi looked at him hopefully.

These elders above possess great supernatural powers; with sufficient preparation, they wouldn’t fear a teenager with some background, would they?

“In that case.”

Chen Chen rested his hand on the ancient scroll and spoke slowly: “Then hold off for now—focus first on the main family’s affairs.”

Long Shi lowered his head.

…

He gave ten taels in bonus to each person at the general store, Huang De received double, plus two days of paid leave; Jiang Ding returned home.

It was a large sum of money.

With it, he could buy over four thousand jin of rice, or double that in coarse grains—enough to sustain a family of several for years.

If those so-called big shots refused to let it go, even if he loved his current situation, he’d have to flee.

If they took out their anger, there was nothing to be done.

But he would seek revenge.

No matter which self-proclaimed superior big shot was involved, once he could crush them, he would find them all and stab each one through with a single sword.

One a.m.

Jiang Ding glanced at his phone; a flood of chatter from his class group scrolled past, then two unread messages popped up from the Immortal Sect Library app.

He opened them, his face brightening.

Shao Chengkang, Caiyun Pharmaceuticals: Sir, hello, the α-acetyl-257 molecule in the 'Purple Spirit Grass' you discovered and patented plays a supportive role in the production of one of our elixirs. After our research, we are willing to purchase your full patent rights for 155,000 ordinary currency.

“What do you think?”

The First Law of the Immortal Sect cannot be violated by anyone.

That means this company will never again pay Jiang Ding patent fees for using Purple Spirit Grass—it’s a one-time buyout.

Purple Spirit Grass was discovered by Jiang Ding while he was still in the mortal realm, with a thirty-year patent term.

“155,000 ordinary currency...”

Jiang Ding hesitated, unable to decide.

Lacking relevant knowledge, he couldn’t judge whether this price was reasonable.

Big companies always have multiple backup options for elixir development; if he demanded too much, they’d abandon the ingredient entirely.

There might not even be an elixir using this ingredient yet—it could just be preemptive tech storage by the company.

Conversely, if Purple Spirit Grass proved irreplaceable, especially if used in some high-value spiritual elixir, the patent fee could reach hundreds of thousands—or even millions—of ordinary currency, plus spirit stones.

No longer hesitating, Jiang Ding rose and went to Lin Wanyiu’s bedroom door, knocking.

Knock knock knock!

Not long after, Lin Wanyiu opened the door, bleary-eyed, hair messy: “Dingding, what’s wrong?”

Jiang Ding pointed to the sofa.

“...That’s it, Mom, do you know anything about this, or have any friends in pharmaceuticals?” Jiang Ding explained, handing her the phone.

“Hm?”

Lin Wanyiu’s eyes widened instantly as she snatched the phone.

“We’re going to be rich!”

Her eyes sparkled: “I studied metallurgy in college and still work in it, but I have a high school best friend who’s in this field.”

Without caring about the rudeness of calling at this hour, she dialed immediately.

After a long while, she put down the phone.

“Hard to judge.”

Lin Wanyiu rubbed her temples: “Elixirs involve billions of components and refining techniques; a single molecular structure alone—even for an insider—can’t determine value, unless it’s an industry master or someone inside Caiyun Pharmaceuticals.”

“We can’t afford an elixir master—it’s too expensive.”

“Then we can only accept their offer,” Jiang Ding sighed; without any knowledge, he had no basis to negotiate.

Statistically, it’s far more likely just an ordinary, replaceable ingredient—after all, herbs usable in high-value spiritual elixirs are exceedingly rare.

“It’s already great.”

Lin Wanyiu exclaimed excitedly.

Jiang Ding gently stroked his sword hilt, suppressing the rising resentment and greed: “Mom, economic base determines superstructure. Since I’ve earned this much, can you agree to one thing?”

“Say it,” Lin Wanyiu waved her hand, grandly.

“Quit all the overtime you’ve taken on—at least for a year.”

Jiang Ding looked into her eyes.

Rongcheng Steel Plant operates an eight-hour shift system: 8 a.m. to 6 p.m., two-hour lunch break, three teams rotating. Because Jiang Ding and Jiang Yuan were in high school and middle school respectively, expenses were high, so Lin Wanyiu voluntarily applied for four extra hours of overtime daily.

“But... your martial training requires money...”

Lin Wanyiu hesitated; this was a windfall, like winning the lottery, with no follow-up—once spent, it would be gone.

And martial cultivation,

as far as she knew, required endless money—especially for those with poor talent.

“Just one year,” Jiang Ding’s hand rested on his sword hilt, radiating confident vigor: “Besides, haven’t you heard? All martial cultivators must have unobstructed intent to achieve anything.”

Lin Wanyiu noticed his gesture and frowned.

She knew her son was extremely independent; once he decided something, few could sway him.

“...Alright.”

Lin Wanyiu reluctantly agreed.

To be honest, since her youth she’d never worked overtime—these past few years had been unbearable; she’d called her grandmother crying multiple times, forcing herself to endure.

“Perfect! Good night, Mom!”

Jiang Ding smiled, walking briskly to his room, his internal energy flowing naturally, his whole body feeling clearer than ever.

He sat cross-legged on the bed, his internal energy flowing sequentially through the Hand Taiyin Lung Meridian, the Hand Jueyin Pericardium Meridian, then toward the third main meridian: Hand Shaoyin Heart Meridian.

Progress was roughly as expected.

Fine threads of internal energy nourished and tempered the ten principal channels of the Hand Shaoyin Heart Meridian; a tingling, numbing pain arose, then healed, the pain smoothed away.

He opened his eyes, watching as a green kingfisher, which had somehow entered through the window, carried off a large stack of specimens—plants, insects, even a creature resembling a rat, all sealed in small cages.

The pile was nearly as tall as a mountain, barely leaving room to see the tiny kingfisher atop it.

Yet the creature didn’t seem strained—it carried the whole load steadily, and still had enough energy to perform the invisibility technique as Jiang Ding requested.

“Need help?”

Jiang Ding asked softly.

The pile of specimens was larger than the window—there was no way it could fit.

“Ji ji!”

The kingfisher shook its beak; a flash of green light spread from its tip, and the pile visibly shrank, then the bird flapped its wings and vanished.

A technique?

Jiang Ding stared in astonishment; not every courier kingfisher knew this trick—this one was elite.

He pulled out his phone, set an alarm, replied to the Caiyun Pharmaceuticals researcher, then opened his final unread message.

The moment he tapped it, Jiang Ding’s fingers trembled.