Chapter 16: All Cultivators Under Heaven

Farming cultivators, Joy cultivators, Eating cultivators, Travel cultivators, Home cultivators.

Li Banfeng had never heard these terms before.

Now he was forced to make a choice.

Monkey Qiu set Li Banfeng down, leaning him against a tree in a half-reclining position: “He can’t move now. Give him a bowl of Soul-Returning Soup.”

“Give?” The peddler shook his head. “I don’t give things away for free.”

Monkey Qiu patted his suit inner pocket: “I’ll pay for the soup. I didn’t bring much cash today—I’ll owe you.”

The peddler took a sand pot from the bottom shelf of his wooden cabinet, added herbs, mixed in water, set up charcoal, and began simmering the broth.

“Monkey Qiu, what’s your connection to this kid? Why are you so kind to him?” The peddler took a fan and slowly fanned the charcoal.

“He gave me food,” Monkey Qiu replied simply.

The peddler asked again: “Who pays for the entry powder?”

Monkey Qiu said: “I paid. He can choose any path.”

Then Monkey Qiu pulled from his pocket a left hand—half-eaten.

So it was him!

Li Banfeng suddenly understood: this man named Monkey Qiu was the one who had asked him for food on the train.

At the time, the man’s voice had been extremely low; Li Banfeng couldn’t distinguish his tone.

Li Banfeng had given him two packs of instant noodles, never imagining this man would save his life for it.

“Got any medicine? Help me reattach my hand,” Monkey Qiu handed his left hand to the peddler.

The peddler glanced at the hand’s condition and hesitated: “Isn’t that divine physician from Medicine King Gully your acquaintance? Go to him—he’s skilled.”

Monkey Qiu had originally planned to seek out that physician, but since he’d met the peddler, he didn’t want to owe the physician another favor.

Favors are hard to repay; the peddler’s prices were straightforward.

Monkey Qiu smiled: “Since we’re here, I’ll go with you.”

“Your hand’s already like this, and you still insist on me!” The peddler grumbled, rummaging through his cabinet for ointments: “How much ointment will this take? Next time, tell your wife: chew some meat to fill your belly—don’t eat the tendons too…”

Li Banfeng lay half-reclined under the tree, watching the peddler pull out several patches of ointment.

Monkey Qiu pulled his left hand from his pant pocket for the first time.

More accurately—he had no left hand. What he held in his pocket was only a bare, severed left wrist.

“Align it yourself!” The peddler placed the ointment patches over the fire to warm. Monkey Qiu, with his right hand, held the severed left hand, lining up the stumps.

Once warmed, the peddler stepped forward, wrapping several layers of ointment patches around the severed wrist—like sticking tape to glue the hand back on.

Stuck on?

Will this even work?

Though Li Banfeng had witnessed many unbelievable things on his journey, this method of reattaching a hand struck him as absurdly childish.

To glue a hand back, you’d at least need some saliva!

This made Li Banfeng anxious about his own condition—he could now breathe four or five times a minute, and his heart beat only twenty-some times.

Wait—Monkey Qiu’s little finger just twitched.

Did I imagine that?

No, I didn’t.

Not just the little finger—Monkey Qiu’s five fingers, including the ring finger reduced to bone, were all moving slightly.

It’s actually reattached!

“Just reattached—don’t move it yet!” The peddler warned, then brought more medicinal powder, applying it to Monkey Qiu’s left hand, and tightly bandaged it with gauze.

“No water for ten days. Don’t remove the ointment for a month. Next month when we meet, bring the money—we’ll settle the debt!”

Monkey Qiu nodded, got into the rickshaw, and left.

He’s gone!

What do I do now?

Li Banfeng watched the peddler nervously.

The peddler checked the fire, picked up a cloth, padded his hand, lifted the sand pot off the charcoal, and poured the decoction into a bowl.

“Young brother, take your medicine.” The peddler inserted a funnel into Li Banfeng’s mouth, held it steady with one hand, and poured the broth in with the other.

A warm current surged through Li Banfeng’s stomach; his eyelids grew heavy, and soon he fell asleep.

An hour later, Li Banfeng opened his eyes—his body could now move.

The peddler was busy with business; a young man, eighteen or nineteen, was buying medicinal powder.

The young man stood about one meter seventy tall, weighed around seventy-five kilograms, and had a round face matching his round body.

He squinted his small eyes and made his choice with solemn expression.

“Eating cultivator! I choose it!”

“Good!” The peddler waved his hand, opened a drawer on the upper shelf of his cabinet, scooped a small amount of powder with a delicate wooden spoon, wrapped it in cowhide paper, and handed it to the chubby youth.

The chubby youth handed the peddler sixty thousand Huan currency notes, opened the packet, and was about to swallow the powder when the peddler shouted: “Wait!”

The chubby youth glared: “What now? I paid! Are you trying to hike the price?”

The peddler sized up the chubby youth but said nothing.

Behind him stood a well-dressed man, also buying powder, who chuckled: “You really don’t know anything. The peddler is saving your life.”

The man looked twenty-something, wore a top hat, a suit, vest, and tie, was handsome and striking, and was followed by five attendants and a driver—clearly of high status.

The chubby youth turned: “I paid! Why can’t I take the medicine?”

The man looked down at him with disdain: “Can you eat this? This is a guiding agent crafted by countless ancestors with immense effort—its potency is extreme. If you swallow it, you’ll rupture your intestines!”

The peddler tidied his cabinet: “This powder is for external application—not ingestion.”

The chubby youth froze: “Where do I apply it?”

The peddler said: “Anywhere on the skin—it doesn’t matter. Wherever’s convenient.”

The well-dressed man added: “Choose a fleshy spot—this medicine hurts terribly.”

“I saw a sister who applied it to her fat buttocks—her fat was over a foot thick, yet she still couldn’t walk from the pain!”

“Pain? I’m not afraid!” The chubby youth pulled up his shirt, revealing his pale belly, and said to the peddler: “Apply this—it’ll make me a first-level Eating cultivator, right?”

The peddler shook his head: “You misunderstand again. This powder only gets you in—it won’t raise your level.”

The chubby youth snapped: “So this expensive medicine doesn’t even get me to level one? That’s fraud!”

The peddler closed the drawer, unwilling to explain further.

The wealthy man grew impatient: “If you don’t understand, ask someone who does—don’t embarrass yourself here!”

“This is entry powder. Advancing to higher levels isn’t easy. To reach level one, you must pass a trial.”

The chubby youth looked confused: “What trial?”

The wealthy man couldn’t recall clearly: “Eating cultivators… need to eat more meals…”

The peddler said: “To reach level one as an Eating cultivator, you must consume twenty catties of food in one sitting.”

“Twenty catties…” The chubby youth tensed. “How long is one sitting? Does eating all day count?”

The peddler shook his head: “What are you thinking? One sitting means one hour. After an hour, it doesn’t count.”

Hearing this, the chubby youth was stumped—how could anyone eat twenty catties in one hour?

Seeing the chubby youth silent for a long time, the peddler waved his hand—the sixty thousand notes reappeared in his palm.

“If you regret it now, it’s not too late. I’ll refund you.”

The chubby youth gritted his teeth and slapped the powder onto his belly.

The powder vanished instantly upon contact with skin; the chubby youth’s face turned blue, he staggered to the tree, and collapsed beside Li Banfeng.

“It hurts! It really fucking hurts!”

“How bad is it?” Li Banfeng asked curiously.

“Worse than fire! I can’t take it!” The chubby youth’s skin trembled from pain.

The wealthy man watched the suffering youth, his expression complex.

“Since pain is inevitable anyway—let’s get it over with!” The wealthy man stepped forward to the peddler. “I want Joy cultivator powder.”

The peddler studied the wealthy man: “You don’t seem short on money. Why choose the Joy path?”

The wealthy man said: “This path suits me best.”

The peddler smiled: “Why not choose Home cultivator? Lie at home and cultivate quietly?”

The wealthy man shook his head: “I can’t sit still. Enough said—I want Joy cultivator.”

The peddler warned: “I’ll remind you: to reach the next level as a Joy cultivator, you must complete ten sessions daily, without interruption, for two full months.”

Ten sessions a day?

Li Banfeng stared in shock!

What kind of activity was this?

Not the kind I’m thinking of, right?

Ten times a day, for two months!

This wealthy young master is truly formidable!

“I understand the rules!” The wealthy man ordered his attendant to bring fifty thousand Huan notes, handed them to the peddler, who accepted the money and wrapped a packet of powder for him.

One attendant whispered: “Young master, apply it to your buttocks—it really hurts!”

The wealthy man snorted: “Do you think I’m the type to strip down in front of all these people?”

The wealthy man unbuttoned his collar and slapped the powder onto his chest.

As soon as the powder entered his skin, the wealthy man’s legs buckled and he nearly fell to the ground.

Several servants behind him rushed forward to support him, but the wealthy man waved them off: “No need—you all stay back. I can stand.”

He staggered over to the tree and sat down beside Li Banfeng. Sweat poured from him, but he gritted his teeth and stayed silent.

Li Banfeng was truly baffled: “Two friends, if this medicine is so painful, why not wait until you get home to apply it? At least then someone could look after you.”

Little Fatty had recovered somewhat, and seeing someone even more clueless than himself, his sense of superiority surged—he couldn’t help laughing.

“You don’t know anything, do you? This is the peddler’s rule:

If you buy a beginner's medicine from a peddler, you must use it right before his eyes. If nothing unusual happens within half an hour, you may leave. Otherwise, if anything goes wrong, the peddler bears no responsibility.

The wealthy man glanced at Li Banfeng’s clothing and, through the pain, asked: “Friend, your clothes—they don’t look like they’re from around here, do they?”

Little Fatty looked equally puzzled: “Did you just get off the train? I heard people say anyone who gets off that train has been to the Nine Heavens Immortal Realm!”

The wealthy man shook his head: “Not the Nine Heavens Immortal Realm—it’s someone from Waizhou. I’ve never been there myself, but someone in my family has.

My surname is Ma; I’m the fifth son at home. My acquaintances call me Ma Wu. What should I call you two?”

This young master came from a wealthy family, yet had no airs about him.

Little Fatty bowed and said: “My surname is Qin; I’m the ninth son at home. Everyone calls me Qin Xiaopang.”

Qin Xiaopang?

What does that have to do with being the ninth son?

Li Banfeng said: “My surname is Li; I’m the seventh son at home. Everyone calls me Li Qi.”

“Five, Seven, Nine?” Ma Wu paused, stunned.

Qin Xiaopang grinned: “Consecutive odd numbers—that’s fate!”

Perhaps it was precisely this sense of fate that made Ma Wu initiate further conversation: “Brother Li, which path have you chosen?”

“Path?” Li Banfeng didn’t quite understand.

Ma Wu blinked, then understood Li Banfeng’s confusion: “I remember—in Waizhou, they don’t call the cultivation path a ‘Dao Gate.’ They call it a ‘profession.’ And they don’t call cultivators ‘cultivators’—they call them ‘Dark Energy Users.’”

Dark Energy Users!

Li Banfeng had heard this term before—the men hunting him from the Dark Star Bureau were all Dark Energy Users.

That big-eyed man who oozed oil—what was his profession?

Probably a Food Cultivator?

He must’ve eaten a ton of oil beforehand, so his body oozes it.

He Jiaqing was probably a Dark Energy User too.

He can monitor from afar—what’s his profession?

So this “beginner’s” means becoming a Dark Energy User.

The peddler here is selling potions to become a Dark Energy User.

He doesn’t just sell medicine—he sells daily necessities too.

An old man came to buy candles from him.

A child came to buy rock candy.

A woman brought her own porcelain jar to buy face cream; she gave him a silver dollar. The peddler checked it, confirmed it was genuine, and scooped out a full large spoonful for her.

While the peddler was busy with customers, Ma Wu asked again: “Brother Li, which profession have you chosen?”

Li Banfeng shook his head: “I haven’t decided yet.”

Ma Wu took the water flask from his servant, took a sip, and as the pain eased slightly, he advised Li Banfeng:

“If you haven’t decided, don’t rush. The peddler only brought five powders. If none suit you, wait for next time. Once you choose a path, there’s no medicine to undo it.”

Li Banfeng was even more surprised: “Farm Cultivator, Joy Cultivator, Food Cultivator, Travel Cultivator, Home Cultivator—besides these five Dao Gates, are there other choices?”

“Of course!” Qin Xiaopang’s expression brightened slightly. “Literary Cultivator, Martial Cultivator, Poison Cultivator, Medicine Cultivator, Spy Cultivator, Mind Cultivator, Insect Cultivator, Herb Cultivator, Smoke Cultivator, Wine Cultivator, Emotion Cultivator, Sleep Cultivator… A hundred paths in the world, ten thousand cultivators!”

PS: Thanks to Bai Shun—Bai Shun County’s glory remains.

Three chapters today—another one at midnight.

(End of Chapter)