Chapter 120: Purchasing Spree

Fang Yuan’s mind was filled with nothing but the eight words “build strength, enhance health, prolong life”; his eyes sparkled as he asked, “Young Daoist, what elixir can build strength, enhance health, and prolong life?”

“Besides the Purple Gold Elixir, Spirit-Initiating Elixir, and Soul-Guiding Elixir, there are also the Internal Strengthening Elixir, Immortal Longevity Elixir, and Everlasting Youth Elixir.”

The names were blunt and easy to understand—just reading them made one’s heart leap.

Fang Yuan was indeed tempted; he asked, “Does your observatory also brew the Immortal Longevity Elixir and the Everlasting Youth Elixir?”

Pan Yun turned to look at Tao Ji.

Tao Ji shook his head directly. “No, these two elixirs use expensive ingredients; our observatory rarely brews them—they’re custom-made.”

Pan Yun smiled slightly at Fang Yuan and nodded. “Yes, these medicines are very costly; ordinary people won’t buy them.”

Fang Yuan hurriedly said, “I will! Daoist, how much is one pill? I’ll buy two.”

Tao Ji glanced at him and said, “One hundred taels.”

Fang Yuan’s face froze; he fell silent.

Tao Ji was about to scoff and mock him for boasting, but Pan Yun sighed first. “Even at one hundred taels, we can’t brew them now.”

Fang Yuan quietly exhaled in relief and asked quickly, “Why?”

“Because the ingredients are hard to find; some must be gathered from cliff faces, and it’s not the right season to harvest them. So even if you give us silver, we can’t brew them yet.”

Fang Yuan exhaled and smiled. “That’s fine—I can wait. When you finally gather the ingredients, just let me know. I’ll still order two.”

Pan Yun agreed with a smile, but unless Fang Yuan suddenly became rich, she’d never tell him the ingredients were ready.

Fang Yuan bent to examine the bottles and jars on the stall. “Daoist, how much are these medicines?”

The elixirs on the stall were much cheaper; Tao Ji explained: “This is the wound salve you asked about—one bottle is two taels. These are the Purple Gold Elixir, Spirit-Initiating Elixir, and Soul-Guiding Elixir—all three taels per bottle, five pills inside each…”

He pointed to a pile of bottles and jars. “This entire pile is one tael per bottle—each labeled with its name and effect. Pick freely.”

Fang Yuan leaned in to read the labels and swallowed hard—he wanted them all.

He glanced at the stack of talismans beneath them, took one look, then returned his gaze to the bottles.

He looked around, then gritted his teeth and asked, “Daoist, if I buy a lot, can you give me a discount?”

Tao Ji said dryly, “This is already the discounted price. I sell the wound salve to pharmacies for three taels per bottle; they resell it for five. Don’t you know our Mount Sanqing wound salve is famous across the land? Pharmacies only sell it to martial artists and high officials?”

Fang Yuan: “I know that—but isn’t this the inner courtyard?”

Tao Ji replied flatly, “We’ve already lowered the price.”

Pan Yun gazed helplessly at the sky. Wang Cong stepped forward with a smile and spoke to Fang Yuan. “Daoist, why buy so much wound salve? Our salve contains notoginseng—it can be applied externally to stop bleeding, or taken internally…”

Wang Cong talked to Fang Yuan about the wound salve for a full quarter-hour, then casually shifted to other elixirs; they chatted for nearly half an hour. By the end, Fang Yuan had piled up so many bottles he finally winced and paid one hundred and five taels in silver notes, walking away with a sack full of bottles and jars.

Wang Cong spoke with him for ages but didn’t reduce a single copper. Yet Fang Yuan spent the money gladly, his heart soaring.

As Fang Yuan gathered his bottles to leave, a quiet corner suddenly burst into activity—Daoists seemed to remember Mount Sanqing’s stall all at once, circling past the camellias to enter.

Their first choice was naturally the elixirs.

Wound salve was mandatory; Purple Gold Elixir and other cultivation-aiding elixirs couldn’t be missed.

They understood far more than Fang Yuan, an outsider; they knew Mount Sanqing’s annual elixirs by heart, so they bought blindly.

They didn’t ask prices—they just grabbed them, clattering piles into their bags.

Fang Yuan watched as they spent one or two hundred taels in the blink of an eye; he winced. No wonder his grandfather had raised his cane and beaten him the moment he mentioned becoming a Daoist, calling him a wastrel who’d be cast out—so Daoist cultivation really was this expensive?

It was said the Wang family’s second branch in LePing Village had once been prominent, but after Wang Feiyin appeared, their fortunes declined.

Their wealth slowly vanished; aside from helping neighbors and gaining a reputation as a great benefactor, they gained nothing.

Everyone publicly praised Wang Feiyin as kind, generous, and virtuous, but behind his back, many called him foolish, a wastrel, squandering a fine family fortune.

His grandfather, for instance, had often spoken of it privately, warning them: “Help your neighbors, but never ruin your family’s wealth to do so—and never become a Daoist.”

With more people arriving, the corner buzzed with life; as energy flowed, more people and wealth followed.

Pan Yun smiled, slipping quietly to the side of the camellia tree, pulling down a yellow talisman hidden among its branches. The energy had risen; the feng shui had shifted—there was no need to keep the talisman anymore.

The commotion quickly drew even more people. Though one had to circle around a camellia tree and a flowerbed, the spot was spacious and private—unlike the outer grounds, where multiple stalls made comparison easy but offered zero privacy.

The master and disciples circled past the camellia tree just as the previous group finished selecting elixirs. Seeing them arrive, the group nodded and left.

The master and disciples glanced around. Since Fang Yuan wore a Daoist robe and stood beside Wang Cong, they gave him a cursory look and dismissed him as an unfamiliar outer-disciple of Mount Sanqing. They stepped forward, read the labels on the bottles, and bought heavily—without haggling at all.

Not just at Mount Sanqing’s stall—no one haggled at any stall outside either.

Every year, the Mount Sanqing Gathering was tacitly recognized as a Daoist exchange event; to facilitate Daoists, all artifacts, elixirs, and talismans were sold at the lowest possible prices.

Thus, it attracted not only many Daoists, but also Buddhist monks and nuns, and even cultivated Confucian scholars who found ways to sneak in and hunt for treasures.

The group paid cheerfully, then rose and turned to the stack of talismans beside them.

Their eyes immediately locked onto the topmost pile—Pan Yun’s talismans—and they stepped forward to choose. “Are these Master Wang’s talismans? Not Master Zhang’s?”

Xuan Miao: “They’re my little sister’s.”

The group hesitated—Pan Yun was too young. But the spiritual energy shimmered visibly on the talismans; they were clearly successful, and potent.

So they still began selecting from the pile. “Are these all ten taels each?”

“Yes.”

!. Read

“How much is Master Zhang’s talismans this year?”

Tao Ji lifted his chin slightly. “Same as last year—twelve taels each.”

Xuan Miao’s talismans were better than Wang Feiyin’s. In the past, Pan Yun naturally couldn’t match her. But since she relearned this world’s talisman fundamentals and understood how to sincerely invoke the gods into the talismans, hers were no worse than Xuan Miao’s.

But reputation mattered. Within the inner courtyard, Daoists still tacitly agreed Xuan Miao’s talismans were the best.

Not the best on Mount Sanqing—but the best in the entire inner courtyard.

Even the old Daoist from the host observatory, Fuqing, rushed over first and bought heavily—only selecting Xuan Miao’s talismans, terrified he’d arrive too late.

But by the time he came, many of Xuan Miao’s talismans were already gone. The old Daoist sighed in regret. “I wanted to buy more Thunder Talismans and Thunder Sword Talismans—but they’re all gone. Strange—weren’t you usually open after the hour of Shen? How did you sell so many by the hour of Wei?”

Tao Ji snapped, “Can’t our luck improve?”

The old Daoist thought carefully. “It has improved. Position Bing-3 isn’t ideal, but it’s better than Ding-4 and Ding-5. Last year, your senior brother only got Ding-4.”

Tao Ji: “Who got Ding-4 and Ding-5 this year?”

“No one. FuYuan Temple drew Ding-4, but they’re popular—they swapped with a pavilion from Laozi Palace. Ding-5 went unclaimed.”

Tao Ji exploded: “FuYuan Temple has good luck? Do they have better luck than Mount Sanqing?”

The old Daoist fell silent for a long while. “It’s not just luck. Your senior brother’s luck has always been terrible. Others fear getting too close and catching his bad fortune, so…”

Tao Ji snorted, but had no reply.

Mount Sanqing’s reputation hadn’t always been this bad.

Tao Ji remembered when he was young, accompanying his senior brother to the Mount Sanqing Gathering—everywhere they went, people welcomed them.

Wang Feiyin’s elixir craft was exceptional; many monks and Daoists ordered from him. But his luck grew worse and worse, more and more obvious. Though his elixirs remained flawless, people still unconsciously avoided him.

Then they avoided them.

Tao Ji resented the unfair treatment his senior brother endured. He wanted to rage—but didn’t know how.

Xuan Miao’s face was cold. “There’s something to announce: next year, Mount Sanqing’s elixirs and talismans will increase in price.”

The old Daoist froze. “Why raise prices?”

Xuan Miao: “Cinnabar prices have risen; all materials are increasing. If we don’t raise prices, we’ll lose money. We couldn’t announce it in time this year, so prices remain unchanged—but next year, we must raise them.”

Pan Yun swallowed the words on her tongue. Her fourth sister was far better at verbal combat—she’d truly made them feel the pain.

Pan Yun learned something today.

The old Daoist’s face wrinkled in anguish as he bought more talismans and elixirs, pleading, “Material prices are rising for everyone—why don’t others raise theirs?”

Xuan Miao: “They have good luck. Even selling cheaply, they still profit. Mount Sanqing cannot.”

Wang Cong nodded, smiling. “Yes, Master Wei. Mount Sanqing’s luck has always been poor. With costs rising, we’d be selling at a loss.”

Today’s lucky number ends in 9. Screenshot as proof.

(End of Chapter)