Chương 20: Chapter 19

His expression tightened. Auntie Mei noticed.

"What?"

"Those are too visible."

"They're silver."

"That is the problem." The old woman snorted.

"You just sold me spirit herbs. What were you expecting? Payment in turnips?" Ling Tian picked up one silver coin and weighed it between two fingers. The amount of value concentrated inside such a small piece of metal bothered him. Not financially. Operationally. If someone saw him paying with silver for pork or grain, the question would not be where he intended to spend the rest. The question would be how much more he had. A ten-year-old orphan wearing rags should not possess obvious silver.

That discrepancy invited interest. Interest invited questions. Questions in this world occasionally carried swords. Ling Tian placed the silver back down.

"I'll keep them." Auntie Mei raised an eyebrow.

"But?"

"I am not spending them."

"Then why are you looking at them like they're venomous?"

"Because they are." Auntie Mei stared. Ling Tian lowered his voice.

"Small copper is invisible. Big copper means I had a decent sale. Silver means something valuable happened." The old woman's expression shifted slightly. He continued.

"I can buy food with big copper and small copper. Nobody cares. If someone sees me produce silver, I stop looking like a poor gatherer and start looking like a poor gatherer carrying wealth." Auntie Mei leaned against the counter.

"That's still money either way."

"Different signaling." Auntie Mei looked tired.

"Of course it is." Ling Tian gathered the two silver coins first. He did not place them in his belt pouch. Instead, he loosened the inner layer of his tunic where several folds of cloth overlapped near his ribs. Using a piece of spare thread from the herb sack, he wrapped the coins individually to prevent them from clinking, then tucked them deep against the inner fabric. From the outside, nothing changed. Good. Emergency reserve. Hidden. He then separated the twenty big copper coins into two smaller cloth bundles.

One went beneath his tunic near the waist, accessible but not obvious. The other remained in a normal pouch for immediate purchases. The hundred small copper went into the worn coin pouch he had always carried. That looked natural. Auntie Mei watched the entire process.

"You've thought about being robbed far too much for someone your age." Ling Tian tightened the pouch.

"Being easy to rob encourages long-term planning by the robber."

"That sentence is depressing."

"It is also accurate." Auntie Mei shook her head. Then she secured the rare herbs beneath the counter.

"Don't bring this much at once again." Ling Tian looked at her. That was interesting.

"Market saturation?"

"Attention." Her eyes sharpened.

"If you show up every few days with sacks of herbs that grown gatherers struggle to find twice in a year, people will ask where you're getting them." Ling Tian nodded. Exactly the concern he had already identified. Auntie Mei continued.

"And not everyone who asks questions will bother asking you."

"Understood."

"Bring common stock too." Ling Tian blinked. The old woman gestured irritably. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"Cloudmint. Bitterleaf. Ordinary things. You're a gatherer. Look like one." Ling Tian stared at her. Then smiled. Auntie Mei frowned.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"That is excellent operational camouflage."

"Speak normally."

"I agree."

"Better." Ling Tian adjusted the bronze stick.

"One more thing." Auntie Mei narrowed her eyes.

"What now?"

"Food. Where is the most reasonably priced meat at?" The old woman glanced at his face. —"Finally." Ling Tian left the stall with substantially more money than he had ever possessed in this world and approximately zero intention of behaving responsibly with the visible portion. At least not by his previous standards. The food budget was about to increase violently. He crossed the market toward the butcher's quarter. The smell nearly finished him.

Several large cuts of pork hung from iron hooks beneath a stained awning. Fat gleamed along the edges. Smaller pieces sizzled over a charcoal grill while the butcher used a cleaver to reduce a rib section into manageable portions. Ling Tian approached the counter. The butcher looked down.

"What do you want?" Ling Tian pointed toward the fattier cuts.

"That." The man followed his finger.

"For stew?"

"For survival." The butcher shrugged.

"Same price." Ling Tian paid with big copper first. That felt immediately better than producing silver. The denomination was large enough to make the transaction convenient but ordinary enough that the butcher barely reacted. Ling Tian purchased several substantial cuts of pork, specifically choosing pieces with visible fat and connective tissue instead of the leaner meat favored by wealthier customers. The butcher seemed pleased to dispose of them. Ling Tian was pleased to purchase concentrated calories cheaply.

Efficient market alignment. He spent several small copper on a skewer of freshly roasted meat before leaving the stall. This had not been part of the original plan. The first bite ended all internal opposition. Hot fat spread across his tongue. Ling Tian stopped walking. For several seconds, the entire cultivation world ceased to matter. No protagonists. No Qi deviation. No ancient swords. No supply chain. Just meat.

He swallowed and continued toward the grain merchant before emotional attachment to the skewer became inappropriate. The low-grade millet he usually purchased sat in familiar dusty sacks near the front. Ling Tian walked past it. For the first time since awakening in this world, he bought polished white rice. The price hurt more than millet. He paid it with big copper.

He added starchy root vegetables, several onions, salt, and a small quantity of strong spices capable of making boiled meat taste less like boiled animal. Then he reconsidered the rice quantity. His plateau collapse returned vividly to mind. He bought more. The grain merchant gave him a curious look. Ling Tian ignored it. Running out of food while hiding two silver inside his tunic would represent managerial failure of historic proportions.

By the time he finished, the immediate shopping pouch contained noticeably fewer big copper coins and a good portion of the small copper had disappeared into routine purchases. That was exactly how Ling Tian wanted the system to work. Visible money for visible expenses. Hidden reserve for emergencies. No flashing silver during ordinary shopping. He bought several additional cheap household necessities using small copper: lamp fuel, a little salt, coarse cloth, and replacement cord for the herb sack.

Nothing expensive individually. Together, they represented a level of normalcy he had not possessed since transmigration. A full sack of rice. Actual meat. Fat. Vegetables. Seasoning. Small supplies. None of it would have looked luxurious in his previous life. Here, the weight across his shoulders felt almost obscene. Security possessed a smell. Apparently it smelled like pork. Ling Tian had one final problem. The bronze sword. He looked down at it. Until now, exhaustion had reduced the weapon to a walking aid.

In the market's stronger light, however, the risk became obvious. The artifact was plain. That had pleased him yesterday. Plain did not mean invisible. The bronze scabbard was unusually long, unusually heavy, and manufactured with a level of precision inconsistent with the ragged child carrying it. The green-brown patina helped, but an experienced mercenary, blacksmith, or cultivator might still recognize it as something worth investigating. Ling Tian had no interest in investigation. He needed camouflage.

Cheap camouflage. He navigated toward the outer edge of the market, where stalls selling tools, rope, roofing materials, oils, pitch, and other supplies served the laborers who maintained Hua City's less elegant infrastructure. Ling Tian found what he needed beside a cart filled with cracked clay jars. A shirtless vendor sat beneath a patched awning, surrounded by buckets of dark sealant. Ling Tian pointed at the ugliest one.

"What is that?" The vendor looked.

"Barge pitch."

"Does it wash off?" The man laughed.

"No."

"Good." Ling Tian stepped closer. The smell arrived. Tar. Rotting bark. Smoke. Something metallic. Possibly several occupational illnesses. Perfect.

"How much?"

"Four small copper for a small jar."

"I'll take it." The vendor looked at the bronze weapon.

"Repairing something?"

"Improving it." The man shrugged. Payment exchanged hands. Small copper. No attention. Exactly as intended. Ling Tian carried the jar into a narrow alley beyond the busiest market lanes. He placed the food against one wall. Then set the bronze sword across his knees. Yesterday, he had extracted the weapon from the center of an ancient chamber hidden behind a waterfall. Today, he was about to cover it in industrial tar. Ling Tian removed the jar lid. The smell intensified.

He reconsidered for approximately three seconds. Then dipped a rag into the black-brown sludge. The first smear crossed the bronze scabbard. Ling Tian winced despite himself. Sacrilege probably had better ceremonial requirements. He kept going. The dull metallic surface disappeared beneath uneven streaks of pitch. Ling Tian deliberately avoided making the coating smooth. Smooth looked manufactured. Manufactured looked valuable. Ugly was safer.

He worked thick layers around the entire scabbard, then covered the hilt. The result became increasingly offensive. Good. Ling Tian grabbed a handful of dust from the alley floor and pressed it into the wet pitch. He added small pieces of dried mud, grit, and crushed bark, deliberately ruining every clean line the weapon possessed. The ancient bronze artifact slowly transformed into something resembling a length of rotten timber recovered from a drainage ditch. Ling Tian stepped back. Studied it. Not ugly enough.

He added another uneven layer near the upper section and left several rough ridges along the surface. Much better. The final result looked worthless. Not modest. Not plain. Worthless. Someone might mistake it for a walking stick made by a person who hated trees. Ling Tian held it upright. A slow smile appeared.

"No thief with functioning vision is stealing this." The disguised weapon smelled terrible. That improved the security profile. Ling Tian washed his hands thoroughly at a public basin, though several dark stains remained around his fingernails. The pitch would need time to dry fully, so he carried the disguised sword carefully rather than resting it against his clothes. By then, the sun had begun its slow descent.

Ling Tian stood near the edge of Hua City with groceries over one shoulder, small copper in his ordinary pouch, the remaining big copper divided discreetly beneath his tunic, and two silver coins hidden deep enough inside his clothing that discovering them would require a degree of searching he intended to resist violently. The arrangement felt right. The silver was a reserve capital. The big copper was a liquid asset. The small copper handled daily expenses.

And above all of that existed denominations Ling Tian had not yet needed to touch: big silver, gold, and eventually Spirit Stones, the currencies of people operating at economic levels far beyond his current concerns. For now, copper and two hidden pieces of silver felt enormous. The day had been productive. Painfully productive. He had discovered that his body could operate far beyond mortal limits. He had discovered that doing so without adequate nutrition could nearly kill him.

He had harvested enough rare herbs to fundamentally change his financial position. He had converted those herbs into properly distributed, low-profile capital. And he had aggressively upgraded his food supply before repeating the mistake. That left the next problem. Cultivation. The tiny drop of Earth Qi inside his Dantian continued rotating. One deposit had already changed everything. Ling Tian had deliberately avoided absorbing another while his body remained underfed and poorly understood.

That restriction could not last forever. Now he had food. Real food. Enough to build reserves rather than merely slow starvation. Ling Tian adjusted the heavy grocery sack and looked toward the distant outline of Crimson Peak. First, eat. Then recover. Then observe. Only after that would he reopen the ledger. He started toward the mountain road. The tar-covered bronze stick landed against the ground beside him with a dull, ugly knock. Exactly the sound of something nobody should want. Ling Tian approved.