The Young Lord of Old Dragon City, Fu Nanhua, sat with poise across from the youth surnamed Song. In his hands, he carefully cradled a small pot with a Mountain Demon seal at its base, examining the engraved markings with the reverence of one beholding the graceful form of a peerless beauty—never tiring of the sight. He studied, caressed, and breathed softly upon it, turning it over time and again for nearly half an hour, utterly captivated. There are people and things in this world that stir affection at first sight; to the discerning Fu Nanhua, this heart-nourishing teapot was exactly that. Though there is a fine line between fortune and folly in such matters, he was confident this was a stroke of luck—and a generous one at that.
Old Dragon City ranked among the foremost sects in the southern region of Eastern Baoping Continent, and Fu Nanhua, as its scion, had witnessed the grandeur of true celestial wealth. This alone explained why Cai Jinjian had shown such deference earlier.
Song Jixin yawned, shifting lazily in his chair to find a more comfortable position. With languid ease, he asked, "Brother Fu, since the item's authenticity is beyond doubt, shall we now discuss its price?"
Rarely addressed so familiarly, Fu Nanhua stifled the slight discomfort rising in his chest, reluctantly setting down the Mountain Demon pot. Smiling, he said, "Surely Brother Song understands the sincerity I've shown. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been so forthright—revealing the true worth of the pot the moment we met, nor would I have so clearly displayed my desire for it. My intention was to avoid a drawn-out haggling that would waste our time and strain the budding bond between us. Brother Song, I already see you as a kindred spirit on this long road of cultivation. Today's transaction, if handled earnestly, could mark the start of a journey where we share both fortune and peril, perhaps even entrusting each other with matters of life and death."
Song Jixin pointed a finger at the sincere, high-crowned youth before him, a teasing smile playing on his lips. "Brother Fu, forgive my vulgarity—I reek of copper and coin. That said, I do recognize friendship. Yet whenever business is at hand, and someone begins invoking brotherhood, I can't help but wonder: when the time comes that I must truly rely on that so-called brotherhood, will they be tallying figures behind my back?"
Fu Nanhua's expression cooled. He leaned back into his chair, one finger tapping softly against the table—light, measured, soundless.
Song Jixin appeared entirely oblivious to the shift in tone. "Calling you 'Brother Fu' and offering you this pot to inspect—that was my gesture of good faith. Now that both parties desire this deal, let's not beat around the bush. Name your price. I'll either nod or shake my head. You get two offers. After that, the chance is gone—no matter what mountains of gold and silver you promise, I won't sell."
He added, "Earlier, I gave you a jade pendant as a meeting gift—named 'Old Dragon Brings Rain.' It's not some immensely powerful celestial artifact, but it can ward off heat, clear the mind, and dispel filth. It's especially useful for meditative practice. Pair it with a Daoist incantation of sufficient caliber, and the effects are amplified greatly."
Fu Nanhua offered a sincere smile, absent of any arrogance or condescension. He placed an embroidered pouch on the table and gently pushed it toward Song Jixin. "These are temple coins, called Offering Money. They are one form of spiritual tribute, often placed in the mouths, bellies, or hands of deity statues within City God temples or Wenchang Pavilions, each placement bearing its own significance and effect. But the most crucial point is this: though they resemble ordinary gold, these coins are made of 'Golden Essence,' far rarer and more precious than gold itself. An immortal once said, 'Jade waters may be gathered, but speak not of Golden Essence'—and it is this very substance they spoke of. This pouch of Offering Coins, I believe, is a fair price for the pot. Add the Old Dragon Pendant, and I dare say you've made quite the profit, Brother Song."
Having laid bare his intentions, Fu Nanhua waited in silence.
After a brief pause, Song Jixin blinked. "That's it?"
Fu Nanhua let out a bitter chuckle. "That's all."
The boy's demeanor shifted in an instant—his palm slammed down on the table with a thunderous crack. "Fu, go to hell! You take me for some gullible child? Before entering the town, your group carried three pouches of copper coins. One paid for passage. Each item you acquired thereafter, no matter the value, cost another pouch. Thirty coins at most, twenty at least. And your pitiful little pouch—does it even have twelve?! You dare talk business without even this sliver of honesty? Think you can cheat me out of a treasure?"
Fu Nanhua's tapping intensified, the rhythm quickening with a sinister grace. Song Jixin's chest tightened. His breath faltered. His face flushed crimson as blood vessels burst in his eyes. He clutched at his chest, heart pounding like a war drum—thud, thud, thud—as if it might burst from within.
Gradually, Fu Nanhua slowed his tapping. Song Jixin's color began to return. With a beaming smile, Fu Nanhua asked, "Since the first offer didn't work, allow me one more: twenty-four coins of Golden Essence. Will you sell the pot?"
Drenched in sweat, Song Jixin hesitated. Just as he opened his mouth to respond, the Young Lord resumed his tapping, sharp and swift as a summer storm. Song pressed his hands to his chest, his handsome face contorting into a twisted grin laced with menace.
Fu Nanhua almost couldn't stop himself—he was on the verge of crushing this little wolf cub beneath his finger. But at the final moment, the allure of ascending to immortality eclipsed all personal disdain. He relented.
Song gasped for breath, his eyes ablaze as he rasped out a laugh. Fu Nanhua, puzzled, saw no hatred in those burning eyes. He wasn't alarmed—after all, the cultivation path teems with monsters and prodigies.
"What are you laughing at?" he asked, curious.
Song Jixin, slumped in his chair, wiped the sweat from his brow. His gaze sparkled. "I'm just imagining the day I too possess such power—that I can kill with a flick of the finger. The thought delights me."
Fu Nanhua laughed it off. Indeed, a kindred spirit. Such people are the easiest and perhaps the most dangerous to deal with—so long as you're above them. But once they rise above you… well.
Still, as Old Dragon City's Young Lord, Fu Nanhua didn't believe that, even with this twist of fate, he would ever be surpassed by a youth who hadn't left this small town until the age of nine.
Song Jixin glanced at the little pot and the half-filled pouch on the table. Then he looked up. "Fu Nanhua, I have two conditions. If you agree, I'll not only sell you this Mountain Demon pot—I'll throw in another antique of equal worth."
Fu Nanhua suppressed his delight, keeping his tone even. "Let's hear them."
Without preamble, Song declared, "First, I want three pouches of Golden Essence coins. Not two."
"Done," Fu Nanhua replied without hesitation.
Song locked eyes with him. Fu Nanhua chuckled. "Believe it or not, it's your choice. But before I leave today, you must present that second item—the one worth two pouches—for my own eyes to judge."
Song nodded. "Naturally."
Fu Nanhua asked, "And the second condition?"
Song slowly said, "I want you to kill someone for me."
Fu Nanhua shook his head. "If you know how many coins are in a pouch, then you must also know—outsiders like us are forbidden from shedding blood here without cause. The penalty is immediate expulsion, possibly even… the severing of one's cultivation roots."