Chen Mo nodded. “Alright. I’ll take two full sets.”

  He reached into his robe, produced a stack of silver notes, and counted them out with calm precision. “Seven hundred and thirty taels. Ten extra, for Steward Liu’s trouble.”

  The steward’s expression warmed instantly. “Young Master’s generosity is truly rare. Please wait a moment. I’ll have the attendants prepare everything at once.”

  After Liu left, Chen Mo remained seated, fingers resting lightly on the table. The extra ten taels were not charity. He intended to buy convenience, and more importantly, words.

  Before long, Steward Liu returned with a polite smile. “Young Master, the medicines will be ready shortly. Would you like them delivered to a specific address?”

  “No need,” Chen Mo replied. Then he added casually, “However, I do have a few questions. I hope Steward can enlighten me.”

  Liu’s posture straightened slightly. “Of course, my lord. As long as it is within my knowledge, I will not withhold anything.”

  “In fact,” Chen Mo said, lowering his voice just a little, “I plan to head to the capital soon. Before that, I’d like to gather some information. One should always be prepared.”

  “Oh, the capital?” Liu nodded as if this were perfectly natural. “That makes sense. Recently, many sects and forces across the kingdom have been sending their younger talents there.”

  Chen Mo raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

  “Yes,” Liu replied. “Though I am merely an ordinary steward, working here lets one hear many things. For the past year or so, rumors have been circulating. In a few years, a major event will be held in the capital. Various forces are positioning their people early.”

  “What kind of event?” Chen Mo asked.

  Liu shook his head. “That, I do not know. Only that it is important enough to draw attention from all sides.”

  “I see,” Chen Mo said. “Then where would one go to learn more?”

  “The Mercenary Hall,” Liu answered without hesitation. “They deal in information as well as commissions. Young Master could even register there, if interested.”

  “And who stands behind the Mercenary Hall?”

  “It has ties to the Imperial Army,” Liu said carefully. “They recruit martial artists from different forces to carry out missions. Through this, the Imperial Army maintains order in distant regions.”

  At that moment, an attendant entered with a wooden case containing the medicines. Chen Mo accepted it, slipping it neatly into his robe.

  “Many thanks, Steward Liu,” he said, rising to his feet. “I’ll be visiting again.”

  Liu smiled broadly. “This humble one will be waiting.”

  Chen Mo turned and left the pharmacy, his steps steady, his destination already decided. The Mercenary Hall awaited.

  Back in Lian City, within the quiet opulence of Xu Haoran’s mansion, the air was tense. Xu Haoran sat behind a polished desk, eyes narrowing as he addressed his subordinate.

  “Have you investigated the latest movements of the Silver Crane School?” he asked, his voice measured but sharp.

  Commander Qi bowed slightly before replying. “Yes, my lord. From our sources, the Silver Crane is searching for one of their own disciples. They dispatched two teams, each led by Muscle Refining experts, into the surrounding mountains. They also arrested all individuals connected to this disciple, but so far, no trace of him has been found.”

  Xu Haoran’s brow furrowed. “Did they request assistance from the yamen?”

  Qi nodded. “Indeed, my lord. A portrait was sent to the local authorities, labeling the disciple as a criminal responsible for serious offenses. However, no further details were provided.”

  Xu Haoran leaned back slightly, thinking. “Could this have anything to do with what we are looking for?”

  Qi hesitated. “It’s hard to say, my lord. But based on the information we’ve gathered, the disciple in question is merely a Skin Refining expert. He allegedly stole goods while acting as a steward in an alchemy facility. There’s no indication he possesses the capability to interfere with your objectives.”

  “Yet they failed to find him?” Xu Haoran’s tone was incredulous.

  “Yes, my lord,” Qi admitted, his voice low. “Even Ah Gu, a Muscle Refining master, was recently confined to their dungeons. It seems the boy is unusually skilled at evading detection.”

  Xu Haoran’s eyes glinted with interest. “Unusual indeed… perhaps we should keep a closer watch on this situation.”

  Qi inclined his head silently, knowing his lord’s curiosity was rarely idle.

  Xu Haoran’s eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. “How is our search progressing?”

  Commander Qi bowed slightly, sweat forming at his temples. “My lord, we investigated the latest clues regarding the missing map. All leads pointed toward the bandit stronghold in the nearby mountains. However…”

  “However what?” Xu Haoran’s voice cut through the room, sharp and cold.

  Qi hesitated, then continued carefully, “The stronghold… it has been destroyed. It seems the Silver Crane School’s forces arrived before us, my lord.”

  Xu Haoran’s expression darkened, his aura pressing down on the room like a storm. “They were there before us? Those bastards… are they trying to block my fortune?”

  Qi swallowed hard. “It appears so, my lord.”

  Xu Haoran’s jaw tightened. “We will wait no longer. Coordinate with the other factions immediately. I leave for the capital next week, and by then, everything must be ready. Once I depart, the Silver Crane School… dig them three feet under. Anyone who resists—kill without mercy.”

  “Yes, my lord!” Qi replied, bowing deeply before hurrying out.

  Alone now, Xu Haoran’s gaze turned cold and sharp. “The immortals are coming. In a few years, this legacy will be mine… my ticket to the crown of the kingdom.”

  Chen Mo was oblivious to the fact that his destruction of the bandit stronghold had already been blamed on the Silver Crane School, accelerating the storm that would soon engulf it. As he stepped into the Mercenary Hall, a sea of people met his eyes—martial artists of all ranks, most in the Skin Refining realm. He didn’t linger, moving straight toward one of the registration windows, all the while scanning the crowd. Subtle movements, tense postures, and the faint glimmer of qi in some fighters’ veins told him who might be dangerous—and who might be useful.

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  An attendant greeted him politely. “Lord, would you like to register with the Mercenary Hall?”

  Chen Mo considered briefly. “That may depend on the benefits.” His eyes flicked over the attendants’ gestures, noting how easily they could handle a rowdy client or a disruptive member. Every detail mattered.

  The attendant smiled. “It’s simple. The hall records your information and provides a list of tasks issued by the city lord or other forces. You can choose assignments according to your abilities. You may also become a permanent member, assigned to a team conducting missions regularly, with a fixed salary. Skin Refining experts earn 50 to 100 taels per month, depending on strength. Muscle Refining experts range from 150 to 350 taels monthly.”

  “And Bone Forging?” Chen Mo asked, his gaze lingering on the ceiling beams and entryways, noting potential escape routes and vantage points.

  “Special cases, my lord,” the attendant replied. “They receive special treatment.”

  Chen Mo thought inwardly: generous, but far from enough for me.

  “I will register,” he said finally. “My name is Jiang Mo, a loose martial artist at the Muscle Refining realm.”

  The attendant nodded and began writing. “I will record it and bring you your token, my lord.”

  Chen Mo raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t expected the attendant to ask any verification or challenge his claim—but then again, this was a Mercenary hub. The only thing that mattered here was getting the job done. He kept his senses alert, aware that anyone could be a potential rival, a hidden ally, or an unexpected threat. Every movement, every conversation, would be a piece of information for him to use.

  Soon, the attendant returned and handed Chen Mo a Mercenary Hall token. It was a simple piece of green metal, cool to the touch, engraved with the hall’s insignia on one side. On the other, a serial number was stamped clearly: 47.

  “This token allows you to accept missions and receive rewards,” the attendant explained. He then gestured toward the far corner of the hall, where another row of windows stood. “Tasks are issued over there.”

  Chen Mo glanced in that direction, briefly noting the steady flow of mercenaries coming and going, some animated, others grim and silent.

  “Where can I purchase information?” Chen Mo asked.

  The attendant lowered his voice slightly and pointed deeper into the hall. “That would be inside, in the inner hall.”

  Chen Mo made his way into the inner hall, stepping past a row of offices where other martial artists and mercenaries were waiting their turn. He found a seat and settled in, observing the flow of people and the quiet efficiency of the hall. Soon enough, he was called forward.

  He entered a modest office, where a middle-aged man regarded him with a practiced neutrality.

  “Please, take a seat. What information would the lord like to purchase?” the steward asked.

  “I want to know about the caravans heading to the capital,” Chen Mo replied.

  The steward nodded. “That is simple and widely accessible knowledge. All escort agencies announce their routes, and the Mercenary Hall provides some protection. Here is a list of the caravans departing for the capital over the next two months—five taels.”

  Chen Mo tucked the paper away. He knew this knowledge could be found elsewhere, but he preferred efficiency.

  “Then tell me about the big event in the capital in few years,” he asked.

  The steward’s eyes flickered with mild caution. “That is not exactly secret, but few know the specifics or exact timing. The price is fifty taels.”

  Chen Mo handed over the coins without hesitation.

  “In two years, the capital will witness the descent of the immortals, coming to recruit young, talented disciples. It is a traditional event, occurring every few years. Sometimes they do not appear for decades, depending entirely on their will,” the steward explained.

  Chen Mo raised an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

  The steward shrugged. “That is beyond us. No matter how powerful a mortal may be, they remain mortal. Some things simply cannot be predicted.”

  With the information secured, Chen Mo left the Mercenary Hall, his mind buzzing with plans and possibilities. He returned to his hotel room, thoughtful and calculating, already plotting his next moves.

  Chen Mo didn’t waste a moment. He carefully took out the medicine he had just purchased—the Iron Tendon Pill, the Marrow-Warming Muscle Decoction, and the Clear Pulse Recovery Pills. Each item was handled with precision, the culmination of countless lessons learned from his previous training.

  He swallowed the Iron Tendon Pill, feeling its warmth seep into his muscles, invigorating every fiber. The decoction followed, a hot, pungent liquid that flowed through his veins, loosening the tension and priming his marrow for refinement. Finally, he prepared for the session, meditating briefly to circulate the medicines throughout his body.

  The session began with controlled strikes and precise movements, each action guided by the Primordial Body Art. His muscles tensed and relaxed, stretched and contracted, as raw power surged through his body. The sensation was both excruciating and exhilarating—the Iron Tendon Pill pushing his fibers beyond normal limits, the decoction stabilizing the violent internal energy, and the recovery pills working silently to prevent damage from overstrain.

  Sweat poured down his face. Every movement was agony and ecstasy intertwined; the air around him seemed to hum with the vibrations of his strength. His muscles screamed, veins pulsed like coiled serpents, and yet every fiber was refining, evolving, becoming denser, more responsive, more lethal.

  Hours passed—or maybe only minutes, time lost all meaning as he pushed his body to its limits. His skin glimmered faintly with a sheen of exertion, his muscles swelling and aligning with perfect, fluid precision. Finally, gasping and drenched in sweat, Chen Mo leaned back, letting the medicines finish their work as he caught his breath.

  The session had been grueling, a trial of pain and endurance, but the results were undeniable. His body felt alive in ways it never had before, every sinew and tendon primed for the next stage of refinement. With a satisfied exhale, he opened his panel to check the fruits of his labor.