The profit obtained from selling the Strength Talismans this time amounted to exactly 70 jeon. It was a large sum, if one could call it that, but Li Xin did not feel particularly joyful. He was no longer an ignorant fool who knew nothing about this world, and he understood fairly well the value of jeon. Jeon was useful for buying grain or purchasing medicinal herbs, but for the most part it only circulated as a means of daily living within the markets. Calling it real currency would have been a stretch.

  In truth, there was something else that passed as “real money” in the world of cultivators—spirit Stones. They were not merely money, they were condensed masses formed by compressing and solidifying the essence of heaven and earth. They served as power sources that moved formations and as the core that operated magical artifacts. Above all, they were precious resources that allowed cultivators to manifest abilities without consuming their own spiritual energy.

  In the past, Spirit Stones had been the most basic currency in the cultivation world, but as times changed, that common sense collapsed. When the Heavenly Dao Sect unified the cultivation world and opened the path of immortality to the masses, the number of cultivators increased exponentially—from ten thousand to a hundred thousand, to a million and beyond, and the energy of heaven and earth began to deplete rapidly.

  Spirit Stones were like oil—materials that took thousands, tens of thousands of years to condense, yet tens of thousands of people were burning through them every single day. On top of that, Spirit Stones were consumables—once used, they were finished, leaving behind only empty shells drained of spiritual energy. As a result, the value of Spirit Stones skyrocketed beyond measure—neither cultivators nor merchants used Spirit Stones in transactions anymore.

  A single, transformative statement—"Buying things with Spirit Stones is a loss"—reshaped an entire era. This led the Heavenly Dao Sect to immediately overhaul the system. They repurposed the nearly-discarded outer shells of Spirit Stones, calling them "waste stones." By artificially injecting these shells with spiritual energy, the Sect rendered them usable once more.

  What was created that way was the Pseudo Spirit Stone. Not the real thing, but a processed product containing a fixed amount of spiritual energy. Pseudo Spirit Stones could only be produced by the Heavenly Dao Sect, and thus they settled into place as the new currency.

  But even Pseudo Spirit Stones soon became scarce. Demand overflowed, and the fact that most markets could not handle transactions smaller than that unit remained unresolved.

  That was how jeon came to be. Jeon was divided into four major types—the lowest grade was White Paper, above it Yellow Talisman Paper, then Azure Soul Paper, and Red Spirit Paper.

  Yellow Talisman Paper was worth 10 jeon. Azure Soul Paper was worth 100 jeon. Red Spirit Paper carried a value of 1,000 jeon.

  Currency units were determined by that standard. White Paper was a consumable paper most commonly used by low-ranking talisman masters and could hold at most two strokes. Yellow Talisman Paper could hold three to five strokes, Azure Soul Paper six to eight strokes, and Red Spirit Paper could theoretically contain the power of a full Character.

  Of course, only these four types were used as jeon, but in reality there were far more kinds of talisman paper. Special papers such as Blazing Fire Paper, which reacted sensitively to fire-aspected energy and maximized the efficiency of flame-type talismans, or Clear Water Paper, which gathered water energy, but such papers were specialized for specific uses, or cumbersome to produce and rare, making them difficult to circulate.

  In contrast, White Paper, Yellow Talisman Paper, Azure Soul Paper, and Red Spirit Paper were highly versatile and relatively stable in production. Having no special properties meant rejecting no attributes at all. That was why these four types of paper were able to settle in as jeon, the currency used in the markets.

  ***

  After forming a contract that was not quite a contract with Liu Guangjin, Li Xin regained a bit of breathing room.

  Days that repeated endlessly—drawing talismans, going out to sell them at the market, then circling the market again to buy materials. Within that hectic routine, he finally found a moment to catch his breath. Moreover, he now had a reserve of no less than 70 jeon in his hand. It meant he was ready to move on to the next stage.

  It should be fine to learn another talisman method now.

  Preparation was best done in advance. Talismans were not things completed simply by copying diagrams. Each short line, whether one stroke or two, carried meaning. Without properly understanding that meaning, no amount of precise copying would allow spiritual energy to flow. In other words, to learn a new talisman, one first had to study its intent.

  If it’s a talisman that would help me right now…

  What crossed Li Xin’s mind was the Spirit Focus Talisman. A talisman that erased distracting thoughts and heightened concentration. It was a useful talisman that always helped both talisman crafting and cultivation.

  However, the Spirit Focus Talisman required three strokes just for the Mother Stroke alone. For the current Li Xin, it was still too much. Instead, he thought of another option.

  Warm Heart Talisman…

  The Warm Heart Talisman, a two-stroke talisman, had the effect of calming emotional turmoil. When anxiety surged during meditation, or when emotions wavered due to pain during cultivation. At such times, this talisman restored tranquility. It could not sharpen concentration as keenly as the Spirit Focus Talisman, but it had its own merits.

  “I should look for the Warm Heart Talisman method.”

  Obtaining the method for a low-grade talisman was not difficult. Once someone got their hands on it, it usually spilled onto the streets soon after. The originals were handled only by sects, but copied versions could be found anywhere in the market. They were so common that they were sold stuffed into paper bags at stalls without even a signboard. An old cover with the three characters “Warm Heart Talisman” scrawled crookedly in brush strokes.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “That’s the Warm Heart Talisman method. Five jeon.”

  The stall owner spoke indifferently. He did not forget to add that Li Xin should handle it carefully if he was not going to buy it. There was a reason the management of talisman methods was so lax. Talismans were broadly composed of two things—the Mother Stroke and the Child Stroke. Among them, the Mother Stroke was the “sword.” The skeleton of laws refined through the hands of countless talisman masters. Because it was an already established path, anyone could use it just by copying it.

  Methods that only recorded the Mother Stroke were not particularly precious. Just as sword-making techniques spread widely, Mother Strokes were also easy to find even on the streets, but Child Strokes were different. If the Mother Stroke was the sword, then the Child Stroke was swordsmanship. It was the technique that determined how the sword was wielded, an interpretation of the law itself. Holding the same sword, one person might strike empty air, while another pierced the essence. Thus, while copying Mother Strokes was permitted, the leakage of Child Strokes was strictly forbidden.

  Whether within sects or outside them, the attitude toward talisman methods was the same. Possessing a sword was allowed, but swordsmanship was not easily passed on.

  Li Xin knew this well. He flipped through the pages, skimming the contents roughly. Ink blotches scattered here and there. The connections between strokes drawn as illustrations were subtly misaligned. Traces of secondary and tertiary copying, copied again by hand from copies.

  It’s a mess.

  Li Xin muttered blandly and closed the book.

  “Is there one in better condition?”

  “There is, but… it’s a bit more expensive.”

  Copying a talisman method was not as easy as one might think. To fully capture its contents, understanding of the talisman was essential.

  “That’s fine. Show me the one in the best condition.”

  Even among copies, prices varied drastically depending on condition. More precisely, interpretation copy would have been the better term than simple copy. The book the stall owner presented this time cost ten times more than the first one Li Xin had picked up, but to reduce trial and error, it was a necessary expense.

  Li Xin carefully turned the pages, the composition of strokes, the direction in which energy was guided, even the points where the brush was to be lifted—the core elements of the talisman were properly recorded. Moreover, there were even detailed annotations not found in the cheap copy he had first picked up.

  “I’ll take this.”

  Li Xin paid the price and carefully tucked the book into his robe. After returning home, he opened the book he had bought from the market stall once more. The book’s title was [Two Paths, Steady Heart]. The weakly written brush strokes on the cover clearly looked like a copy at first glance.

  Li Xin was not particularly disappointed, the handwriting was a mess, but the content was surprisingly solid.

  On the first page of the book, it was written: The Warm Heart Talisman is a talisman composed of two strokes. Its essence lies in flexibility and motion within stillness, and the two lines symbolize waves that quell the agitation of the heart.

  Turning the page, the two strokes of the Warm Heart Talisman were drawn side by side. The first was a gently curved line sweeping from left to right, the second was a curve beneath it, rising slightly as though embracing the first. If the balance between these two lines was broken, the talisman would not be completed.

  The following section organized the required materials. Since this talisman did not demand strong energy output, one should use a soft animal-hair brush of the Qingyu Brush series. For ink, one was advised to use ink with thin coloration and consistent spread, like Danqing Ink. As for paper, one should use Oil-Gloss Paper or a talisman paper of comparable low absorbency.

  Li Xin read this passage once more, slowly. The Deep Black Ink he possessed was versatile, but not suited for delicate control. The brush he used for Strength Talismans was also too stiff for handling curves. He did have a fine brush meant for Lightness Talismans, but that brush was too thin to draw the Warm Heart Talisman.

  “I’ll have to get new materials first.”

  After muttering that, he opened the latter half of the book. This part discussed the mindset required when drawing the talisman. When distracting thoughts arise during talisman crafting, the strokes become distorted. Since the Warm Heart Talisman is meant to calm the mind, if the creator’s heart is unstable, that alone constitutes failure.

  “So to draw a talisman that steadies the heart, I need to steady my own heart first.”

  Drawing a talisman did not simply mean applying ink and drawing lines. Talisman crafting always involved the flow of energy. It was an invisible line, and only by guiding energy along that flow could a true talisman be completed.

  The Strength Talisman was simple—one merely had to drive energy forward in a straight line. One decisive cut—a feeling of gathering strength tightly and extending it in a single stroke. It had to be drawn as though pressing down with momentum; gently moving the brush like painting was useless.

  In contrast, the Lightness Talisman required letting energy coil around the body. Not just speed, but balance and elasticity had to be imbued together for it to be effective.

  The Warm Heart Talisman lay somewhere between those two. On the surface, the flow of energy appeared calm, but internally it was extremely delicate and complex. As he read through the method, Li Xin tilted his head several times.

  “Lift it lightly at first, but sink like an abyss in the second stroke…?”

  Li Xin picked up his brush. He had no intention of drawing the Warm Heart Talisman right away, so he did not dip it in ink. Instead, he repeatedly practiced pushing energy through his fingertips.

  The first stroke—he drew it softly, as though letting the clamor of the mind flow away. The second stroke—he sank deeply, as though embracing the lingering resonance. Visualizing the talisman diagram in his mind, he repeatedly traced where the energy should rise and where it should stop.

  Though he only moved the brush through empty air, sweat formed on Li Xin’s brow. It was because he was actually circulating energy. If energy did not flow along the prescribed path, the talisman held no meaning at all.

  If I don’t internalize this flow naturally, then I’m not ready yet.

  The Warm Heart Talisman was also a two-stroke talisman, like the Strength Talisman. But it was completely different from a simple two-stroke Strength Talisman formed by merely adding one more line. Moving the brush once more and embedding different intentions into two separate lines were fundamentally different matters. Moreover, the cost of required materials was much higher.

  The Warm Heart Talisman belonged to the category of special talismans and could not be drawn on ordinary White Paper. The talisman paper recommended by the interpreter was Oil-Gloss Paper. Oil-Gloss Paper cost as much as five sheets of White Paper, and the recommended Danqing Ink was a grade higher than Deep Black Ink.

  Failing even once meant nearly a day’s earnings disappearing. That was why he had no choice but to be even more cautious.

  From that day on, one more thing was added to Li Xin’s daily routine. After finishing his Strength Talismans, he would reread the essentials of the Warm Heart Talisman whenever he had spare moments.

  And each time, he practiced repeatedly with a brush unsoaked in ink. His immediate goal was to finish preparing to draw the Warm Heart Talisman before fully internalizing the two-stroke Strength Talisman.

  Li Xin was moving forward step by step, following a clear plan.