The Spirit Needle Pavilion stood tall at the edge of Azure Ward's commercial district—a quiet street by Clear Sky City standards, but its proximity to two popular trade squares gave it excellent foot traffic. It was four stories high and covered nearly a thousand square feet per floor, all under the banner of the Ye Clan's sigil: a swirling blue vortex surrounded by nine silver stars. The symbol shimmered with a subtle spiritual glow, courtesy of an inscription formation that marked it as official clan property.
In Clear Sky City, buildings were not equal—not even close.
The height and placement of a structure were dictated strictly by sect and clan power. That was the law.
A rogue cultivator or unaligned Qi Refining business could only manage a modest two-floor shop, usually tucked away on side streets. Foundation Building cultivators, backed by reputable factions, could build up to four stories, often on better roads with access to patrol formations. Jindan-level forces? They were permitted six stories, and only if they maintained enough strength to defend what they built.
Above that?
Only the auction hall towered over the rest at seven floors, the crown jewel of the city's economic world. It was a joint investment—Ye Clan held 50%, the lion's share. Jinwu Sect, a Jindan sect based out of the western provinces, owned 10%, alongside four other noble families. Even now, its obsidian spire gleamed in the afternoon sun, drawing merchants and cultivators like moths to flame.
The absence of any Nascent Soul powers in the region kept the city's ambition grounded—but only just. The competition among Jindan clans like ours and the scattered elite sects made Clear Sky City a boiling cauldron of influence. It was exhilarating… and dangerous.
Inside, the shop was better than I'd expected.
The first floor was an open gallery—wide display racks flanked by mirrored walls, subtle Qi-inscribed shelves glimmering with minor enchantments. There was a main desk set at the far end, backed by an embedded storage vault. Even dust motes seemed reluctant to settle here.
The second floor held sorting rooms, material vaults, and an inner crafting chamber—probably for minor adjustments or on-site refittings. I'd have to hire or assign a good robe artisan eventually.
The third floor was for administrative work: scrolls, records, jade slip logs, and a tiny archive of customer profiles and past commissions. A dusty ledger told me the shop had been closed for a few months since its last manager retired.
And then came the fourth floor—my new home.
A simple wooden door led into an open living space, cleanly partitioned into a sleeping room, training chamber, bathing corner, and a modest kitchen tucked beside the window. What surprised me most wasn't the space—but the care that had gone into preparing it.
My siblings.
Changjian's note sat on the table. "We sent the formation plates for your cultivation chamber. Installed the barrier. It'll hold even if you get drunk and throw a tantrum."
Changrui had left a few potted spirit plants near the balcony. "They absorb excess Yang qi. Good for sleeping."
And Changming… I found a folded letter tucked inside my pillow.
He hadn't signed it, but I knew his calligraphy.
"Make something of this place."
I folded it slowly, heart full, "they all know about the shop, Yet no one told me about it beforehand"
The rooftop was my favorite.
Enclosed by white stone railing and open to the wind, it gave me a perfect view of the Azure Ward skyline. Rows of four- and five-story buildings painted in clan colors; bright banners fluttering on every corner, some hung with glowing talismans. Off in the distance, I saw a few of the six-story buildings—Ye Clan towers, auction outposts, and a massive apothecary shaped like a blooming lotus.
The city pulsed with life—markets erupting in bargaining chants, cultivators flashing robes of every hue, messenger cranes darting between rooftops.
It made me feel small. But not afraid.
I'd carved my name into the clan's records.
Now it was time to carve it into the city.
Despite Uncle Tian Jian's subtle hint to open shop soon, I chose to wait.
Rushing in blind wasn't strength. It was stupidity.
I decided I'd spend the next few days researching the market—mapping the nearby competition, pricing enchantment-grade spiritual robes, observing peak sale times, and cataloging which clans shopped where. I'd need to tailor this shop's image. Reputation wasn't gifted—it was built.
Besides… I needed to get a better feel for what made this city tick.
So I spent the next two days walking.
I saw a formation hall where walls glowed in resonance to a customer's voice. A puppet boutique where tiny wooden falcons twitched with eerie precision. A spiritual wine parlor with crimson glass walls and waiters who floated six inches above the floor. I passed sword refiners shouting about new forge techniques and talisman vendors haggling over contracts with martial sect disciples.
I wanted to buy everything.
But then reality hit—again.
Spirit stones.
Back home, they'd been tokens for lessons or rewards, tucked in drawers or handed out for chores. I hadn't needed them. Here? They were everything.
I should've brought more.
I had underestimated their value, and it stung. My exquisite storage bag—crafted with rare silver-thread embroidery—was still one of the most beautiful I'd ever seen. Father had chosen well. But its contents felt… too light now.
Still, it grounded me.
It reminded me that this wasn't just some trial trip. It was my first real foray into a world where strength and cleverness alone weren't enough. Here, spirit stones were as powerful as swords.
I returned that evening, settling into my rooftop, legs dangling over the railing.
Below, I could hear the muffled laughter of a nearby tavern. Someone was playing the guqin across the street. Smoke curled upward from market food stalls, flavored with salt and meat and roasted spirit grains.
And high above, the moon floated silver and silent, as if watching the chaos with serene detachment.
I held the jade shop key in my hand.
It was time to begin my rise—not just as a cultivator, but as a builder of my own future. One robe, one customer, one stone at a time.