After delivering those harsh words, Mo Fan said nothing more. He sat cross-legged behind that ragged cloth, the leopard-head hood pulled low, revealing only a pair of cold, indifferent eyes.
His arms were crossed over his chest. The blood-stained dagger was thrust into the dirt before him, surrounded by piles of Spirit Beast materials that gave off a faint, fishy odor.
This image—no matter how you looked at it—resembled a ruthless killer who had just crawled out of a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood.
He had assumed that with this unapproachable, aloof aura, combined with these "wild goods" that were uncommon even at the bottom of the cliff, he could intimidate those inexperienced rogue cultivators and fashion himself into some enigmatic, reclusive master.
After all, in novels, stalls like this usually attracted discerning big shots who would not only buy everything at premium prices but also regard him with newfound respect.
But reality soon slapped him hard across the face.
Half an hour passed.
Plenty of rogue cultivators walked by, and some curiously stopped to take a look. But when they saw what was piled there, most of them wore expressions of disgust—or looked at him like he was an idiot—before wandering off with zero interest.
"What the hell? Rotbone Ant venom sacs?"
A fat cultivator passing by pinched his nose as if he'd smelled something unlucky. "What use are those besides stinking people to death? The toxicity is so volatile that if you lose control even slightly, it corrodes your magical artifacts. Who would dare use them?"
"And these rat teeth... they're so small they're too light even for arrowheads, and you'd still have to grind them yourself."
Another man carrying a greatsword on his back shook his head. "Kids these days really do pick up any trash they find. Let's go. Probably some newbie hunter who just entered the trade, never seen the world, treating a pile of unwanted scraps like treasures."
Mo Fan listened to the whispered comments around him. The corner of his mouth, hidden beneath the hood, twitched slightly, and several black lines seemed to hang from his forehead.
He had miscalculated.
He'd forgotten this was the cultivation world, not some antique market in peacetime. Strange creatures were everywhere here, and freaks were a dime a dozen.
In this perilous world, people pursued practicality, survival, and power that could be recognized at a glance.
His whole "lone hunter wrapped in mystery" act, in the eyes of these seasoned veterans who had been around the block, was nothing more than your run-of-the-mill pretentious showoff. In fact, to them, this stall didn't even have a hint of spiritual energy fluctuation—just a pile of dead garbage.
And most importantly, what he was selling was too "niche."
The Rotbone Ant was a low-level Spirit Beast. Though it carried Corpse Poison, the toxicity was unstable and easily corroded magical artifacts, so orthodox cultivators wouldn't give it a second glance. Who could have imagined there'd be a lunatic like Mo Fan who used these things as body-tempering materials?
"The aloof approach isn't working..."
Mo Fan looked at the deserted stall before him and began to reflect.
This was a marketplace, not a runway. If he wanted to sell anything, acting cool was useless—he needed to address the customers' pain points.
"What's my advantage?"
Mo Fan narrowed his eyes, his gaze sweeping toward the popular stalls not far away, the ones surrounded by crowds. Most of them sold finished low-grade talismans, inferior pills, or some intimidating-looking but practically useless secondhand weapons. What they all had in common: usable, but outrageously expensive.
"My stuff may be niche, but I have volume. I have an entire storage pouch full of inventory. And... I have zero costs."
These materials were just consumables he used for training at the bottom of the cliff—byproducts from Summon No. 001 and No. 003 casually clearing out trash. The cost was virtually nothing.
"Since I can't do high-end luxury goods, then I'll do... the budget market."
"Go the affordable-alternative, low-price, high-volume route. Become the cultivation world's version of 'Pinduoduo'."
Once he'd made up his mind, Mo Fan's entire demeanor shifted.
He no longer maintained that cold, silent facade. He lifted his head slightly, and those once-indifferent eyes began scanning the passing crowd like radar, actively seeking out potential "target customers."
Soon enough, the first fish took the bait.
It was a young rogue cultivator wearing a Daoist robe so faded from washing it had turned white—he looked like a talisman apprentice. He had been lingering for a long time in front of a stall selling "Fire-Poison Ants," clutching a few Spirit Shards tightly in his hand, his face a mixture of conflict and longing.
"Boss, can you make these Fire-Poison Ants any cheaper? 50 fragments per ant is too expensive... I just want to take them back to practice..."
"Shoo, shoo, shoo! Don't block the way, you broke beggar! This is genuine fire poison—I won't sell for even one fragment less!" The stall owner waved him away impatiently. "If you can't afford to practice, don't practice. You think you can become a talisman master?"
The young apprentice's face flushed red. He still couldn't bear to leave—clearly in desperate need of these materials to practice talisman-making—but his empty pockets left him paralyzed.
Opportunity had arrived.
"Hey, you there, young friend."
Mo Fan suddenly spoke up, his voice hoarse and low, like the rasp of a broken bellows. "Looking to practice 'Corrosion Talismans' or need a primer for 'Fireball Talismans'?"
The apprentice froze for a moment, then turned to look at Mo Fan in the corner, somewhat hesitant. "Huh? Yes... I want to practice Corrosion Talismans. Senior, you..."
"Fire poison is too volatile—it burns the paper easily. With your current brush control, you probably waste eight out of ten sheets, right?"
Mo Fan struck directly at the pain point. "Isn't it true that you often get halfway through drawing and the talisman paper can't handle the heat, so it spontaneously combusts?"
The apprentice's eyes went wide. "How did Senior know?! I've wasted over a dozen sheets of talisman paper these past few days, all because of that exact problem!"
Mo Fan didn't explain. Instead, he casually picked up a dark green Rotbone Ant venom sac from the stall.
"Try this."
He pulled out a blank sheet of cheap yellow paper—something he'd picked up earlier for packaging. He gently squeezed out a drop of the dark green venom and let it fall onto the paper.
Sizzle—
The venom rapidly seeped through the paper, corroding a perfect circular hole. The edges were smooth, with no signs of scorching and no spreading flames.
"See that?" Mo Fan said calmly. "Though it lacks the explosive power of fire poison, this is corpse poison—it belongs to Yin and is extremely stable. It won't burn your paper; it only corrodes slowly. For practicing brush control and mastering the rhythm of spiritual energy output, this is the perfect training tool."
"This..." The apprentice stared, transfixed. He had only known that Fire-Poison Ants were the orthodox material—he'd never imagined there was an approach like this.
"And most importantly..."
Mo Fan held up one finger and waggled it.
"Only 10 fragments."
"The money you'd spend on one Fire-Poison Ant can buy five from me. Five times the practice volume—enough for you to train until you're sick of it. Once you've become skilled, then you can move on to the expensive materials."
"Think about it: would you rather pay a fortune to learn a hard lesson, or spend this small change to stack your success rate?"
This line was the killing blow.
For beginners, the biggest cost was the failure rate. A cheap, effective alternative like this was practically tailor-made for him!
The apprentice's breathing quickened. "Really only 10 fragments?"
"No tricks, young or old. Buy ten, get one free." Mo Fan deployed the ultimate promotional weapon.
"I'll take them! Senior, give me twenty!"
The apprentice was so excited his hands trembled. He immediately emptied all the fragments from his pockets, terrified that Mo Fan might change his mind.
[ Transaction complete. ]
[ Received: 2 low-grade Spirit Stones (200 fragments). ]
Mo Fan pocketed the Spirit Stones and watched the apprentice's joyfully departing figure, his heart blooming with delight.
2 Spirit Stones!
Not a lot, but these venom sacs were just consumables he used for training at the bottom of the cliff. Basically a zero-cost sale!
With the success of his first transaction, Mo Fan's confidence grew. His gaze sharpened, and soon, the second "victim" appeared.
It was a thin, gaunt middle-aged rogue cultivator with a sinister look in his eyes—likely an assassin or hunter who specialized in dirty work. He was browsing daggers, but those magical artifact daggers cost upwards of a hundred Spirit Stones. He clearly couldn't afford them and could only pick through the stalls, trying to find a somewhat sharper piece of common iron.
"Looking for weapons, brother?"
Mo Fan casually picked up a Mutant Corpse-Eating Rat fang. It was a semi-finished product he had reinforced with Spirit Beast sinew. Though only a finger-joint in length, its tip gleamed with a cold, chilling light.
"This thing's too short. Can't stab anyone to death with it." The middle-aged man glanced at it dismissively.
"Who said you have to hold it in your hand to stab?"
Mo Fan gave a cold laugh. "Don't let its size fool you—this is a tooth from a mutant variety. Its hardness rivals refined iron, and it carries corpse poison. Though you can't infuse it with spiritual energy like a magical artifact, as a hidden weapon..."
He lowered his voice, speaking in a tone that everyone understood. "5 fragments each. That price barely buys you a steamed bun. Scatter a handful, and even a late-stage Qi Condensation cultivator will be scrambling."
The middle-aged rogue cultivator's pupils contracted sharply.
He made his living licking blood off knife blades—of course he knew how effective these underhanded items were in real combat. A proper magical flying dagger thrown and not retrieved? That would be heartbreaking. But this stuff... it was practically free.
5 fragments for a life—or for a killing opportunity—was more than worth it.
"I'll take fifty."
The middle-aged man wasted no words. He tossed down a handful of Spirit Stones, grabbed a fistful of rat fangs, and left. He even cast a wary glance around, as if afraid someone would compete with him.
A chain reaction.
In this world, the poor were always the majority. Once the "budget alternative theory" was proven effective, its spread among rogue cultivators was faster than a virus.
"Hey, did you hear? There's some mysterious guy in that corner over there. His stuff looks disgusting, but it works like a charm!"
"Really? That venom sac can actually substitute for fire poison?"
"Who knows? The main thing is it's cheap. Other places sell for 50 fragments; his are only 10. Worth a taste-test, isn't it?"
"Let's go, let's go, hurry up and check it out—if we're late, it'll probably be sold out!"
In less than half an hour, a long line had formed at Mo Fan's previously deserted corner. Artifact refiners, talisman makers, even people who couldn't afford proper poison and wanted some corpse venom for self-defense... all walks of life gathered around.
The Rotbone Ant venom sacs that had been dismissed as garbage became hot talisman-making consumables. The unwanted rat fangs became the commoner's king of hidden weapons. Even those resilient Spirit Beast sinews were bought by a few hunters to use as bowstring substitutes.
That pile of nauseating trash from the bottom of Abandoned Sword Cliff, in the eyes of these penny-pinching poor rogue cultivators, had transformed into treasures with exceptional value for money.
Mo Fan sat cross-legged behind the ragged cloth, collecting money until his hands went soft.
"As expected, no matter where you are."
Mo Fan tucked the last handful of Spirit Stones into his robe, feeling their satisfying weight.
"Value for money is always the ultimate trump card."