Beneath the blazing sun, a man and a woman stood atop a rooftop, the woman pointedly looking away from the shirtless man beside her. The locals below, going about their daily routines, glanced up in perplexity. What on earth were these two doing?
Feng Zhiming took a bite from the icy dessert he had taken to go from the restaurant. They had been waiting atop the building for Feng Zhiming’s blood-soaked robe to dry. After the incident at the restaurant, walking around in a bloody robe had drawn more attention than they had wanted, and a quick wash had become necessary.
After the spectacle at the Wild Chicken, Feng Zhiming had quickly extracted the information he needed from the terrified bald man before heading out. Now, they were biding their time until his robe was ready.
“Is it really a good idea to spread that… heathen’s name?” Anissa asked, her voice tinged with restrained killing intent.
Feng Zhiming, now back to his usual jolly mood, seemed unfazed. The violent encounter at the restaurant had been a good outlet for his pent-up anger. “Better to have them point their blades at one another. It gives us time to work,” he said, slipping his now dry robe back on.
They had already been attacked twice by opportunistic fools who had mistaken Feng Zhiming’s bloody attire as a sign of injury. Unfortunately for those attackers, they hadn’t even had a chance to lay a hand on him before Anissa dismantled them with ease.
“More importantly, let’s go find this spiritual inscriber, Wu,” Feng Zhiming said, redirecting the conversation. The bald man had informed them that a man named Wu was offering to help people locate the elusive creature in exchange for something valuable.
In a small workshop within the city, a man who looked to be in his fifties, dressed only in his inner robes, was meticulously inscribing patterns onto a scarf. His arms were lined with burn scars, and the left side of his face was horribly disfigured, the skin charred and twisted. Only the right side of his face remained unscathed, revealing features that might once have been considered handsome.
The pen he wielded emitted intense heat, enough to incinerate a Foundation Establishment cultivator if wielded carelessly. He was sweating profusely, yet none of the droplets ever reached the floor; they evaporated the moment they left his skin.
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Finally, as the intricate pattern on the scarf was completed, he let out a deep breath and placed the pen in a specialized container. He then slumped into a chair, taking large gulps of water.
“The seventeenth robe today… That damned merchant is really a slave driver,” he muttered to himself, exhausted.
DING DING
The chime above the front door rang as it swung open. The old man left his workroom and entered the front of his shop, where he found a beautiful woman with light blue hair and a strikingly handsome young man with red eyes.
“Are you the Inscriber Wu?” Feng Zhiming asked, extending a hand for a handshake while casually surveying the shop.
The workshop was modest, with only about twenty items on display—ranging from shoes to swords. Anissa, meanwhile, was already walking around, inspecting the various items with interest.
“That’s me,” the old man replied, shaking Feng Zhiming’s hand before taking a seat at the front counter. His tone was indifferent, as if he had little interest in the visit. “Are you here to buy?”
Feng Zhiming took a seat opposite him as Anissa continued to examine the swords on display. “I’m here to buy, but not items—information.”
The old man’s demeanor shifted slightly. He stood up, walked to the front door, and flipped the sign from “Open” to “Closed.” He then activated an array that shielded the shop, capable of preventing attacks even at the Condensed stage of the Ethereal Core.
“Follow me,” he said, leading Feng Zhiming and Anissa back into his workroom. The heat in the room was palpable, the air thick with the lingering energy from the inscription he had just completed. It was clear that being an inscriber was a demanding and dangerous craft.
Once inside, the old man turned to face them. “I have a device that can track the creature,” he said, holding up what looked like a compass. The needle pointed directly south, in the direction where Feng Zhiming stood.
Feng Zhiming’s demeanor shifted to one of deadly seriousness as he took in the sight of the compass. With the bounty on the creature, this device was likely the most valuable item on the continent—at least to those who knew the creature’s true worth.
“Price?” Feng Zhiming asked, his voice tense with the weight of the moment.
“It isn’t that simple,” the old man replied, sitting down once more.
Anissa placed a calming hand on Feng Zhiming’s shoulder, her grip firm. “Hear him out. Do you really want to stand in the sun to dry your robes again?” she sent him via mental transmission.
Feng Zhiming clenched his fists, resisting the urge to simply take the compass by force. He really didn’t want to go through the hassle of cleaning his robe again either.
The old man took a deep breath and began his story. “Long ago, I was a handsome young man, an up-and-coming inscriber from the middle of nowhere…