The Hum of the Market
The sun beat down on Azura Cloud City, turning the cobblestone streets into shimmering ribbons of heat. The air, thick with the aroma of spiced meats, freshly baked bread, and the earthy scent of medicinal herbs, vibrated with the cacophony of bartering. Amidst the throng of cultivators, nobles, and common folk jostling for the best deals, stood Ling Feng.
At twenty years of age, he was a study in contrasts. His face, framed by dark, slightly unkempt hair, was angular and lean, marked by the relentless sun and countless sleepless nights spent poring over ancient texts. His clothes, made of simple but durable cloth, were practical and stained with the grime of days spent handling goods. Yet, his dark eyes, sharp and observant, held a spark of cunning intelligence that belied his humble appearance.
Ling Feng wasn't a prodigy. He lacked the innate talent for qi cultivation that many in Azura Cloud City possessed. While others soared through the early stages with ease, he'd ground himself, inching his way to the mid-stage of the Qi Refining realm. He'd achieved this not through celestial blessings or profound insights, but through sheer grit and a keen understanding of the marketplace.
The Merchant's Heart
His stall was a simple affair – a wooden cart piled high with a motley assortment of goods. There were dried herbs he'd collected from the surrounding mountains, rough-cut gemstones he'd haggled down to near nothing from a traveling caravan, and painstakingly crafted wooden talismans that he’d carved himself. Each item had a story, a memory of a shrewd bargain or a hard-won expedition.
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"Come, come, esteemed cultivator!" he’d call out, his voice a practiced blend of enthusiasm and charm. "These Spirit Lotus seeds, freshly harvested, will boost your Qi flow! A mere five spirit stones each!"
A prospective buyer, a surly-looking man with a faint aura of qi, approached. "Five spirit stones? They look withered! Two spirit stones, and not a sliver more!"
Ling Feng didn't flinch. This was the language he understood, the dance he was comfortable in. "Withered? My friend, you insult them! They have merely aged to perfection, concentrating their essence! Three spirit stones, and I will throw in a free jade hairpin." He'd flash a sly grin, a master of the art of negotiation.
Hours would pass in this way, each transaction a small victory. The coins he earned were meticulously added to a leather pouch, not for lavish living, but for the ever-present hunger of his cultivation. Every spirit stone was a step towards the next rank, every herb a drop in an endless well.
For nights, after he’d packed away his stall and the city had begun to slumber, Ling Feng would retreat into his small, rented room. It was barely big enough to house a cot and a small table, but it was his sanctuary. There, under the flickering glow of a dim lamp, he pored over ancient scrolls on formation studies.
Alchemy was too expensive, demanding costly ingredients and specialized tools. Formation, however, was a different beast – less about material resources and more about spatial reasoning, logic, and patience. It was a puzzle, a complex dance between spiritual energy and geometry, and Ling Feng found himself increasingly drawn to its intricacies. He wasn't particularly talented at it, his first attempts resulting in nothing but smudged ink and useless pieces of parchment, however he was persistent.
He traced his fingers across the intricate diagrams, his brow furrowed in concentration. He’d spent weeks deciphering the basic principles, and he was just beginning to grasp the potential of even the most rudimentary formations. He dreamt of crafting formations to enhance his defenses, to amplify his cultivation, to perhaps even create a shortcut to higher realms. It was a long and arduous path, but for Ling Feng, the challenge was its own reward.