Renegade Immortal Chapters 31-33: The Secret Exchange and a Dangerous Bargain

The chill of deep winter had settled firmly over the Heng Yue Sect, a blanket of silence broken only by the occasional whisper of falling snow. Within the humble confines of the chore house, Wang Lin’s cultivation continued in its quiet, relentless rhythm. His world was one of measured progress, spiritual water, and the endless cycles within the dream space. It was a solitude he had grown accustomed to, making the arrival of Wang Hao one evening a notable interruption.

Wang Hao’s face was etched with a familiar mix of anxiety and determination. After the usual pleasantries, he got straight to the point. “Brother Tie Zhu, I need to borrow some talismans.”

Wang Lin’s expression remained placid. “How much do you need?”

“At least two hundred,” Wang Hao said, his voice dropping slightly.

“That much?” Wang Lin was genuinely surprised. He had the talismans—nearly five hundred accumulated from various “gifts”—but the sum was significant. “What do you need it for?”

With a sigh that fogged the cold air, Wang Hao explained. “In two months, it’s the inner disciple competition. I can participate, but my chances are slim. I refuse to just give up, though. That bastard Wang Zhuo is already at the first layer of Qi Condensation and pushing for the second.”

“How is he progressing so fast?” Wang Lin mused, a faint pang of that old, familiar feeling—the divide of innate talent—touching him.

“He has a good master,” Wang Hao spat, his bitterness clear. “His master didn’t care about the cost and begged mine for a batch of Foundation Establishment pills. After taking one of those, your cultivation speed skyrockets.”

Wang Lin nodded slowly, processing this. The advantages afforded to others were always stark. “What does this have to do with borrowing talismans?”

Wang Hao leaned in, his voice becoming conspiratorial. “There’s a connection. You don’t mix much, but a month before the competition, the inner disciples hold a small exchange. Everyone brings out their treasures for final preparations. I’ve heard from seniors—flying swords, magical treasures, pills, anything can be traded there.”

At the mention of the exchange, Wang Lin’s heart gave a distinct thud. Flying swords and treasures held little allure for him, but one thing did: the cultivation chants for the later stages of Qi Condensation. The possibility of obtaining them there was a spark in the dark. Yet, caution was his second nature. “The inner disciples trust each other that much? To simply exchange so openly?”

Wang Hao chuckled. “That’s the key. There’s one rule to enter: you must take a Disguise Pill. Once you take it, unless someone is at the Foundation Establishment stage, no one can recognize you.”

A thought crystallized in Wang Lin’s mind. “You’re borrowing all these talismans for that pill?”

Wang Hao blinked, then nodded. “Brother Tie Zhu, you are sharp. Exactly. My master controls the pills and sells them privately around this time. The price is two hundred talismans.”

The gears turned in Wang Lin’s head. This was an opportunity, a rare window into the hidden economy of the sect. “This exchange seems interesting. I would like to go as well.”

Wang Hao’s face brightened. “Of course! As long as you have a pill, you can attend. My goal is a Foundation Establishment pill. I heard a disciple is selling one this time.”

Without further ado, Wang Lin waved his right hand. From his bag of holding, he produced four neat bundles of one hundred talismans each—four hundred in total. Wang Hao’s eyes gleamed as he swiftly stored them away. “Thank you, Brother Tie Zhu! There’s about half a month left. I’ll come find you then, and we can go together.”

After Wang Hao departed, the quiet returned, but it was now filled with purpose. Wang Lin attached immense importance to this exchange. It was a direct path to the knowledge he craved. However, a problem presented itself: he had just spent his talisman capital on the entry fee. He had nothing left to trade.

He pondered for a long time, the only sound the soft crackle of the fire. His gaze eventually fell upon the gourds lining his shelf, filled with spring water imbued with spiritual energy. That was it. That was his currency. The spiritual liquid was undoubtedly valuable, and with the disguise in place, his identity would be safe. Having settled on his plan, he pushed the matter from his mind and turned to practical training. Since he couldn’t enter the dream space at will, he began practicing the Attraction Force Technique on the large rocks in the yard.

He had performed the technique over ten thousand times in the dream space, achieving a flawless success rate with small objects like gourds. In the real world, his control was growing. With a mere thought, small items would fly to his hand. Larger objects like the rocks were more challenging, but as his spiritual energy swelled with his advancement to the second layer, the true potential of the technique began to unveil itself.

After several hours of practice, dusk had fallen, and a fresh snow began to drift down. Wang Lin did not retreat inside immediately. He stood in the doorway, watching the silent, swirling flakes, his mind occupied by a deeper concern.

Over the past month of cultivating at the second layer, he had noticed a subtle but worrying trend: the efficacy of the spiritual spring water was diminishing. The decrease was minute, easily compensated for by drinking more, but it whispered a terrifying prophecy. What if, as his cultivation climbed higher and higher, the spring water one day lost its power entirely?

The bead produced the best results with liquid dew, but dew was scarce, especially in winter. Spring water was practical and endless, but it might not always be enough. He needed alternatives.

An idea struck him. He raised his hand, focusing his will. The Attraction Force Technique activated. Chunks of snow from the courtyard lifted from the ground, swirling into a serpentine stream that poured itself into a large empty pot inside. Within moments, he had filled it halfway.

He approached the pot, formed a seal with his right hand, and concentrated. After more than a dozen attempts, a baby-sized fireball sputtered to life in his palm, radiating intense heat. He held it over the pot, sweat beading on his forehead from the dual exertion of techniques. The snow melted quickly, leaving a pool of clear, cold water.

His understanding of the mysterious bead was precise. Ten minutes of soaking was the optimal time; longer provided no additional benefit. He dropped the bead into the snowmelt and waited. When he retrieved it, he took a cautious sip of the transformed water and closed his eyes, sensing the flow of spiritual energy within his body.

A moment later, his eyes opened, a flicker of relief within them. “The effect is a lot better than spring water,” he muttered to the empty room, “but still below dew. It can be used!”

It was a viable backup. He immediately set to work, fetching the multitude of gourds he had collected from the mountains. Throughout the long, cold night, he worked tirelessly, using his techniques to gather and melt snow, then filling gourd after gourd with the newly created spiritual snow water. By dawn, his courtyard was stripped of snow, and a small but precious stockpile of potent liquid was secured.

The Preparation

In the days that followed, Wang Lin established a new routine. Between his intensive training sessions in the dream space, he became a diligent collector of winter’s bounty. He feared the spiritual energy might dissipate if stored in open vats, so the humble gourd remained his vessel of choice. Fortunately, he had gathered plenty. Within a few days, several hundred gourds were filled and sealed, containing enough snow water to sustain his dream space cultivation for a considerable time.

With his trading material and personal reserves secured, Wang Lin returned to his primary focus: cultivation. The spring water’s diminishing returns were a nagging worry, but it was still effective. He drank more of it than ever before, grateful that it dissolved directly into spiritual energy, sparing his stomach the physical burden of such volume.

The spiritual energy requirement for the second layer was vastly greater than the first. He had already cultivated for the equivalent of over nine months in the dream space. At the first layer, such effort would have yielded dramatic results. Now, while he felt the dense thrum of increased spiritual power within his meridians, the peak of the second layer still felt distant, a mountain shrouded in mist.

Ten days slipped by. The appointed night for the exchange arrived. Wang Lin did not enter the dream space, waiting instead in the conscious world. Around midnight, as snow began to fall again, Wang Hao’s presence entered the range of his divine sense.

The door swung open moments later. Wang Hao did not enter, his voice a hurried whisper in the dark. “Master took forever refining pills and delayed me. Come quickly, the exchange is about to start!”

Wang Lin fell into step behind him as they hurried out into the night. They moved beyond the sect’s main courtyards and onto a narrow, treacherous mountain path. The snow and ice made the way perilous. Wang Hao shuffled slowly, his body trembling. “What’s with this damn weather?” he grumbled. “If I fell and died here, my ghost would demand justice!”

Wang Lin, his body light and agile from cultivation, felt no such discomfort. In fact, he viewed the fresh snowfall with practical appreciation—more raw material for his stores.

After a period of careful walking, Wang Hao halted. He furtively pressed a green pill into Wang Lin’s hand. “We’re almost there. Just a few turns ahead. We take the pill now.”

Wang Hao swallowed an identical pill. Instantly, a thick, opaque black fog erupted from his body, enveloping him completely. A gruff, unfamiliar voice emerged from the swirling darkness. “How is it? Can you tell who I am?”

Wang Lin extended his divine sense. It felt as if it were pushing against a muddy, impenetrable barrier. The pill’s efficacy was impressive and reassuring. “This pill is really amazing,” he remarked, then swallowed his own. The same black fog consumed him, hiding his form and altering his voice. Within the disguise, he felt both anonymous and vulnerable.

The two shrouded figures continued. After rounding a final bend, they arrived at a large, secluded clearing. The scene was surreal: several dozen individuals, all identically cloaked in undulating black fog, stood in silence under the winter sky. No faces, no distinguishing features—just a gathering of shadows.

Wang Lin and Wang Hao found an empty spot and joined the silent assembly. Not long after, one figure stepped forward. He coughed, a hoarse sound, and spoke. “Time is up. I will host the exchange again. As before, I’ll start.” He produced a small, gleaming silver sword. “This flying sword is not from the sect. I obtained it myself. It’s powerful. I want five hundred talismans.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Soon, a disciple stepped forward, handed over the talismans, and took the sword without a word. The exchange had begun.

The Barter of Shadows

The event unfolded with a brisk, clandestine energy. One by one, disciples stepped forward to present their wares. “I have a piece of skill-jade that can release an earth-splitting technique three times. I want ten Qi Gathering Pills.” A bidding war ensued, settled by a higher offer of twelve pills.

Wang Lin observed it all, a silent specter learning the rules of this hidden market. Then, a hesitant voice offered, “I have a technique here. If you’re above the second layer of Qi Condensation, you can use it to hide your cultivation level for a short time. Anyone below Foundation Establishment stage won’t see through it. I know it’s… not very useful. I only want ten… no, five Qi Gathering Pills for it.”

Derisive laughter echoed in the clearing. The technique seemed a frivolity in a world where displaying higher cultivation brought direct benefits. Who would waste pills on such a temporary disguise?

Seeing no takers, the seller sighed and began to retract the item. At that moment, Wang Lin spoke, his disguised voice calm. “I’ll trade five Qi Gathering Pills for it.”

The seller jolted with surprise and excitement, quickly completing the trade. Wang Lin took the object—a small slip of jade—and scanned it with his divine sense. The method flowed into his mind. To others, it was useless. To Wang Lin, a boy who held a universe of secrets within a simple bead, a tool for temporary anonymity was priceless.

The atmosphere shifted palpably when a new voice rang out, hoarse but dripping with arrogance. “One Foundation Establishment pill. State your offer!”

Wang Hao, beside Wang Lin, vibrated with anticipation. “Twenty Qi Gathering Pills!” he shouted.

The clearing erupted. “One thousand talismans plus a flying sword!” “Two thousand talismans!” “Thirty Qi Gathering Pills plus five hundred talismans!” The bids came fast and fierce. The Foundation Establishment pill, which could multiply one’s absorption of spiritual energy for two months, was the crown jewel of the exchange, desperately sought by every disciple below the seventh layer.

Wang Lin watched, calculating. He had no personal need for the pill, but he felt a pang of sympathy for Wang Hao. The prices were skyrocketing beyond the reach of most.

He heard Wang Hao shout again, a note of final desperation in his voice. “Two hundred and thirty Qi Gathering Pills! This is my limit!”

A stunned silence fell. It was an enormous sum. The seller, however, merely laughed with contempt. “With just two hundred and thirty Qi Gathering Pills, you want my Foundation Establishment pill? If the price is under two thousand pills, I’m not trading!”

Wang Lin listened closely to that arrogant tone. It reminded him of someone—Wang Zhuo. He couldn’t be sure, shrouded as they all were, but the suspicion took root. Wang Hao fell silent, defeated. The host coughed and moved the event along.

A Dangerous Transaction

Soon, it was Wang Lin’s turn. He stepped forward, the eyes of the black-fogged crowd upon him. He produced a small, unadorned bottle. “A mysterious liquid,” he announced, his disguised voice steady. “One drop is equivalent to one Qi Gathering Pill in spiritual energy. There are about one hundred drops here. I only want the cultivation chants for the fourth layer of Qi Condensation or later.” To demonstrate, he uncorked the bottle. A palpable wave of pure, dense spiritual energy wafted out, causing several figures to lean forward involuntarily.

The energy was raw, versatile—far more valuable than a finished pill. It could aid in pill refinement, empower magical treasures, or be consumed directly.

“I’ll trade the chant for the fourth layer!” someone called immediately. Another shouted, “How about the chants for the fourth, fifth, and sixth layers?”

Wang Lin pondered. This was his goal. “I want the chants for the fourth through the fifteenth layer.”

A wave of disbelief met his request. “Brother, that’s impossible!” someone exclaimed. “Even Second Elder Apprentice-Brother Can Jie, last year’s champion, is only at the sixth layer and only has chants up to the ninth! The chants from the tenth to fifteenth are held by only a few senior elders!”

Wang Lin was taken aback. He had underestimated the scarcity. He hesitated, recalculating his position. Suddenly, a new voice cut through the murmurs, cold and authoritative. “If you have two hundred drops of that liquid, I can give you the chants for the fourth through the ninth layers.”

All heads turned. A figure emerged from the edge of the clearing, not shrouded in fog but clad in the distinct purple robes of a top-tier inner disciple. He was young, perhaps twenty, with an expression as cold as the mountain snow. A ripple of awe and fear passed through the disguised crowd. Murmurs of “Second Elder Apprentice-Brother Can Jie!” filled the air.

The purple-clad man ignored them entirely, his gaze fixed on Wang Lin. “Do you have two hundred drops?”

A chill that had nothing to do with the winter night shot down Wang Lin’s spine. His divine sense screamed a warning. The pressure emanating from Can Jie was immense, a predatory sharpness that far exceeded anyone he had ever encountered in the Heng Yue Sect, even Elder Sun or Brother Zhang. This was true power.

Wang Lin forced his disguised voice to remain respectful. “This liquid was found by accident. Besides these one hundred drops, I have only a few dozen left for my own use. I don’t have that much.”

Can Jie stared at him for a long, silent moment. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he tossed a piece of jade onto the ground between them. “Fine. Give me the rest of the liquid, and these chants are yours.”

It was not a request. Wang Lin carefully picked up the jade, scanning it with his divine sense to confirm it contained the promised chants for the fourth to ninth layers. Satisfied, he placed his original bottle and a second, smaller one on the ground, maintaining a cautious distance from the powerful disciple.

Can Jie’s hand twitched. The two bottles flew to him as if summoned. He examined them briefly with his divine sense, then looked back at Wang Lin. His final words were delivered with deliberate clarity, meant for every ear in the clearing. “If you obtain more of this liquid, come find me in the back mountains. It doesn’t matter if you want Foundation Establishment pills, flying swords, skill jade, or even the chants for the tenth layer and beyond. I can get them all.”

With that, he turned and disappeared into the night, leaving a vacuum of silence behind.

Wang Lin’s mind raced, his eyes narrowing within his shroud of fog. The compliment was a poison. Can Jie’s public offer was a masterstroke of malice, painting a target directly on Wang Lin’s back. It announced to every covetous disciple present that the holder of the “mysterious liquid” was a walking treasure trove, and that Can Jie himself would pay a king’s ransom for it. Wang Lin could feel the weight of hidden gazes upon him, speculative and hungry.

He had anticipated some risk, but this was a wildfire. He did not panic. Panic was a luxury he could not afford. He remained perfectly still, outwardly calm, as the exchange limped to its conclusion. When the host declared the event over, the disguised figures began to disperse—some joyful, many more disappointed.

Wang Lin did not wait for Wang Hao. The moment the gathering broke, he slapped a dozen talismans onto his legs. Spiritual energy surged, and he shot away from the clearing like an arrow, vanishing into the dark, snowy forest in the blink of an eye. Behind him, he knew Wang Hao, understanding the danger, would be doing the same.

He heard faint, frustrated curses from the clearing as those with ill intentions were caught off guard by his sudden, talisman-fueled flight. He didn’t stop. As he ran, he continued applying more talismans to his legs. The speed stacked, a reckless expenditure for the sake of survival. A ghostly blur against the snow, he hurtled back toward the relative safety of the sect’s outer courtyards.

The greatest threat was Can Jie, but such a figure would not stoop to crude ambush. The immediate danger was from greedy peers. Wang Lin did not make the mistake of returning directly to the chore house. That would be too predictable. Instead, he slipped into an unused, empty room in a distant courtyard and waited, his senses stretched to their limits, listening for any pursuit.

The night stretched on, cold and interminable. Only when the first grey light of dawn touched the sky and the Disguise Pill’s effects finally dissipated, leaving him as plain Wang Lin once more, did he dare to move. He exited the room with extreme caution, blending into the early morning movements of low-level disciples and servants. His journey back to the chore house was uneventful, but the normalcy felt fragile.

He had obtained his prize—the precious chants to guide his cultivation to the very threshold of Foundation Establishment. But the cost had been a new and profound vulnerability. The secret of his spiritual liquid was now a semi-public rumor, and he had attracted the attention of a predator who sat near the top of the sect’s hierarchy. The snow water in his gourds represented security, but the jade in his bag of holding represented peril. As he closed the door of the chore house behind him, Wang Lin knew the calculus of his survival had just become infinitely more complex. The exchange was over, but the real bargaining for his life and secrets had only just begun.