Chapter Forty-Nine: The Eight Forms of Heavenly Origin

“Defensive talisman? Damn it!”

At a distance, the young man’s expression changed abruptly and he hastened the spell in his hands.

“Wang Chang?”

At the same moment, Zhou Changwang also caught sight of the distant figure. A surge of anger flashed through him, and he swiftly drew a sword as thin as a feather, activating it instantly.

With a sharp hiss, the flying sword flashed and pierced straight through Wang Chang’s head.

In an instant, Wang Chang was dead.

Zhou Changwang glanced at the wavering golden shield that still flickered around him, his heart pounding with lingering fear.

Everything had happened too quickly, too suddenly. Had he not remained vigilant and promptly activated the talisman, he would have been impaled by the earth-spike talisman.

At this point, he realized that Wang Chang must have only decided to target him after catching sight of him upon leaving the Fragrant Pavilion. After all, spiritual farmers were notorious in the cultivation world for their lack of combat prowess. To Wang Chang, Zhou Changwang must have seemed an easy mark—wealthy, frequenting the Miscellaneous Affairs Hall of the Six Directions Pavilion.

“It seems I must act with greater caution from now on. Even without changing my appearance, I’ll need to take steps to conceal myself,” Zhou Changwang thought, ever more wary.

Knowing this was no place to linger, he seized the chance while no one was looking and quickly ran over to Wang Chang’s body. He first retrieved his own flying sword, then quickly searched Wang Chang, pulling a black cloth pouch from his chest. Finally, he took a small vial from his own storage bag, uncorked it, and poured its contents over Wang Chang’s wound.

Within moments, the body corroded away beyond recognition.

Only then did Zhou Changwang hurry away.

Fortunately, the rest of his journey passed without incident, and he returned home directly.

As he entered the courtyard, he saw his father practicing martial arts.

Though the path of martial cultivation had long since closed to him, Zhou Qiankun had not succumbed to despair; he practiced whenever he had spare time.

At this moment, he was performing a particular set of slow, deliberate movements—resembling, in some ways, the tai chi elderly men practiced in Zhou’s previous life, each gesture infused with a certain rhythm.

Yet upon closer inspection, Zhou Changwang noticed a key difference. Although his father’s movements were slow, every posture seemed to require immense effort, as if he were straining to push against an invisible millstone in front of him. After only a short while, sweat poured from his brow.

But upon seeing Zhou Changwang return, his father immediately stopped and asked, “Well? Did everything go smoothly? Did you rent a house?”

“I bought everything I needed, but the homes inside the market are still far too expensive. I haven’t found a suitable one yet,” Zhou Changwang replied, omitting any mention of the ambush to spare his father worry, simply shaking his head with a hint of helplessness.

“This is important—there’s no need to rush. If you can’t find one, just keep looking,” Zhou Qiankun reassured him with a nod.

“I understand,” Zhou Changwang said, then asked curiously, “Father, the martial art you were just practicing seems a bit different. What technique is it?”

Deep down, he’d always been a little curious about martial arts.

“The ‘Eight Forms of Primordial Origin.’ But it’s not a martial art—it’s a body-strengthening technique. In all my years, it’s the only method I’ve found that ordinary people can practice. I don’t know if it truly helps, but after years of training, I do feel my constitution has grown much stronger.”

A smile crept onto Zhou Qiankun’s face as he spoke. For someone whose martial path had been cut off, any improvement was reason enough for joy—especially since he considered his progress considerable.

Zhou Changwang nodded, tempted to learn it himself, but considering his current situation, he suppressed the urge. He needed to convert the spells he’d just bought from the Six Directions Pavilion into real power as soon as possible; there was no time to study martial arts now.

He returned to his room and immediately opened the black pouch he’d taken from Wang Chang. In his haste earlier, he’d not had a chance to see what was inside. Now, opening it, he couldn’t hide his disappointment.

Three low-grade spirit stones, forty-five spirit shards, two jade slips, and a land lease document.

“One fight, and I used up a golden shield talisman, only to gain three low-grade spirit stones—not even enough to cover my losses…” Zhou Changwang compared the gains and losses in his mind, shaking his head in resignation. He could only hope that the two jade slips contained something of real value.

As for the land lease document, he glanced at it and then burned it to ash with a fireball spell. It was merely Wang Chang’s lease agreement with the Spiritual Plant Hall, where he’d rented fifteen acres of spiritual farmland at thirty low-grade spirit stones per acre. Of course, much of it was owed—ten stones per acre on credit, with the balance due upon harvest.

Such lease documents were common; Zhou Changwang himself had one, though he didn’t usually carry it with him.

“But wait—how did he manage to pay off the debt for fifteen acres at fifteen low-grade spirit stones each, when his yield was only two or three hundred catties of spirit rice per acre?”

A doubt arose in Zhou Changwang’s mind. He had seen with his own eyes that the document was marked as debt repaid, signed by Steward Chen. Given how often Wang Chang visited the Fragrant Pavilion, he shouldn’t have had any stones left.

Yet, considering Wang Chang’s willingness to attack him, it was clear this wasn’t his first time resorting to such methods. That made things clearer.

He then turned his attention to the two jade slips.

“‘Concealment Technique.’ ‘Manual of the Spiritual Farmer.’”

Zhou Changwang’s eyes lit up.

He had long heard of the Concealment Technique—a spell to hide one’s aura and presence. It explained how Wang Chang had managed to approach without being detected, even when Zhou was on guard.

“This spell is quite useful. It’s priced at ten low-grade spirit stones in the Six Directions Pavilion—not a loss after all.”

Zhou Changwang relaxed a little and then turned his focus to the Manual of the Spiritual Farmer.

He spent a long time absorbing its contents, finally looking up with deep appreciation.

This so-called manual—he had no idea where Wang Chang had obtained it—was a jade slip recording nearly a century’s worth of spiritual farming experience by a cultivator named Wan He.

Wan He had not only grown Spirit Grain, Crescent Rice, and Blood Spirit Rice—nearly ten varieties in all—but had also cultivated many rare flowers, grasses, spiritual herbs, and materials. He had meticulously documented the myriad problems faced during planting and their solutions.

Especially noteworthy were the several methods for cultivating spiritual soil found within. If used properly, they could increase the yield per acre by several fold.

“A true treasure—this is truly valuable. No wonder Wang Chang could achieve a yield of seven hundred catties per acre; these methods for improving spiritual soil are indispensable.”

Zhou Changwang marveled, acutely aware of the manual’s worth. The distilled wisdom of a century-old master farmer was beyond measure.