World of Cultivation Two Jade Stick

As if from a dream, lights flickered and danced, making Dong Fu a spectacle of beauty even after sundown.

Bright, gentle illumination spilled from lanterns lining the streets. Above, the sounds of spiritual beasts echoed, and the glow of flying talismans rivaled any meteor shower. The cool evening air only amplified the bustle. Merchants exuded an energized aura, and shop employees, clad in matching uniforms, stood by their doorways. One held a copper bell, the other an eight-divination mirror.

The employee with the copper bell chanted a spell, and a clear voice emanated, announcing, "This establishment offers talismans of every variety at exceptional prices. Whether you are merely a Qi Refining apprentice or a seasoned Golden Core cultivator, this shop has what you need..."

Etched onto the copper bell was a 'Clear Sound Incantation.' The voice was mellow and pleasing, never grating on the ears. Even prolonged exposure would not cause annoyance.

The attendant wielding the eight-divination mirror worked in concert, simultaneously casting a spell. The mirror pulsed with light, projecting holographic images of various items above his head – lifelike and dynamic. As the tone of the bell shifted, so too did the holograms, cycling like a traffic signal. This was a 'Mirage Spell,' designed to create illusions and deceive the eye into perceiving them as reality.

In instances where two shops faced each other, a common sight was the employees exchanging hostile glares, their bells swinging furiously, the lights from their eight-divination mirrors flashing in competition.

Similar scenes unfolded throughout the entire street.

"A fifth-grade Secret Paradise. Features one spiritual spring, five hundred ping of arable land, brimming with spiritual energy. Guarantees bountiful harvests whether for raising beasts or cultivating spiritual grains and herbs! A mere two million fifth-grade spirit stones. Don't miss this opportunity; it won't come again!"

"This store proudly presents a wide selection of high-grade spiritual herbs. With a legacy spanning a thousand years, quality is assured! All medicinal products in this emporium have undergone rigorous inspection by esteemed professors from the Tian Xin School of Medicine! Rest assured of their efficacy!"

"Aspiring to join the Yi Zi Hui Sword Sect? This training academy accepts students year-round, imparting diverse foundational spells. Receive personalized instruction from seasoned sword cultivators of the Yi Zi Hui Sword Sect. Success in your first attempt is guaranteed! Why hesitate? Come and experience it! Those who register today receive a fifteen percent discount!"

...

This was Dong Fu, the primary town that never slept!

Zuo Mo was no stranger to this thriving central hub, yet he remained unaccustomed to its vibrant energy. His visits were infrequent. Without the aid of a flying paper crane, venturing to Dong Fu was a considerable undertaking.

Even the most picturesque street eventually meets an intersection. Zuo Mo stood with a dazed expression; he was lost.

Blast it, lost again!

He struck his head in frustration, wincing from the pain.

Resignedly, Zuo Mo approached a banyan tree and tilted his head upward. Perched on its branches were numerous small, crimson birds. These avians were entirely red, boasting long, scarlet tails. In flight, they left trails like streams of fire, earning them the name 'Flaming Birds.'

They possessed intelligence and spiritual awareness, capable of comprehending human speech and readily learning. Many cities utilized them as navigational markers. However, this service was not rendered freely.

Zuo Mo, enduring the sting, tossed a first-grade spirit stone. A Flaming Bird unfurled its wings, swooped down, deftly snatched the stone, and promptly swallowed it.

"Free Market," Zuo Mo called out.

The Flaming Bird executed several aerial loops above his head before descending and heading in a specific direction.

Zuo Mo hastened to follow the bird. It maintained a leisurely pace. Its elongated tail feathers cast a bright, crimson glow that illuminated the night.

The red luminescence dispersed in the air, fading swiftly. Traversing the lantern-lit thoroughfares, absorbing the calls of vendors, and observing the shifting holograms lining the street, Zuo Mo found himself lost in thought, recalling the sensations upon awakening two years prior. Unconsciously, he fell silent.

A sigh escaped him, accompanied by a wave of gentle melancholy.

The Flaming Bird's sharp cry jolted him back to the present. Upon spotting the nearby Free Market, his spirits lifted. The bird circled a few times before departing, leaving behind a faint trail of glowing red embers. Zuo Mo gave a small wave to the departing creature.

For cultivators of a lower level, the free market was the most frequented place. This so-called free market permitted anyone to set up a stall, provided they acquired a Mini-Room and settled the necessary fees before freely commencing sales. The cost of a Mini-Room was significantly less than that of a conventional storefront. Typically, when a Mini-Room was collapsed, it would shrink to the size of a palm, making it easily portable. Numerous xiuzhe purchased one to carry with them, thus eliminating the worry of finding accommodation during their travels.

While purchases here were considerably cheaper than in regular stores, they demanded a greater investment of time in searching.

The layout of the free market resembled a vast Go board, segmented into numerous squares. Each square was designed to accommodate ten Mini-Rooms, arranged in two rows of five, back-to-back.

Zuo Mo soon spotted his intended destination.

"Oh, Brother Mo, you've arrived!" The proprietor, a man in his late twenties with a sharp head and darting eyes, greeted him. His name was Fu Jin. Possessing mediocre potential and little inclination towards cultivation, he currently stood at the third level of lianqi and had decided to venture into business. He demonstrated a talent for management and explored various avenues, managing to procure nearly everything, from low-level talismans to various spells.

Zuo Mo, wasting no time, inquired, "Has the item I requested arrived yet?"

"Indeed, indeed!" Fu Jin declared, patting his slender chest with a laugh. "Whatever Brother Mo desires, I would never dare to fall short in my efforts!"

With that, he began rummaging through a small pouch secured at his waist. Zuo Mo's gaze, tinged with longing, fixed upon this unassuming cloth pouch. Though it appeared ordinary, it was, in fact, a third-grade Thousand Treasure Pouch.

However, Zuo Mo's attention was swiftly drawn to the small object Fu Jin was now holding: a piece of blue-green jade, approximately a finger wide and two knuckles long – a jade stick.

"However, Brother Mo, please do not fault me for not offering a caution. This ling plant jade stick contains five distinct five-element spells. Yet, few are capable of mastering all of them," Fu Jin stated earnestly. "Given Brother Mo's current proficiency at the third level of [Little Art of Rain and Cloud], perhaps a water-element spell jade stick would be more suitable? I mean no offense by my persistent advice, but I have witnessed much over the years and gained some understanding. Mastering one ability is sufficient to achieve great things."

Zuo Mo responded with sincere gratitude, "Many thanks, Brother Fu."

Should he manage to master all five elemental spells, and achieve the third level in three of them, the path to becoming a ling plant farmer would be open. The breakthrough to the third level of the [Little Art of Cloud and Rain] had first sparked this ambition; since he could grasp such a feat, it indicated a nascent talent for the five elements.

Had he chosen to trade all his ling grains for contribution points within the sect, a respectable sword manual could have been his reward.

Yet, this was not the path he took. What need did he have for a sword manual? To chop wood?

Farming spells, in his view, held far greater utility. Even without mastering every single one, accumulating more spells meant diversifying his capabilities. While the sect's resources were limited, uncultivated ling fields were abundant. With sufficient fields, he could cultivate more ling grains, thereby accumulating more jingshi.

Lost in these deliberations, Zuo Mo's mind grew sharp, banishing the lingering traces of drowsiness.

He straightened up, extending a hand to touch his face. The muscles felt unyielding, akin to hardened wood, a condition that rendered him incapable of displaying any expression.

His concern wasn't with appearances, but with a matter of greater consequence.

Faint starlight spilled into the courtyard, casting a soft, silvery sheen reminiscent of rising night mist. A melancholic shadow flickered in the eyes of the impassive Zuo Mo.

Two years prior, during the sect leader's return journey, an unconscious Zuo Mo had been discovered and brought back to the Wu Kong Sword Sect. Upon awakening, he found his memory wiped clean. Despite exhausting every avenue over the subsequent two years, no clues surfaced regarding his past before that point.

He identified a peculiar aspect of his condition: his face. It remained frozen, like stone, betraying no emotion. The sect leader conjectured it might be a rare affliction. Because of this unmoving visage, he faced initial ostracization from other disciples and endured considerable hardship.

However, he harbored no dislike for this immutable face. It represented one of the sole two connections to his lost identity. Perhaps, one day, this wooden countenance would serve as a catalyst for remembrance.

Who am I... where is my home...

The other link was a recurring dream. Whose voice echoed there, and what crucial message must he not forget?

Yet, all was lost to him!

With a silent sigh heart, he shook his head, as if to dislodge these intrusive thoughts. Casually, he retrieved the nearby sound tablet and channeled his ling energy into it.

The sound tablet, a common talisman in this xiu world, comprised a base and a circular jade disc. Etched with seal formations, it could capture sound transmissions from large-scale arrays. Zuo Mo's was a basic version: a cedar wood base supporting a palm-sized jade tablet. Infused with ling energy, the tablet's surface shimmered with vibrant colors, emitting a melodious voice.

“Bloody Sky Metropolis Jie is once again engulfed in fierce conflict. Twelve xiuzhe camps have simultaneously faced large-scale assaults from yaomo, resulting in severe casualties.”

“Zhou Ding Sword Sect has discovered a new jie. Initial explorations have yielded substantial jing veins. Sources indicate over fifteen sects have dispatched high-level xiuzhe concurrently. Furthermore, the presence of numerous aboriginals on this jie has led industry xiuzhes to predict a significant drop in the market price of slave princes...

“Following the vanquishing of the renowned high-level master Xi Mo Da of the yao race, the Xi Shang Sword Sect of Xi Shang Jie has forged his life feather into a flying sword. Today, the finished flying sword has emerged, its released energy reportedly spanning ten miles. High-level experts from forging sects estimate this Gold Feather Sword has achieved an astonishing seventh-grade rank! The Xi Shang Sword Sect now possesses a formidable new weapon!”

...

Beneath the canopy of stars, Zuo Mo absorbed the news in silence. Upon waking, this rudimentary sound tablet had been instrumental in his gradual understanding of this world.

It was during that period he cultivated the daily habit of listening to the sound tablet.

When his emotions turned turbulent or unsettled, he would activate the sound tablet and listen intently, finding his composure restored.

Within the vast, dark expanse of the night, stars twinkling, a solitary figure sat upon a rooftop, transfixed by the sounds emanating from the tablet.