Rogue Cultivator Teahouse.
Someone felt the same way. Wiping his face, he spoke hoarsely to the old friend sitting beside him.
"Back then, to get a Marrow-Cleansing Pill for my younger sister, I ran across more than half the Prehistoric World and begged at who knew how many sects. They would not even let me through the door.
"If there had been a place like this then, I would have been willing to save up for a hundred thousand years."
The cultivator beside him, dressed in a short blue-green robe, sighed and rubbed the rim of his teacup with his fingertips.
"Exactly. Rogue Cultivators like us, with no backing and no connections, have to risk our lives whenever we want even a slightly higher-grade Heavenly Materials and Earthly Treasures.
"These Farm Teachings rules have opened a window for people at the bottom like us."
"I used to think the Farm Teachings' Contribution Points rules were a massive hassle. But now that I think about it, isn't this a path they left for us?
"You do however much work, and you get however much in return. Everything is clear and straightforward. No need to watch anyone's expression, no need to owe anyone favors. Isn't that better than fighting until your head bleeds?"
The entire teahouse fell silent for a moment. Then scattered voices of agreement rose up, and quite a few people held their teacups with an indescribable emotion in their eyes.
An old herbal farmer carrying a Medicine Basket held up his tea bowl. The wrinkles on his face ran deep, etched with the dust and wind of the wilderness. After taking a sip of coarse tea, he spoke in a raspy voice.
"When I was young, I followed my Master into Secret Realms to gather spiritual ginseng. More than