Correction Slips, Three Tiers of Living

"Impossible!"

Fang Shu was greatly alarmed.

But considering that from the moment Second Uncle had met him until now, he had not spoken a single word, along with the thief outside shouting the words "tongue-cut slave"—

It was hard for Fang Shu not to suspect that the Long-Tongue Sword in his hand had been made from Second Uncle cutting out his own tongue and sending it to him!

Yet Fang Shu soon recalled that the Long-Tongue Sword in his possession had not initially been a magical artifact, but merely a demon tongue that could barely count as an artifact embryo.

That still did not dispel his suspicions. Instead, it left him even more uneasy and enraged.

At that moment.

The sounds of fighting and cursing outside the paper house were growing quieter. Before Fang Shu could pry open the paper door, a shout rang out:

"Hey! All of you, look carefully! This contract clearly says 'tongue embryo.' Where did this so-called 'tongue artifact' come from?

"You can't swindle people like this!"

Cheng the Jar called out loudly and clearly, evidently shouting on purpose for the neighboring residents to hear.

Hearing this, Fang Shu stood cold-faced behind the door. He no longer cared whether he might damage Second Uncle's paper door. With a slash of the Long-Tongue Sword at the lock, he pulled open the door, sword in hand, and leapt outside.

The moment he emerged from the paper house, he spotted a black, fat man strutting away with his back turned, surrounded by several lackeys.

The man was shaped like an earthenware jar and obscenely obese. He must have been the "Cheng the Jar" mentioned by Milk-Shop Xi Shi.

Fang Shu gripped his sword, but before he could move, a familiar soft voice suddenly sounded beside him.

"Young man, wait here until your Second Uncle returns."

Turning his head, he found that the paper door of the neighboring house had opened inward. Half sprawled across the paper threshold was a plump woman, gazing up at him with a smile.

She was none other than the most pleasing sight on Blood Street during the day—Milk-Shop Xi Shi.

When Milk-Shop Xi Shi saw Fang Shu looking over, her smile grew even more seductive. One pale hand rested against her chest, the other propped beneath her chin as she looked him up and down, her eyes seemingly ready to drip.

Before the two could speak further, Fang Shu's Second Uncle came walking back, bruised and swollen, his steps uneven. His robe was filthy as well.

When he saw Fang Shu had broken through the door, Second Uncle froze for a moment, then immediately understood.

He cupped his hands toward Milk-Shop Xi Shi, then pressed a hand to Fang Shu's shoulder and pointed inside.

Fang Shu's lips moved, but he still lowered himself and obediently leapt back into the paper house with his sword.

Uncle and nephew remained inside, bracing the broken, lockless paper door shut as they spoke frankly.

Fang Shu asked questions, and Second Uncle answered with pen and paper.

Sure enough, just as Fang Shu had suspected, his Long-Tongue Sword was intimately connected to Second Uncle.

On the document that Second Uncle had dug out and tightly gripped when he went outside, several lines were written:

"Here are one thousand Greenfly Blood Coins, one copy of the Mouth-and-Stomach Secret Sword Technique, and one corresponding spell tongue embryo, sent to Fang Shu, orphaned son of the Fang family in Sanjiang County. Received. Fifteen years of age, handsome features..."

The document bore both a signature and seal. The sender was Fang Shu's Second Uncle, Yu Le, while the broker and intermediary was Cheng the Jar.

Yet the word "embryo" in "tongue embryo" was conspicuously whiter and newer than the rest of the handwriting. Moreover, in Second Uncle's hand was a small correction slip.

A correction slip was a small piece of paper used to amend a wrongly written character. It could not be used on a contract; if it had to be used, another seal had to be added to the slip itself.

That aged correction slip bore, astonishingly, the character for "artifact." But it had fallen off, and it carried no seal!

Fang Shu's Second Uncle covered his face with one hand, his expression helpless, the shame and indignation on his face still lingering.

Clearly, both uncle and nephew had been tricked by Cheng the Jar.

Fang Shu's Second Uncle truly had cut off one of his own cultivated long tongues and sent it to Fang Shu together with the spell and travel funds.

Because the spell and travel funds had been explicitly listed, Cheng the Jar could not touch them.

But when it came to the Long-Tongue Sword, that bastard had played a trick. After Fang Shu's Second Uncle had cut out his tongue and severed his artifact, leaving his mind dazed, Cheng the Jar had altered the character "artifact" into "embryo," then used the correction slip as camouflage to pass off fish eyes for pearls.

In the end, Fang Shu had received only a demon tongue. To cultivate the spell onto himself, he had to refine a magical artifact on his own.

Now that the matter had been exposed, uncle and nephew still had no evidence with which to argue their case.

Once Fang Shu learned the full story, his face was at once pained, guilty, and livid.

Killing intent also rose in his eyes.

Second Uncle had cut out his tongue to give him an artifact. To Fang Shu, this was a tremendous kindness. Yet Cheng the Jar had dared steal it and ruin Second Uncle's great gift. He had already earned himself a death sentence.

And because the artifact had been swapped, Fang Shu had been forced to start refining one from scratch, damaging his body and shortening his life. He had been driven into risking his life hunting demons just to keep himself alive. That bastard deserved to be executed a thousand times over!

Clang!

Before Fang Shu could act, the Long-Tongue Sword in his hand responded to their linked blood and qi. Its surface turned a vivid crimson, bloody light seeped from it, and it trembled softly.

But then Second Uncle Yu Le reached out and gently stroked the Long-Tongue Sword. Pinching the blade between two fingers, he gave it a light shake and dispersed the surging blood and qi upon it.

Second Uncle shook his head, stopping Fang Shu with his gaze, while a smile appeared on his face.

Taking up his brush, he wrote several words:

"Hide the weapon upon your person; act when the time is right."

Fang Shu's expression shifted when he saw them.

He nodded. After letting out a long breath, he released the Long-Tongue Sword and laid it upon the low paper altar table. Facing Second Uncle, he bowed deeply.

Back when he had been under fifteen, disaster had befallen him for some reason, and the elders of his clan had treated him harshly. He had endured in silence without acting until Second Uncle sent people to deliver spells and talismans. Only then had he gradually seized back the initiative.

Once his spell cultivation had succeeded, Fang Shu had repaid tooth for tooth and blood for blood, severing every worldly tie to the Fang family.

Now that he had only just entered an immortal cultivator market, even the Second Uncle he so admired had fallen into such misery. He had to be even more cautious than before, move slowly, and make his plans carefully.

Sure enough.

Seeing Fang Shu settle his mind, Second Uncle showed relief. He then used his brush as a tongue, writing down several matters concerning Cheng the Jar.

Though that man was black, fat, and ugly, he had not only entered the Dao through pills, but was also a First Tribulation immortal cultivator.

More importantly, he had the Black Tiger Daoist Hall backing him. Using the method of offering up his wife and son, he had made connections with powerful people, which was how he came to hold the authority to collect rent from the nearby paper workshops.

A creature like that was much like a vicious local tyrant or petty official in the mortal world. Not only would it take strength to kill him, he had to be eliminated without anyone knowing, like a god unseen and a ghost unaware, leaving behind no future trouble.

Otherwise, it would be all too easy to set fire to oneself.

After considering it, Fang Shu said in a low voice, "I understand. Rest assured, Second Uncle."

Seeing Fang Shu calm and clear on right and wrong, Second Uncle let out another breath of relief.

Rubbing his cheek, he suddenly grinned, shook his head, and wrote:

"Don't truly think your Second Uncle was merely enraged just now and humiliated himself for nothing.

"The matter had reached this point. I had to make trouble for him. And by using the correction-slip affair to vex that bastard, I can even make him delay my rent for at least three months!"

Seeing Second Uncle bruised and swollen yet wearing such a smug expression, Fang Shu was momentarily speechless.

His tension eased, and he began chatting with Second Uncle.

At once, Second Uncle wrote out a whole pile of embarrassing stories about Cheng the Jar.

Once the atmosphere inside the paper house had recovered, Fang Shu casually asked, as if it had just occurred to him, "Second Uncle, how can I frighten that bastard into kneeling and begging forgiveness, then coming here to cut out his tongue as compensation?"

Second Uncle understood at once and immediately wrote several words:

"Enter a Daoist hall, learn immortal arts, join a sect!"

He perked up, spread wide his sleeves, raised his right hand, and immediately assumed the posture of someone about to write furiously and expound at great length.

Seeing this, Fang Shu hurriedly offered up the Long-Tongue Sword again and again, asking him to put it into his mouth and reconnect it.

Second Uncle also cultivated the Mouth-and-Stomach Secret Sword Technique. As long as he had a tongue sword, after refining it, it could transform into a long tongue and replace his missing human tongue.

But Second Uncle still firmly refused.

Even when Fang Shu merely asked him to refine it temporarily for a few days to make communication easier, Second Uncle only smiled and shook his head. With "When the mouth opens, spirit and qi scatter; when the tongue moves, trouble is born. Things are fine as they are," as his reason, he declined again.

With no other choice, uncle and nephew could only continue—one speaking with his mouth, the other answering with his hand.

Very quickly, Fang Shu learned that seekers of immortality in this immortal cultivator market generally lived in three different tiers.

The lowest tier sold blood and served as slaves in the market, living like oxen and horses, dragging out miserable days. They could only hope to draw a Fortune Lot, or that one day they might turn their lives around.

Fang Shu had already heard the term "Fortune Lot" several times.

After asking closely, he learned that it was just as its name suggested: one paid to shake a lottery tube and draw fortune. Each draw cost two talisman coins.

Among the fortunes that could be drawn were "draw again," "blood vouchers," "talisman coins," and "ore tickets." But one could also draw magical artifacts, spirit pets, Dao companions, even the right to operate an entire mine vein, or directly enter a sect!

It was run by the sect behind the market, its reputation spread far and wide, and it was said to be fair to old and young alike. Every year, there were lucky winners.

As for the middle-tier seekers of immortality—

They possessed some skill, whether in medicines, talismans, artifacts, or something else. They were no longer young, and though they had entered the Dao, their immortal path had already been cut off. They could only settle for second best, establish homes and businesses in the market, support their families, and place their hopes of seeking immortality on the next generation.

As for upper-tier seekers of immortality... Second Uncle suddenly pointed at Fang Shu.

The strip of paper trembling in his hand read:

"You are under thirty-six, brimming with life. You should enter a Daoist hall, learn immortal arts, nurture your fleshly body, and pass immortal tribulations.

"Then one day, after undergoing tribulations to refine qi and entering an immortal sect to seek immortality and learn the Dao, only then will you have lived with the bearing of an immortal cultivator!"

Looking at words such as "Daoist hall," "immortal arts," and "qi refinement" on the paper, Fang Shu's spirits soared. He recalled the anticipation he had felt before entering the market.

That was right!

He had come to this market to seek immortality and ask after the Dao. How could he forget his immortal-seeking aspirations merely because he had witnessed the blood-selling scene in the market?

Not only would he enter the Dao through a Daoist hall and become an immortal cultivator, he would join a true immortal sect, refine qi, establish his foundation, and perhaps even attain longevity!

Suppressing the turmoil in his chest, Fang Shu bowed to Second Uncle before him.

"I will heed your teaching!"

At this, Second Uncle wore the expression of one seeing that the child could be taught. His complexion instantly grew rosy, as though he had received even more nourishment than after drinking milk.

But after uncle and nephew had dreamed freely for a while, Fang Shu brought up why Second Uncle had suffered such disaster and ended up in his current state.

Beating around the bush, he also asked whether Second Uncle had other enemies.

Second Uncle's face, however, was full of sighing melancholy.

Shaking his head, he frankly wrote that while breaking through the second tribulation of essence refinement, his aptitude had been ordinary, his mind impatient, and he had been eager for quick success. He had failed in one stroke.

Since he had wagered his entire fortune and borrowed a sum from his former fellow disciples at the Daoist hall, after failing, Second Uncle had been forced to sell every possession he owned. His Dao companion had left him as well, and he had gone bankrupt in an instant.

After hearing all this.

Though Fang Shu pitied Second Uncle, there was still one matter he did not understand.

After pondering for a while, he asked, "May I ask, Second Uncle, since seekers of immortality in the market have three tiers of living, why did you not choose the middle tier, but instead choose the lowest... to the point of selling blood to survive?"

At this, his Second Uncle took out paper and brush, both helpless and restrained, and wrote back and forth with him:

"We who come from the mortal world may occasionally possess spells, but rarely have any trade. Starting a business is difficult, and it is easy to die midway.

"Other than selling blood, only two paths to starting a business are still viable. One is farming, and the other is mining..."

Fang Shu studied the words carefully and gradually understood.

To live as a middle-tier household in the market was no easier than entering a Daoist hall to cultivate. It often took two or three generations of effort just to gain a foothold.

For the first generation—people like them who had only just fled here from the mortal world—there were basically only two ways to accumulate money and provisions while advancing cultivation: farming and mining.

Beyond these two paths, demon hunting, treasure seeking, herb gathering, and the like might count as a third, but those were perilous roads where life and death were uncertain and wealth depended on heaven. They could not be considered solid ways to build a livelihood.

Yet even farming and mining were harsh and arduous.

First came farming.

To rent "low-grade spirit fields" on the outskirts of the market cost fifty coins per mu each month. One also had to pay a three-month deposit all at once—one hundred and fifty coins—plus one month's rent in advance, another fifty coins.

The initial cost thus came to two hundred coins.

After gathering the two hundred coins of starting capital, one still had to buy grass seeds and medicinal seeds. Even the most ordinary kind cost thirty coins per bag.

Furthermore, farming required fertilizer, starting at twenty or thirty coins. The amount used per mu varied, but without spirit fertilizer, grass grains and herbs could not ripen every two months, or even every month. They would take half a year, or even a full year...

Taking everything into account, even if heaven smiled upon them and there were no insect plagues or demon calamities, farming one mu brought in only three hundred coins of net income per month.

And to earn those three hundred coins from a single mu, a strong man had to bend his back day and night, rise early and sleep late.

Fang Shu was slightly stunned just from reading this much.

He remembered that selling blood in the Blood Hall could easily bring in four or five hundred coins a month.

Even if one sold blood year after year, since the market had spiritual qi to nourish the body, it worked out to about three hundred coins per month in blood-selling income, a slow but steady stream.

He immediately began to wonder whether he had remembered incorrectly, so he asked Second Uncle, the professional, about it.

And it was indeed so: selling blood to survive likewise brought in three hundred coins per month!

Compared with selling blood, farming's only advantage was that one could eat grass roots and gnaw grass cakes, saving the hundred coins per month otherwise spent on a bottle of fasting pills.

But the two hundred coins of monthly rent for a paper house could not be saved. If one insisted on saving it, one would have to sleep outside the town at night, with one's safety left to fate.

After seeing the returns from farming, Fang Shu could not help himself. Still somewhat unwilling, he asked Second Uncle to carefully calculate the returns from mining as well.

The second path, mining, truly was unlike farming, where output was both slow and meager. Mining produced something every day, and the monthly surplus could generally reach six hundred coins.

But entering the mine required paying an entry fee every day. Without a magical artifact, renting one was another daily expense, and the amount of ore one could dig out each day was limited.

Compared with farming, aside from providing daily income, its advantage was the occasional chance of digging up rare minerals, even spirit stones.

But it was also more dangerous than farming.

Cave-ins and such were only minor concerns. Toxic fumes, demon beasts, and the like were frequently encountered in the mines, with odds second only to hunting and treasure seeking in the wilderness.

And once one was injured, buying even a little body-nourishing medicine might wipe out all one's hard-earned money and provisions. One would then have to lie in bed, without income for a long time.

If one was even less fortunate and became crippled, all previous effort would be wasted, and life would become worse than death.

After learning all of this, Fang Shu fell silent for a time.

Compared with the profits and risks of farming and mining, it truly seemed better to become a blood slave. That way, one could at least slowly sell blood to make a living in the market.

Besides, the market had Fortune Lots. What if, one day, he truly got lucky and won the grand prize?