"Look, these are two Storage Rings. Normally, each would cost seven thousand spirit stones, but I took a liking to you, so I specially shaved a little off the total."
Zhongli Duantian put on an expression of anguish, as though he were cutting off his own flesh.
"All right, all right."
Resigned, Qing Chen casually fished one of the several Storage Bags out of the inner layers of his robes, counted out thirteen thousand spirit stones with a pained expression, and handed them over.
His mind was as clear as a mirror: he knew the old fellow had certainly fleeced him plenty. But what could he do, having just made off with a treasure from the man's Artifact Refining Hall? He would take the loss.
Suffering a loss was a blessing. He would just consider it respecting the old and cherishing the young.
Taking the two Storage Rings, Qing Chen could not help the corners of his mouth curling up again.
Thinking back to when he had confiscated estates and wiped out entire households, how many fine Dharma Artifacts, artifact-refining materials, and materials from first-tier demonic beasts had he been forced to throw away with an aching heart, simply because his high-grade Storage Bags could not hold so much?
He could hardly hang dozens of Storage Bags all over himself to go about killing people and stealing their goods. After all, Storage Bags could not block divine sense.
If some unscrupulous True Person happened to spot him, wouldn't that be the same as openly telling them:
That he, Qing Chen, had plenty of spirit stones, was dripping with wealth, and was a "cultivation nouveau riche" carrying a huge fortune?
Everyone knew that only foolish upstarts strapped a whole pile of high-grade Storage Bags to themselves. The bags alone would be