Chapter 3: Crafting Talismans

Leaving Yunmeng Trading Post was no simple matter.

According to the rules set by the Azure Water Sect, any itinerant cultivator who accepted a frontier development task was required to remain in the trading post for a full five years. Only after those five years would the Azure Water Sect stop interfering with their departure. Of course, Yunmeng Trading Post was located deep within the Yunmeng Marshlands, and the only way in or out was via the sect’s spirit ship.

Before arrival, the spirit ship shuttle was free of charge, accompanied by endless promises of opportunity—yearning for immortality? Come and pioneer the wilderness. Yunmeng Trading Post, the starting point on your path to eternal life.

But once you arrived, disillusionment set in. It was a scam—nothing short of a con in the world of cultivation. Rather than the beginning of immortality, it felt like the end. The Azure Water Sect might as well be an affiliate of the underworld.

Couldn’t endure it and wanted to leave? Simple—three hundred spirit stones for a single ticket. Too expensive? Then try your luck making it out on foot. If you could traverse the depths of the Yunmeng Marshlands on your own, you deserved the victory. If you thought the fare was steep but didn’t dare to flee, the sect was understanding of a wandering cultivator’s plight: work in the trading post for ten years, and the ticket price was halved. Twenty years, and it dropped to a hundred spirit stones.

All these rules, of course, were meant for the penniless. Those with connections or ample spirit stones could come and go between Yunmeng Trading Post and the Kingdom of Chu’s cultivation world as they pleased.

But Shen Lian was both poor and friendless—a double misfortune. The reason his predecessor had come to Yunmeng Trading Post was to see if fate might grant him some opportunity. In the wilderness, perhaps one could stumble upon a high-grade ore or a rare spirit herb. Such stories did circulate from time to time and never failed to stir up a new wave of hopeful cultivators, sending them surging into the wilds, as if they’d been injected with raw adrenaline.

Life at the bottom was bitter, and Shen Lian could well understand his predecessor’s reasoning. If you couldn’t rely on yourself, you could only rely on luck. Who knew—perhaps one day you’d pick up a precious resource from the mud.

But the odds were abysmal. The chance of dying was far greater.

Half a year ago, when Shen Lian had first transmigrated here, he immediately dismissed the former owner’s gamble-with-fate approach. Instead, he switched to a careful, steady path.

With the Stability System in hand, all he needed was to find a secure place and cultivate peacefully. Caution was his guiding principle.

A life of desperation simply wasn’t for him.

He turned the Flame Talisman over in his hand, recalling the memories of crafting it. Having a system truly made all the difference. His predecessor had struggled endlessly and never even gotten started.

After a while, Shen Lian set the talisman aside and began to take stock, emptying his storage pouch:

One spirit stone.

One inferior-grade spirit sword, worth about eight spirit stones. If not for self-defense, he’d have pawned it long ago just to pay the rent.

He examined his talisman brush; cracks had already formed along its shaft. This first-tier, inferior-grade brush had cost thirty spirit stones—nothing special. At least he had plenty of spirit ink, though it too was ordinary and had cost twenty spirit stones. Talisman paper was cheap—a bundle of ten sheets for three stones, and now only thirteen sheets remained.

“If I didn’t have the system, I can’t imagine how many spirit stones I’d need just to become a talisman master.”

From memory, his predecessor had purchased three bottles of spirit ink, wasted two, and never managed to craft a single talisman. The last bottle hadn’t even been used before Hades called him away.

“A talisman brush lasts a hundred uses—each attempt costs a third of a spirit stone. One bottle of spirit ink can make ten to fifteen talismans—let’s say fifteen, so each attempt costs one and a third spirit stones. A sheet of talisman paper is another third of a stone. So, successful or not, a single inferior Flame Talisman costs two spirit stones to produce. And that’s with the most basic materials; higher-quality inks and paper would push the cost even higher.”

“A single Flame Talisman is bought by the Treasure Pavilion for three inferior spirit stones. To break even, I’d need at least seven successes out of each bundle of ten talisman papers.”

Shen Lian shook his head after calculating the costs. Even low-grade talisman masters barely scraped by, making a little profit at best—or losing money at worst.

However, the higher the talisman’s grade, the greater the profit. A mid-grade first-tier talisman could be worth ten spirit stones each. Though the costs rose, the margins increased as well. In that light, there was a future in becoming a talisman master—certainly more so than as a puppet master or alchemist.

He could also sell directly to itinerant cultivators, fetching perhaps four spirit stones per talisman. Yet Shen Lian had no desire to play shopkeeper.

But as he finished his calculations, a smile came to his lips. The talisman brush, ink, and paper before him had all been acquired at no cost.

Sparks crackled across the smooth surface of the bed; a sheet of talisman paper ignited and burnt to ash in an instant. The flare startled Shen Lian, sending a jolt through his whole body as he finished the last stroke—the effort seemed to drain him utterly.

He doubled over, coughing violently.

Shen Lian hacked and wheezed, the miasma in his lungs making it impossible to draw a proper talisman. He hesitated, then put away his tools and straightened his bedding.

He took out his last spirit stone from the bottom of his trunk and began to cultivate.

It had been over half a year since he’d last trained. His cultivation method was the Primal Origin Art—a balanced and stable technique that touched on all five elements and could be practiced up to the seventh layer of Qi Refinement.

Put simply, it was a common, unremarkable method—widespread, with no particular advantages.

The spirit stone glowed in his hand, its spiritual essence seeping into his body.

Serene mind, tranquil spirit—comprehension point +1.

Serene mind, tranquil spirit—comprehension point +1.

...

At dawn the next day, Shen Lian woke, gnawed on a sweet potato, and swept aside his bedding.

He spread out a sheet of talisman paper. Yesterday’s failure had been due to the miasma’s effect on his spiritual energy and focus. Normally, a cultivator at the third layer of Qi Refinement could craft two or three talismans in a row without feeling drained.

Many novice talisman masters would first bathe, change clothes, and light incense to calm their minds before beginning. The goal was to achieve a state of peaceful focus.

Shen Lian had no such luxuries. A sweet potato would have to suffice.

He dipped his brush in spirit ink, sent his spiritual power through it, and began to sketch on the talisman paper. As the brush moved, faint light shimmered across the blank surface, the process smooth and unbroken.

When Shen Lian lifted his hand, the paper before him flashed red and then dimmed, the ink and paper fusing into one.

Another Flame Talisman, complete.

He coughed softly, recapped the ink, and put away his brush. Learning from yesterday’s mistake, he decided not to push further. With his lungs poisoned, it would be reckless to keep going—not to mention wasteful of his materials.

Best to rest and try again in the afternoon.

...

Six days later, twelve Flame Talismans lay neatly arranged on Shen Lian’s stone bed.

With the system’s aid, his success rate was nearly perfect.

Altogether, they were worth thirty-six inferior spirit stones—the first real foothold he’d gained since transmigrating here half a year ago.

Gathering them up, Shen Lian took a moment to steady himself, straightened his robes, and opened the door to head outside. It was time to sell his talismans.