After one month, Shen Li began to liquidate his entire stockpile.
He sold it silently — no shouting on the streets, no flashy signs. Just quiet deals with trusted vendors.
Final profit: 94 gold coins.
Could he have made more? Certainly. If he hadn't been hiding, he could've pushed the margins another 30%, but Shen Li knew better.
Gao would move soon.
The merchant bastard always did.
Shen Li wasn't arrogant enough to think he could operate under the radar forever. Gao would undoubtedly notice who had capitalized on the wildfire panic. But he'd miscalculate.
Shen Li's restraint was deliberate.
By limiting his public-facing sales, he ensured Gao's eyes would only detect traces — perhaps 10 to 20 gold worth of transactions.
Shen Li began running one-year simulations focused solely on observing Gao.
İn simulator Shen Li slipped out of his body in ghost form and drifted silently through the city streets — always drawn toward one place: Gao's merchant compound.
Under the base of Gao's there was prison, locked within were mid-grade military officers, sons of noble houses, dismissed government aides.
His first plan had been simple: leak this information to the right ears, let the noble families burn Gao down themselves.
But then came the twist.
New data surfaced.
Gao's backer was Meng family.
One of the county's three true ruling powers. That explained everything — the guards that never questioned his actions, the officials who looked the other way, even the silence from the city lord's office.
"So that's how a parasite grows fat," Shen Li whispered in the dark.
That explained the anomaly Shen Li always sensed in past simulations.
Even with years of preparation, contacts, and silver, Shen Li knew just how difficult it was to hire even a handful of 2nd Grade Martial Artists.
They were the backbone of county-level forces — usually tied to sects, noble houses, or serving as elite mercenaries for wealthy patrons. Free ones? Scarce. And expensive.
The few he could reach demanded absurd sums, often acting with arrogance and indifference.
But during the bandit crisis in the simulation, Gao's private force alone had fielded over thirty 2nd Grade Martial Artists, along with a hundred trained 3rd Grade warriors.
That kind of private military power wasn't just suspicious. It was impossible—unless someone was feeding it from behind the curtain.
Now he understood.
The Meng family was the hidden hand.
Gao wasn't just a merchant — he was a proxy, a straw dog used to secure Meng's control over the region's markets without staining their own hands.
Shen Li muttered under his breath, his gaze sinking like cold iron.
"If Gao had no one behind him, the information about his prison would've lit the whole county aflame… But with the Meng family's shadow looming—no one dares to hold the torch too long."
.....
In the quiet hours before dawn, Shen Li's soul floated across Gao Lupeng's estate—weightless, formless, unseen.
His eyes—if a soul could be said to have eyes—had long stopped tracking Gao himself. That brute was too well-guarded. But one man moved too freely, too often, and too alone: Lin Wu, Gao's warehouse steward.
A thin man with thick brows and a nervous tic, Lin Wu was responsible for everything from shipment records to securing medicinal herbs and martial supplies.
Shen Li already knew Lin Wu's soul smelled like copper—greed soaked into every decision.
From past simulations, he had watched the steward fold a dozen ways: selling minor herbs for coin, misreporting quantities, even attempting to sell Gao Lupeng's plans to rival merchants—only to be silenced before the betrayal ever bloomed.
Gao Lupeng wasn't a fool. He tolerated greed, but not betrayal.
From past simulations, Shen Li remembered clearly: Lin Wu was watched. He was never trusted, only used. Gao allowed his steward to skim a few coins or bloat ledgers—just enough to feel smart, never enough to pose a threat.
From dozens of simulations, Shen Li already knew:
Lin Wu wasn't loyal. He wasn't even cautious.He was opportunistic, always hovering at the edge of betrayal—enough to be useful, never enough to survive.
In multiple timelines, Shen Li had used Lin Wu:
As a courier of false documents.
As a whisperer who spread subtle rumors.
As a cover during midnight transactions.
Each time, Lin Wu died early. Gao's internal informants would sniff him out before he caused real damage. Sometimes Shen Li had never even approached him, yet Lin Wu's own greed led him to skimming, petty theft—and eventually, execution.
He was a faulty lock waiting to be jimmied open, a man whose greed outweighed his caution—the type who always reached for the coin before weighing its weight.
From the simulator, Shen Li already knew: Lin Wu couldn't hold up under pressure. He had failed in three timelines. Betrayed Gao Lupeng in two. And died in every single one.
So this time?
There would be no backup plan, no attempt to change Lin Wu's fate.This wasn't about trust. It was about impact.
The teahouse was crowded but not noisy. That particular hush that came when too many secrets shared the same roof. Shen Li stepped inside like any other man escaping the cold, but his eyes locked directly on a corner seat where Lin Wusat hunched over a clay teapot, flicking ash from his half-smoked pipe.
Lin Wu didn't notice him at first. Or maybe he pretended not to.
Shen Li walked over and sat down uninvited.
Lin Wu looked up, frowning. "This seat's taken."
"I'm not staying long," Shen Li said casually. He set his teacup down without pouring. "Just resting my legs."
Lin Wu sniffed. "Then rest somewhere else."
Shen Li didn't respond. Instead, he reached into his sleeve and pulled something out—a small velvet pouch. With a flick of his fingers, he let a single gold coin roll across the table.
Clink.
It stopped just short of Lin Wu's teacup.
Lin Wu's eyes didn't move, but his hand instinctively twitched.
"I hear you handle logistics," Shen Li said quietly, watching him. "Hard work. Heavy responsibility. Not always… properly appreciated."
Lin Wu scoffed, but his fingers tapped near the coin, not touching it yet. "Appreciation doesn't come from strangers."
"That's true." Shen Li leaned in slightly. "But sometimes strangers aren't the ones watching you. Sometimes, it's the ones you serve who stop appreciating."
That landed.
Lin Wu's lips pressed into a thin line. He finally picked up the coin and let it spin between his fingers, the sound muted but unmistakable.
"You're speaking in riddles."
"No riddle," Shen Li replied. "Just someone who understands the cost of loyalty… and the price of silence."
There was a pause. Then Lin Wu poured a second cup of tea—for Shen Li.
"Go on," he said, voice low. "Speak clearly. What do you want?"
Shen Li smiled and gently placed a porcelain vial on the table. Inside was a gray-colored powder.
"I need this to be spread on the medical herbs," he said calmly.
Lin Wu frowned, already uneasy. "What is this? What does it do?"
Shen Li didn't rush. He lightly tapped the side of the porcelain as he answered.
"It's a special powder. It won't kill anyone. But it will destroy the medicinal effect of the herbs. At least half the value will be gone. You can think of it as sabotaging a rival's supply—if their medicine weakens, I can sell the stronger version. Simple."
Lin Wu shifted in his seat. His eyes twitched toward the porcelain jar.
"I... I can't do that. Some of those herbs go to hospitals, pharmacies... even to the Meng family."
Shen Li didn't speak immediately. Instead, he pulled out a second pouch—a different one, soft leather. He untied the top and nudged it toward Lin Wu. The sound of gold coins brushing together was unmistakable.
He raised a single brow.
"Can't you?"
Lin Wu swallowed hard. He reached out, hesitating just slightly before touching the pouch. His fingers pressed into the coins as if to confirm they were real.
"If I do this for you... I won't be able to hide. Sooner or later they'll trace something back to me. I'll need to be on the run."
Shen Li leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a measured whisper:
"You don't need to worry. This powder is very special. At most, they'll think Gao gave them expired herbs. And during processing, most of the residue will fall away. You won't be traced."
Lin Wu's fingers lingered on the coin pouch, hesitating for one last moment. Then he pulled it into his sleeve with a practiced motion, eyes scanning the surroundings with a street rat's paranoia.
"So... how do I contact you?"
Shen Li was already rising from the table.
"You don't. If I need you, I'll find you."
With that, he left both the porcelain vial and the gold-filled pouch on the table without looking back.
Lin Wu sat frozen for a moment, heart thudding. He looked down at the coins once more—twenty gold pieces. Enough to buy a modest home in the city's inner ring. Enough to vanish, if things went badly.
Tucking the pouch into the inner fold of his coat, he stood up, glancing around as if shadows themselves might snitch. Normally, he'd drink late into the night with friends, bluff and joke his way through meaningless talk. But not tonight.
Not with twenty gold weighing down his conscience.
That Night
Under cover of darkness, Lin Wu slipped into the warehouse. He moved like a thief—not to steal, but to sabotage.
He reached into his sleeve and pulled out the gray powder, careful to keep the vial sealed until he reached the racks of freshly delivered herbs. Some were bound for pharmacies. Some for martial sects. Some for Meng family physicians.
He didn't care.
Carefully, he began dusting the batches. His movements were subtle—too practiced for someone doing it the first time. A faint trail of powder settled like mist over the leaves and roots.
By the time he was done, the powder was gone.
Lin Wu wasn't a fool. He had already thought of multiple escape routes and bribed the night shift guard with a few silvers -just in case.
That night, standing near the warehouse entrance, he muttered to himself, staring into the shadows:
"I hope there won't be any problems…"
But deep down, he knew there would be. He just didn't want to be around when they started.
Meanwhile, Shen Li returned to his small courtyard residence.
It was quiet.
The flickering oil lamp cast long shadows across the wooden floor. He sat at his desk and unwrapped a folded piece of cloth—his ledger. With a steady hand, he marked down:
-20 gold coins.
One-fifth of all the money he'd earned during the fire crisis. Gone.
He didn't flinch.
The gray powder had been developed by his own hand—refined through multiple simulations, failed experiments.
The gray powder he developed wasn't poison. Not technically.
It was a reactive compound—harmless alone, but when introduced to certain low-grade herbs during drying or brewing, it bonded with key elements. The result: clouded meridians.
Not dangerous enough to cause immediate concern, but enough to slow cultivation. Disturb flow. Weaken talent.
It was a known flaw in herbal medicine: certain combinations, when used repeatedly, could permanently damage a cultivator's foundation. But because it mimicked natural degradation, no one would question a poor outcome—only bad luck or lack of potential.
Worse still, the problem only surfaced after the third or fourth use.
Which meant: by the time anyone noticed, it was already too late.
And those herbs?
They were common supplies—used by hospitals, clinics, small martial households.
But more importantly, young elites in the Meng family regularly used such herbs during their foundational training. Their status meant no one would question their cultivation process. No one would examine their meridians. No one would expect sabotage.
He leaned back, calm, but his gaze was sharp:
"By the time the Meng family realizes, they'll already be surrounded by a useless younger generation. At least the next ten… no, fifteen years—thrown into the trash."
The flame of the oil lamp flickered, casting elongated shadows across the room. Shen Li didn't blink.
His purpose was never to destroy the Meng family outright. That was impossible—for now.
What he needed was simple: distance.
As long as Meng still held Gao Lupeng under its wing, Shen Li couldn't touch him. Not without losing everything.
A weak pawn was worthless. And Gao Lupeng without Meng's hand behind him?
"Just a sheep in a slaughterhouse," Shen Li muttered.
Shen Li sat cross-legged in silence. The room was dim, the scent of old parchment and dried herbs still lingering. He closed his eyes and whispered:
"Activate simulation. One year."
His consciousness sank into the Primordial Mirror.
The world blurred.
[Simulation Start — Duration: 1 Year]
—
[Month 1: No changes. The Meng family continues their routines. The affected herbs are distributed widely.
[Second Month: Rumors spread through the outer rings like wildfire—A strange sickness was sweeping through the medical wards. Martial artists—both young and mid-level—began showing unusual symptoms.]
[Some trembled uncontrollably during training.Others collapsed mid-breathing exercise, their Qi pathways behaving erratically.Many reported overwhelming fatigue, even after sleeping a full day.]
[The governor, fearing a contagious plague, immediately dispatched city-appointed physicians and herbalists to examine the cases. All patients were summoned for intensive diagnostics—body scans, blood tests, and Qi resonance checks.]
[After three days of exhaustive investigations, the shocking truth emerged:]
"Every single one of them… has clogged meridians," reported the head examiner. "Not just slowed Qi—blocked channels, as if a subtle paste is hardening along the inner veins of their energy paths."
[Third Month: The Wang family issued mandatory meridian testing for outer ring cultivators.]
[The Meng family acted quickly.]
[They formed an emergency tribunal, summoning every supplier that contributed herbs in the past year.]
[Their internal inspection team traced the pattern—The contamination originated from Gao Lupeng's supply chain.]
[Within two days, Gao had dozens of warehouse workers arrested, blaming processing failures.]
[Lin Wu, sensing the storm, tried to escape through the city's western gate under disguise.He was caught before dusk—clothes torn, pouch lightened by half, sweat cold on his brow.]
[Before the sun rose, Lin Wu confessed everything.]
[You had been waiting for the fallout… but not like this. The reaction was too fast, too focused.]
[Because the case affected patients across the entire city, escape became impossible. Your routes were cut off. You were arrested by the county's administrative guards.]
[Yet before the official court could intervene, Meng family exerted their influence—pulling rank, pulling strings.]
[They didn't even wait for a full interrogation.]
[You were handed over.]
[They didn't send assassins or poison you quietly.]
[They tied you to an iron spit and placed you into a vat of frying oil, under the burning sun, before a gathering of over a thousand citizens.]
[The screams didn't stop them.]
[They only watched.]
[The smell of seared flesh floated across the plaza, mixing with the summer heat.]
[Your soul burned as slowly as your body—until all that remained was a withered core of hatred.]
[Death Event: Public Execution
[Post-Death Sequence Initiated][Your soul drifts from your body.][As sunlight hits your fragmented spirit, your form begins to dissolve—each ray searing through your Yin essence like molten knives.]
[Your soul died.]
[Simulation Ended]
[Select One Reward to Anchor Your Existence]
Physique and Foundation (Year 17)(Refined musculature, hardened organs, stabilized stamina under duress
Tactical Memory(Complete recollection of Meng family's medical response, Lin Wu's betrayal timeline, and city-wide political movements.)
Memory Imprint(Complete recollection of Gao Lupeng's connections, Lin Wu's behavioral patterns, Meng family's investigative process, and the sequence of poisoning symptoms in martial artists.)
Echo of Instinct (Passive Trait)(A trace of sharpened awareness gained through betrayal and death. Grants an instinctive sense of danger—especially in moments of trust. You may hesitate, deflect, or delay fatal decisions at the last moment, as if guided by a buried warning.)
Oil-Filled Iron Pot (Item)(The very cauldron used in your public execution. Saturated with hatred and residual Yin essence. While inert now, it may become a key vessel for soul rituals or vengeful manifestations in the future.)
Shen Li examined the rewards carefully. Originally, he had intended to choose Memory Imprint, but when his eyes settled on Echo of Instinct, his expression shifted.
"Damn… treasures like this don't come twice," he muttered.
Without hesitation, he made his choice.
"Besides, I already know the general outline. I just need to cut ties with Lin Wu before the second month. If not, that boiling pot won't spare me either."
The moment the selection finalized, nothing changed—no wave of energy, no sudden revelation. He frowned slightly.
"Feels the same," he murmured, though somewhere deep in his mind, a flicker of unease had already started ticking—quiet, subtle, and sharp.