Dao of the Deal - Chapter 63: Spirit Stones (7)

Junfeng fell to his knees, screaming in agony as he cradled his broken arm. His face went pale, the flush of his strengthening technique vanishing in an instant. Though no broken bones broke through his skin, what little Muchen could see of his arm was badly misshapen.

Hong took a step back, regaining his composure in an instant. “I apologize. I acted on instinct.”

“Little Hong, you’re too impulsive.”

It was an old man’s voice that carried across the room. Turning to find the source, Muchen saw an elderly man at the central table, climbing to his feet with a scowl on his face.

“I apologize, grandfather,” Hong said, offering a bow towards the stage. “It was my fault.”

“You’ll forfeit the points from the match. Go to the punishment hall and tell them you’re to spend the next week copying the sect’s regulations,” the elder said, before looking over the crowd. “And somebody take that one to the infirmary.”

Muchen took a sip of tea to stifle his first reaction. The injury that Junfeng had suffered was not light. Cultivators were more resilient than mortals, but for somebody at the meridian opening stage to recover from a compound fracture was a difficult ordeal, given the Qianzhan Continent’s level of medical technology. Ensuring a full and painless recovery would require the investment of some minor spiritual treasures, which the elder had conspicuously failed to provide. The infirmary might offer such treatment on its own, but Muchen had his doubts.

On the other side of things, to be grounded for a week after breaking somebody’s arm was a slap on the wrist if he’d ever seen one. Part of it was no doubt due to the local culture lumping every conflict that didn’t lead to death into a sort of “boys will be boys” category, but no doubt the fact that Hong was the grandson of a sect elder didn’t hurt.

Most likely Junfeng’s troubles were just beginning. The punishment wasn’t nearly enough to deter future offenses. Worse, Hong would be carrying quite a bit of resentment over being forced to go back on his word in public—not to mention losing those contribution points.

Muchen believed that if you did something wrong, the right thing to do was to reflect on yourself, try to make amends, and do your best to avoid repeating the mistake in the future. For far too many on the Qianzhan Continent, the best thing to do in such a situation was to kill anybody who would complain and intimidate any neutral observers who might speak up.

In the end, this was still a land where might made right. Hong had broken a rule and his solemn promise, but with nobody in power willing to speak up for his victim he would more or less get off scot free.

It was an important reminder of just who he was dealing with. Elder Yang might smile and act polite when the strength of the Flower Mountain sect was still unknown, but Muchen didn’t think he’d bat an eye at ordering their whole sect burned down and looted if he thought it was worth the effort. Part of Muchen even regretted that he’d brought their ability to brew liquor to their attention.

Only part. After all, he’d never develop any revenue streams for Flower Mountain if he wasn’t willing to take any risks. Not to mention, if he wanted to put on his own Machiavellian hat, the fastest way for Flower Mountain to accumulate a fortune would be for another sect to send a batch of wealthy cultivators to their door for Xinyi to murder.

Of course, looting was no way to build up a long term revenue stream, but push come to shove Muchen wouldn’t quibble.

Following the elder’s pronouncement, Hong accepted his punishment without a complaint. He even gathered a few of his underlings to help carry Junfeng to the infirmary. A sect elder went with them as an escort.

Muchen was left with some questions of his own as he watched them clear out. There were a few more challenge fights, but nothing close to the level of intensity of the opening act. As Muchen watched them fight, he spent most of his attention mulling over the questions in his head. He was especially curious about the technique that Junfeng had shown off. To be able to fight against a cultivator in the foundation building realm, it couldn’t be anything ordinary.

Even with his defeat, Junfeng had made an impressive showing. Muchen would be willing to wager that his valiant effort had caught the eye of at least one elder. Whether they’d be willing to make a move in the face of Hong’s grandfather, he couldn’t say. In the end, it wasn’t his business. The sad fact was that to get ahead in the Qianzhan Continent, you had to have some kind of strength of your own, even at the lowest levels of cultivation.

With the last of the uninspiring matches finished, Muchen soon turned in for the night. He decided to forego his usual exercises, as he was in the middle of a sect that was, if not hostile, at least not a close friend to his own sect. He meditated for a while, enjoying the ease of access to spiritual energy, and then enjoyed a lovely night’s sleep surrounded by an unknown number of spiritual treasures.

He woke the next day feeling like a million bucks. It made him wonder once more if there was some reason sects usually set up shop so far out in the middle of nowhere. Perhaps the choice of location depended on some kind of feng shui. Or maybe established sects used some kind of special energy gathering formation to improve their surroundings. He’d have to ask Xinyi about it once he got back home.

Muchen wasn’t quite ready to pack up all the infrastructure on Flower Mountain and relocate just so that he could enjoy a better night’s sleep, but if he could do something to improve every disciples’ cultivating experience without harming the bottom line then he would be a fool not to look into it.

He was still in high spirits as he finished up his morning routine and headed to the dining hall for breakfast. He arrived to find the place almost empty. He was out of sync with the Iron Bones sect’s rhythm. Elder Yang was kind enough to join him for the meal, so at least he didn’t have to eat alone.

Muchen took a bite of his simple porridge and savored the small trickle of spiritual energy that flowed gently through his body. He took a glance at Elder Yang, who seemed content to eat in silence, and decided to finish his meal before opening up their conversation.

It didn’t hurt to be courteous when you were talking business. This would be Muchen’s last chance to try and secure a more reasonable price for the spirit stones he needed in order to enter the qualifying tournament.

The wait was no hardship. The meal was quite good and the two of them made short work of it. When Muchen finished his second bowl of porridge, he set the bowl down on the table with a sigh.

“The Iron Bones sect has been a wonderful host,” he said.

“It’s only what we should do,” Elder Yang replied.

“Will that young man be well?” Muchen asked. “The injury to his arm wasn’t light.”

Muchen didn’t want to jump straight into talking business. He was also curious about how Junfeng was doing. In part because he felt bad for the guy and in part because he wanted to know more about the Iron Bones sect’s attitude.

“Our infirmary is quite experienced with traumatic injuries,” Elder Yang said. “A regrettable necessity.”

Muchen didn’t reply right away, waiting to see if Elder Yang was willing to say anything about Junfeng’s specific situation. The fact that he declined to volunteer any further information was an ominous message in itself.

He couldn’t badger the elder with the same question over and over if he wanted to stay within the bounds of courtesy, but Muchen couldn’t help but poke at the topic from another angle.

“It was a shock to see that kind of injury arise from a friendly spar,” Muchen said. Not that there had been any signs of friendship between the two combatants, but they were in the end members of the same sect. Usually that would be enough to keep both participants from inflicting any permanent injuries on each other.

“In a fight, it’s necessary to use all of your strength,” Elder Yang said. “Our Iron Bones sect isn’t a place that raises hothouse flowers. Better that our disciples face some adversity here than that they fold the first time they face a setback in the wider world.”

Muchen replied with a non-committal hum, then took a sip of tea. Elder Yang’s statement was more or less in line with the mainstream thinking of the Qianzhan Continent—what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and all that—but it didn’t exactly line up with what Muchen had seen the previous day. A hard fought battle is one thing. Deliberately crippling a defeated opponent was quite another. Especially when you were only able to inflict that defeat by going outside of the agreed upon rules in the first place.

Muchen just hoped that the broken arm had been enough to vent Hong’s anger. It wasn’t like he could do anything to protect a disciple of his host sect, even if he planned to stick around.

“I have been thinking about the purchase of spirit stones,” Muchen said. “It seems to me that you would be willing to part with them for about two or three hundred silver taels each.”

Elder Yang smiled at him. “I believe what was said was that we would consider accepting three thousand taels for ten spirit stones.”

“Thank you for refreshing my memory,” Muchen said, professional smile firmly in place. “We could all use three thousand taels of silver, but I think it behooves us to be more realistic.”

Elder Yang smiled, taking a sip of his own tea. “If you feel I’m being unreasonable, you can buy your spirit stones from somebody else.”

“Come now, most sects only give their disciples a hundred taels per spirit stone,” Muchen said, holding up a hand to forestall the immediate reply. “Of course they won’t be willing to sell at that price, but three hundred is well over the going rate. I think something around two hundred taels per stone would be reasonable.”

“You may think what you will,” Elder Yang said. “We could perhaps come down a little from three hundred taels per stone, but not by much. To even get as low as two hundred and seventy five you would have to catch the sect leader in a good mood—and in great need of silver.”

Muchen nodded, filing the number away in his memory banks. Elder Yang didn’t sound like he was willing to bargain any further, but Muchen was confident that so long as he showed up with the silver in hand the sect would miraculously find itself to be in a trading mood.

There was the problem that Muchen didn’t have nearly that much silver. Not on his person and not back at Flower Mountain. But that was an issue he could deal with in time.

“Did you have a chance to sample my gift?” Muchen asked. If he could establish something other than his silver that interested the Iron Bones sect, then those spirit stones would find their way into his pocket sooner or later.

Elder Yang nodded. “It was an amusing diversion.”

“If you liked it,” Muchen said, “we have more available for purchase.”

The elder shook his head. “While we may refresh ourselves with entertaining diversions from time to time, the Iron Bones sect can’t afford to waste resources pursuing such merely mortal beverages.”

Muchen nodded, giving the elder a close look. It didn’t look like he was asking for a bribe. Unfortunately, it didn’t look like he would be opening up a new sales channel.

Oh, he was confident that the elder’s words were largely nonsense. Plenty of cultivators liked to drink. Muchen had made his first big score thanks to Steward Fu’s alcoholism. On a sect level, though, nobody wanted their underlings to be getting drunk. Muchen had been able to strike a bargain with Steward Fu because he had made the sale outside of official channels. Here he was negotiating with a sect representative.

No doubt there were members of the sect who would be willing to pay a pretty penny for his booze, but it wasn’t like Muchen could just hang out in the sect until he found them. Or that the sect would let him make deals with them if he did. He could only table the idea for now.

“Thank you for your consideration and your time,” he said, finishing his tea. He stood and offered the elder a polite bow. “This visit has benefited me a great deal.”

Two hundred and seventy five taels of silver per spirit stone. It was good to have a target number to work towards. It was a shame that the target was so high.

He set off on his journey back to Flower Mountain with thoughts of silver taels dancing in his head. If he made heavier use of his still to produce liquor and if the bar at Jiaoqu Town could move the additional product, it would still take at least three trips for Yize to bring back enough silver to cover the spirit stones needed for their entry fee. More likely four.

Getting that done before the entry deadline for the qualifying tournament would be a challenge. Not to mention the fact that the faster Yize worked, the more pressure they would be putting on their customer to come up with silver in a short period of time. They could fill in some of the shortfall with their perfume sales, but as far as Muche knew they were still on more of a slow and steady growth curve there rather than the sort of explosive breakout he had been hoping for.

Unfortunately, it was difficult for a product to go viral on the Qianzhan Continent. It was some comfort to know that once he built up a loyal customer base it would be that much more likely to stick around, but Muchen still found himself annoyed by the shortfall. Well, maybe one of his employees would be able to come up with an idea.

He stopped for lunch, a simple arrangement of dried trail rations to be washed down with water from a nearby spring, but before he could tuck in he was interrupted by a stranger walking out from the treeline. No, not a stranger, he realized, as the rather distinctive—and wide—silhouette came close enough for him to recognize Junfeng’s form.

It looked like he had some work to do before he’d be able to enjoy his meal.