Chapter Eighty-Two: The Mystery of the Ancient Painting

“It must weigh ten pounds! One pound of third-grade Black Iron Ore is worth as much as three pounds of first-grade Black Iron Ore. If I mine three thousand pounds of first-grade ore, I’ll earn a single spirit stone!” Ye Mo weighed the chunk of Black Iron Ore he had just pried loose in his hand, then casually tossed it into his basket and continued digging.

However, using the Triple Strike technique was far more exhausting than ordinary martial skills. This technique, which pushed his body to its very limits, consumed tremendous physical strength. After performing the Triple Strike several times in a row, Ye Mo would be utterly spent and forced to rest for an entire hour.

First-grade Black Iron Ore could withstand less than a thousand pounds of force; only after being refined into first-grade Black Iron would its resilience increase, able to resist blows of over a thousand pounds. Similarly, third-grade Black Iron Ore could endure impacts of more than two thousand pounds. Even cultivators at the early stages of Qi Refinement found it difficult to mine, let alone ordinary martial artists.

If Ye Mo didn’t use his combo strikes and merely relied on brute strength to dig, even with force beyond a thousand pounds, he would still struggle to dislodge the third-grade raw ore.

Working in this cycle of digging and resting, Ye Mo counted the ore he had extracted—he had already mined fifty to sixty pounds of third-grade Black Iron Ore.

“At this rate, if I work for several hours a day, subtracting time for rest and sleep, I can mine around three hundred pounds of third-grade ore daily, which is equivalent to a thousand pounds of first-grade ore. Three thousand pounds of first-grade ore can be exchanged for one spirit stone—so in three days I can earn a spirit stone. That’s ten spirit stones in a month.”

Ye Mo did the calculations quickly, unable to hide his astonishment.

He was more than satisfied.

If he worked as an alchemy apprentice, he would only earn one spirit stone per month, but mining gave him ten times as much.

“I’ll keep mining here for a while, earn some spirit stones, and buy Vitality Pills so the five earth-servant guards can all become cultivators. Then, I’ll save enough spirit stones to purchase spell runes and cultivation techniques.

Once the dozen or so people from the sea vessel become cultivators and learn spells, we’ll set out to hunt sea monsters. With a team of over ten cultivators, we should be able to take down low-level sea monsters together. That way, we’ll earn spirit stones even faster!”

Ye Mo’s plan was clear.

For now, enduring hardship in the mine was only a means to quickly break out of his predicament and amass a sum of spirit stones.

After that, he would lead everyone out to sea to hunt monsters for even more spirit stones. He, Mo Ling, Wang Hu, Yang You, and the five earth-servant guards all needed to focus on advancing their cultivation.

Ultimately, his goal was to become a City Lord cultivator, owning his own spirit island and immortal village, establishing his own power base.

Only by having his own independent force could he roam the world of cultivation freely and without constraint. Lone cultivators had no future; no matter how strong a single cultivator was, if beset by a group of powerful opponents, he would have no choice but to flee in disgrace.

As the ancient cultivation texts recorded, both humans and demons survived in this harsh world by forging powerful alliances. That was why human cultivators formed the Immortal City Alliance, and most immortal cities banded together, gradually reclaiming territory for humanity in the Eastern Sea.

However, becoming a City Lord required a stroke of fortune, and for now, Ye Mo had no idea how to achieve it.

“Suffering a little now is nothing. I must become the lord of an immortal city,” Ye Mo silently encouraged himself, throwing himself into his work with renewed vigor. Mere daydreams were useless; only through hard work and earning spirit stones could he make progress.

The Black Iron shovel rang against the hard rock walls, producing a metallic clang.

Sparks flew and shards of rock scattered.

Chunks of Black Iron Ore of various grades broke from the stone and piled up on the ground.

After exhausting his strength, Ye Mo sat down, separating the useless stones from the valuable ore, tossing each piece into his basket. He stored the mixed first-grade, second-grade, and third-grade ores separately, careful not to let them mingle.

Time slipped away bit by bit as he dug.

Before he realized it, his basket was already filled with more than three hundred pounds of third-grade Black Iron Ore.

This was an abandoned tunnel, long deserted, so no other mining slaves came to disturb him.

If those other slaves could see his progress, they would probably be driven mad with jealousy, their eyes nearly falling out of their heads. Such a mining speed was unfathomable to them.

Yet Ye Mo still found his own pace too slow. When hungry, he’d nibble on a few bites of dried sea fish; when thirsty, he’d raise his water skin for a drink.

Clang!

As Ye Mo was digging, a sudden jolt ran through his arms—the shovel bounced back, sending a numbness through his wrists.

Startled, he looked over to see a palm-sized chunk of Black Iron Ore, black and gleaming, exposed in the wall.

Ye Mo couldn’t help but reach out and touch the glossy black ore embedded in the rock.

He had just struck it with his shovel, but not even a scratch was left.

“What grade is this ore, that even my Triple Strike can’t leave a mark?... Could it be fourth-grade Black Iron Ore?”

Ye Mo’s face paled in shock.

First to third-grade ores were used by Qi Refinement cultivators, but anything above that was reserved for those in the Foundation Establishment realm and beyond. The value of fourth-grade Black Iron Ore far surpassed that of lesser grades.

“I’ll try again!” Ye Mo’s spirits soared.

Raising his shovel, he unleashed a flurry of three overlapping strikes, slamming them down onto the ore.

Clang!

Another loud crash, yet the Black Iron Ore remained unscathed—not even a hint of a scratch.

Ye Mo examined his shovel, only to find the crescent-shaped blade at the front had actually caved in a little. In other words, this first-grade spirit tool was less resilient than the unrefined black ore.

It was like smashing an egg against a rock—the egg was bound to shatter.

“There’s no need to try further; this is definitely fourth-grade or higher! I have to dig it out, no matter what!”

Certain of the ore’s grade, Ye Mo immediately began excavating around the fourth-grade Black Iron Ore.

The rock surrounding it was even harder than ordinary stone.

Ye Mo had to use his Double Strike just to shatter the stone, and after much effort, he finally extracted the chunk of fourth-grade ore.

The weight far exceeded his expectations—though only the size of a fist, it weighed over a hundred pounds, astonishingly heavy.

Holding the superb chunk of Black Iron Ore, Ye Mo was reluctant to part with it.

“Fourth-grade Black Iron Ore—truly worthy of its grade!”

He laughed aloud, unable to contain his delight.

“In the market of Immortal Village, a first-grade Golden Spirit Sword sells for a hundred spirit stones, while a third-grade spirit sword fetches three hundred. The swordsmiths craft Golden Spirit Swords using Black Iron Ore as the base, then infuse a gold-type ore.”

“Too bad I’m not a refiner. I don’t know how many pounds of Black Iron Ore it takes to forge a first-grade spirit sword, but it can’t be much!”

“This fourth-grade ore could be used to refine a magic weapon for a Foundation Establishment cultivator. I’ve heard magic weapons are even more expensive—easily over a thousand spirit stones.”

“Pity, though, I have to hand it over. At most, it’ll be counted as several hundred or a thousand pounds of first-grade ore. The profit I get won’t even be a single spirit stone.”

“Sigh, a magic weapon fetches at least a thousand spirit stones, yet mining a chunk of fourth-grade ore earns me less than one. Mining is just the work of a laborer, earning meager wages.”

At the thought of the ore’s true value and how little he would actually earn, Ye Mo felt a wave of dejection.

No matter how fine the material, it didn’t belong to him; he would never reap the real benefit.

No wonder cultivators were unwilling to mine—this was nothing but grueling labor, with nothing else to show for it.

Ye Mo forced himself to stop thinking along those lines—he dared not entertain the notion, for fear he might do something reckless and attempt to steal the ore. If discovered, that would be a capital offense, punishable by death.

He would mine and earn spirit stones honestly, and once he had amassed a few dozen, he would leave the mine for a better path.

“It’s better to be a City Lord! Once I become one, all the spirit trees and ores on a spirit island will belong to me. As master of Immortal Village, I’d never have to worry about a few dozen spirit stones again.”

Ye Mo shook his head helplessly, pushing away his tangled thoughts.

Thinking of Immortal Village, Ye Mo suddenly remembered his ancient scroll.

On that old painting was depicted a misty, ethereal immortal village.

Ye Mo, stirred by a sudden impulse, untied the ancient scroll from his waist.

He hadn’t looked at this aged, unadorned painting in many days.

His mother had said that the scroll had appeared mysteriously beside him when he was born. Since childhood, he was used to gazing upon the painting during his rest after strenuous training, letting its immortal air calm and ease his mind.

Since sailing out to sea and being stranded on a nameless island, he had rarely had the chance to look at it, always surrounded by others.

Now, in the silence of the mine, Ye Mo remembered the scroll.

He was mystified by its many wonders; the scroll was impervious to blades, fire, water, and mud—far beyond his understanding.

Though he was drenched in sweat, the ancient scroll he wore at his waist remained unsullied.

Unrolling it on the ground, Ye Mo gazed at the painting in silence.

In the past, he had always regarded it as nothing more than a beautiful picture.

But now, after coming to Donglai Immortal Village and seeing much of the world, he realized there was more to the painting than met the eye.

The scroll clearly depicted a real immortal village.

The village was encircled by a fine, intricate wooden fence, which, upon closer inspection, seemed to be made from spirit wood.

Within stood a low, thatched hut.

In front of the hut was a plot of land, about an acre in size. The field was mostly barren, with only a few isolated stalks of grain.

A small fox with blue fur lounged lazily in front of the hut. It tilted its head back, wearing a sly, foxy smile, as if surveying its surroundings with a mischievous glint.

Every time Ye Mo looked at the little fox, he felt it was exceedingly spirited, or perhaps cunning was a better word—almost like a playful child.

In the scene was also a proud, brilliantly-feathered country rooster, strutting through the field in search of grain. It cocked its head, as if glancing disdainfully at the little fox by the hut.

The fox, in turn, occasionally cast glances at the rooster, as if savoring the thought of its taste.

Behind the hut stood a great tree, and upon its highest branch perched a red crow, its head poking out from the dense leaves. It silently watched the blue fox and the rooster in front of the hut, as if deeply wary of them both.

“There’s something strange about every detail in this painting,” Ye Mo thought, scrutinizing every aspect and falling into deep contemplation.