The Green-Robed Customer

Two years of accumulation and a sudden enlightenment seemed to open a door for Chen Ping'an, yet before him lay only a dense fog.
He could now clearly sense and mobilize the thread of true Qi in his body, but how could he continue to strengthen it? How could he use it? The half-volume of the *Qingnang Breathing Art* provided no answers.
This thread of true Qi was like a key; he held it in his hand, but did not know which lock it was meant to open. The path ahead was hazy, like looking at flowers through a fog.

He understood that what he lacked was no longer time for bitter cultivation, but information and knowledge regarding that true world of cultivation. These things could not be found in piles of scrap paper; they could only be obtained from living people.
But how could a mortal pawnshop manager in the bustling city find those legendary immortal masters?
He could only wait.
Like the most patient hunter, he quietly hid beneath his disguise, waiting for the prey to fall into his trap.

One day, the opportunity arrived.
In the afternoon, customers at the pawnshop were scarce. Chen Ping'an was using the light from the window to repair an old book damaged by bookworms. Suddenly, the bronze bell on the door chimed, and a young man in green robes, carrying an air of nobility that did not match this place, stepped over the threshold.
He was about twenty, with a fair face and an air of arrogance between his brows that was hard to dispel. Yet beneath this arrogance lay a trace of embarrassment and anxiety that was not easily noticed.

With just a glance, Chen Ping'an had read seventy to eighty percent of this man's thoughts and inner state.
The young man's green robes were made of fine, water-and-fire-resistant linen, far superior to ordinary mortal fabrics. However, the silver embroidery on the sleeves and hem had begun to fray and fade, showing they had been worn for many years. At his waist, an ordinary belt was tied, but the left side was empty, leaving only a faint mark where a pouch had worn against it.
Most importantly, a faint, unique fragrance lingered on him, one Chen Ping'an had never smelled before. It was not the scent of mortal herbs, but more like the residual aroma of various spiritual herbs and cinnabar that had been refined in an alchemy furnace, deeply infused into his clothes.

Chen Ping'an calmly set down the book, slowly raising his head to look at the other party with his usual indifferent gaze.
The young man seemed highly uncomfortable with the dim, musty atmosphere of the pawnshop. Frowning slightly, he drew an object from his coat and placed it on the counter with a rough clatter.
It was a sheathed short sword.
The scabbard was made of shark skin, ancient and unadorned. The young man drew the sword, and in an instant, a cold light like autumn water seemed to brighten the entire pawnshop.

"Take a look at this. How much can I pawn it for?"
His tone carried a hint of condescension.
Chen Ping'an's gaze fell upon the sword. It was a good sword, made of hundred-refined steel, with a faint flow of light moving along the blade. However, about three inches from the tip, there was a noticeable chip, ruining the sword's spiritual nature and value.
He extended two withered fingers, gently touching the blade.
The moment his fingertips touched the sword, the true Qi in his body resonated faintly. He sensed a force hidden within the sword that was of the same origin as his true Qi, yet more condensed and sharper.

However, this force was now like a flickering candle in the wind, weak to the extreme.
"Good steel," Chen Ping'an spoke slowly, his voice hoarse. "Regrettably, the tip is damaged and the sharp aura has leaked, reducing its value by seventy percent."
"What does an old man like you know!" the young man retorted like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. "How can this sword be compared to the scrap metal forged by mortal blacksmiths? This is the standard 'Thanh Phong' sword of a Liuyun Sect outer disciple, a genuine artifact!"

"Liuyun Sect..." Chen Ping'an muttered the name in his heart, but maintained his unperturbed old man persona. "Oh? This old man has poor eyesight; so it is a treasure of an immortal master. However, regarding such immortal artifacts, please forgive this old man's ignorance, but I do not know how to value it."
He put on a fearful act, pretending to understand nothing.
Seeing his reaction, the young man's arrogance grew, but to pawn it for more money, he patiently explained, "Once true Qi is infused into this sword, it can cut through iron like mud, and even unleash a three-foot-long sword aura! If it hadn't been accidentally damaged during the sect's minor competition, why would I bring it to a mortal place like this!"

Chen Ping'an nodded slowly as he listened, appearing to understand yet not understand. He picked up the short sword, turning it over as if inspecting it, and spoke in a regretful tone, "I see. It is indeed a treasure. But a damaged treasure is ultimately worth less. Repairing such an immortal item must surely cost a fortune, no?"

These words seemed to strike a sore spot.
A look of resentment crossed his face, and he could not help but complain, "More than a fortune! That old bastard Deacon Wang of the Artifact Pavilion wants three low-grade spirit stones to repair it! He is clearly making things difficult for me! My monthly allowance is already pitifully small; where am I supposed to find three spirit stones!"
Spirit stones, deacon, monthly allowance, Artifact Pavilion...
These unfamiliar terms were like scattered puzzle pieces that Chen Ping'an quickly absorbed and processed, beginning to construct a vague yet realistic outline in his mind.

"So even the immortal masters have many difficulties in their lives, just like us mortals," Chen Ping'an lamented at the right moment, his voice carrying a hint of sympathy.
This sympathy seemed to strike a chord with the young man. The resentment built up in his heart found an outlet, pouring out in a torrent: "Difficulties? Your mortal difficulties are merely about food and clothing. Our difficulties are things you mortals cannot comprehend! Without spirit stones, our cultivation stagnates, our artifacts cannot be repaired, and we can't even dream of medicinal pills! Everywhere we go, we have to look at the faces of deacons and managers..."

Chen Ping'an did not press further, acting as a perfect listener, nodding in agreement from time to time.
In the end, this damaged Thanh Phong sword was pawned for five taels of silver. For a mortal, this was a significant sum, but for this immortal master, it was clearly a drop in the ocean. Taking the silver, his face written with reluctance and humiliation, he could do nothing but leave in frustration.
The pawnshop returned to its usual quiet.
The apprentice Little Zhang woke from his nap, rubbing his eyes, and asked curiously, "Master, what was that guy rambling about? What treasure did he pawn?"

"Just a broken sword."
Chen Ping'an replied flatly, wrapping the Thanh Phong sword carefully in a black cloth. Instead of placing it in the regular display, he stored it in his personal camphorwood chest.
That night, he did not go to the Neping Alley herb garden.
He closed the door, sat under the lamp, and took out the Thanh Phong sword, placing it on the table.
He extended his finger, touching the blade once more, then closed his eyes, carefully probing his weak true Qi into it.

He sensed a dry, dormant artifact spirit hidden within the blade. The moment his true Qi entered, it resonated faintly with a sense of yearning.
Liuyun Sect, outer disciple, deacon, spirit stones, artifact...
Chen Ping'an slowly opened his eyes, his gaze deep.
He knew that although the door he had been searching for so desperately remained tightly shut, he had at least peered through the crack and heard the first real echo from the world behind it.