The five-colored ore, the most unique resource in this world, remained a mystery to Xiangzi even now.

During his time managing the ore line, he’d only heard boasts from Wen San and others, claiming the ore was for lofty cultivators.

As for why no cultivators were ever seen, or what the ore was truly used for, Wen San hemmed and hawed, unable to explain.

But earlier, when Xiangzi dealt in “ore skin,” he’d gleaned something unusual from the underground black market.

“Ore skin”—the gravel and debris encasing five-colored gold ore—when finely ground and refined, produced potent gunpowder.

The finest kind, smokeless, far stronger than ordinary powder.

A basket of ore skin could fetch a hundred gleaming silver dollar in the black market.

According to the merchants, the ore came in grades.

Indeed, as a mineral, it was ranked.

Based on its composition, it was divided into inferior ore, coarse ore, vein ore, crystal ore, and marrow ore. Whether higher grades existed, no one could say, as even the Li family’s mines only yielded vein ore at best.

The glossy thumb ring in Xiangzi’s hand was carved from a golden-green vein ore.

Though the gold hue was faint, suggesting lower quality, this small ring was likely worth hundreds of silver dollars.

Cleverly, it looked like jade. Without holding it and feeling its blood-energy-suppressing effect, no one would guess it was precious vein ore.

No wonder the rickshaw boss, who’d controlled ore lines for decades, hid such a treasure.

Xiangzi had heard some martial artists used five-colored ore as ornaments to temper and sustain their blood energy.

This ring must serve that purpose.

But for Xiangzi, with his system panel and three pillars of blood energy, it was redundant.

With his natural “beast of burden” elixir physique, what he needed most was more “blood energy broth” or similar elixirs.

The apprentice trial, he’d heard, tested blood energy and skin tempering.

Though Lin Junqing had recommended him, the master was now far off in Shencheng. People leave, tea cools—who knew what complications might arise?

Xiangzi tucked the ring to his chest. Too conspicuous. He’d wait out the storm, then sell it for silver and elixirs.

No ledger, but the trip wasn’t fruitless—he’d gained a vein ore ring and an unknown pill.

As the saying goes: kill and burn for a golden belt; build bridges, mend roads, and leave no trace.

There was truth to it. Months of grueling ore line work earned him barely twenty dollar; one night, and his pockets bulged.

But… no more reckless nights like this.

The gaunt martial artist, Shi Cheng, flashed in his mind.

With two fingers, he’d subdued Liu, the old lean tiger—such terrifying skill. Xiangzi doubted he’d last ten moves against him!

With the Li family’s power, how many like Shi Cheng did they have?

The priority was entering the martial hall, passing the apprentice trial, and securing the “bone-tempering broth” to reach ninth-rank.

Only then would he have a foothold in this treacherous world.

—

Xiangzi sighed deeply, lifting the curtain, gazing at the once-familiar rickshaw yard gate.

The yard blazed with light, its green-lacquered gates wide open.

Police bureau officers, faces anxious, bustled in and out.

In these few days, Forty-Nine City had seen several major cases, leaving the bureau overwhelmed.

From the third floor, Xiangzi’s uncanny eyes overlooked the yard.

The east wing’s white building, the second-tier courtyard’s communal bunks—familiar scenes laid bare. Without the chaotic crowd, it was as if nothing had changed since Xiangzi first arrived in this world.

In months, he’d grown accustomed to this yard.

Sometimes, habit was a fearsome force.

But tonight’s storm had razed this decades-old southern city yard and shattered the old lean tiger’s lifelong ambitions.

What excuse would the Li family use to cover this?

A dead rickshaw boss was nothing to them.

Xiangzi’s expression was calm, his gaze shifting south—toward the Li family’s mining district.

After a moment, he drew the curtain, shutting out the clamor and the strange emotions stirring within, sealing them in the thick night.

—

The next morning, deep in the Li family’s mining district, nestled by mountains and water, stood a manor.

Unassuming at a glance, it held secrets for the discerning.

How could such serene scenery exist in the raucous, perilous mining district?

The manor’s fence was forged from five-colored coarse ore, towering poles strong enough to withstand nightly demon beast roars.

More striking was the three-story bamboo building within.

Plain in appearance, it lacked the Li family’s opulent flair.

But to those in the know, the unremarkable bamboo was Cuiyang Bamboo from Chuancheng.

Grown near water-based five-colored ore veins, it looked ordinary but rivaled fine steel in hardness.

A single stalk, man-high, could fetch a “little goldfish” in the black market.

In other words, this elegant bamboo building was worth more than gold.

This was young master Li’s manor.

Young master Li, surnamed Li, named Yunwen.

His striking beauty earned him the nickname “Young Lord Li” in his youth.

But with his rising renown, few dared call him that to his face anymore.

—

Young master Li had a habit: when in the mining district, he took lunch at the manor daily at noon.

Visitors were received in the bamboo building.

Today, at noon sharp, the meal was set.

Simple fare—small dishes, a bowl of white porridge.

Recently, following his new godmother’s Buddhist ways, Li Yunwen had forsaken meat for vegetarian meals.

Under thirty, in his prime, his already handsome face, tempered by years, exuded refined calm.

Li Yunwen leisurely lifted his bamboo bowl of porridge.

Today, his appetite seemed hearty, eating faster than usual.

Seeing their young master eat well, the delicate maids serving nearby sighed in relief.

When Li set down his chopsticks, a fat man hurried forward, presenting a bowl of lotus seed soup with a fawning smile. “Young master, I had the cook use rootless water from Chuancheng, paired with fire lotus, simmered for two hours.”

Li Yunwen glanced at the greasy face, smiling. “Fatty Fan, you’re filial. After years away, you still remember these details.”

Praised, Fatty Fan’s grin widened, his fleshy face bunching up. “Details? Young master’s matters are bigger than the heavens to me!”

But then, he feigned a pitiful look, voice high-pitched. “I’ve suffered years away, but missing you, young master, that’s what truly ached my heart.”

This man, notorious across Forty-Nine City’s southern district for his cunning ruthlessness, known as “Lord Fatty,” groveled before young master Li like a fawning hound.

Or rather, more precisely, this hound was one Li Yunwen had unleashed.