Martial Arts: My talent multiplier increased

His lips curved into a chilling arc in the darkness of the abandoned mansion.

No discomfort. No hesitation.

The essence and blood of evil cultivators come from innocent victims. The victims are already dead. Their essence and blood have been modified by evil arts. They no longer belong to anyone. If Fang Yuan doesn't absorb them, this heterogeneous essence and blood will wander in the air, searching for a new host—and might even become nourishment for another evil cultivator.

He absorbed it.

That's equivalent to cutting off the chain.

Fang Yuan stood up. The icy feeling in his palms had completely subsided. The flow of Qi and blood in his meridians was normal. The solid foundation of his fourfold bone structure had completely crushed the "coldness" of that bit of foreign essence blood.

There's no need for digestion. The system directly converts them into growth points.

Clean. Neat.

Fang Yuan took one last look at the interior of the abandoned house.

The bodies of three victims. The body of one heretic. The heretic's cloth bag contained dry rations, a water bag, low-quality pills, and a piece of paper with symbols drawn on it.

Fang Yuan didn't touch anything. He didn't move the body. He didn't take the cloth bag. The paper was already etched into his mind.

He needs these things to stay where they are.

The city guards will find this abandoned house sooner or later. They will find the corpse of the heretical cultivator. They will find three victims.

These are the evidence.

Fang Yuan climbed out the window. His shoe scraped against the windowsill. He landed in the same spot as when he came in—no new marks were left on the muddy ground.

The night wind from the northwest corner of the city swept in from the alleyway, carrying the earthy smell of dirt and the distant scent of burning firewood.

Fang Yuan's doubled spiritual perception network was redeployed. Within a 25-zhang radius—silence. No new qi or blood signals.

He walked back the way he came.

When they reached the second alley, Fang Yuan took the blood-red token out of his pocket.

The token was affixed to his forehead. A pulse beat every breath. It pointed towards the northwest of the city.

Pointing directly below the abandoned mill.

One of the heretical practitioners died. But the stronghold remains.

Seven red dots on Shen Youlan's handkerchief. Three in the west of the city. Two in the north of the city. Two outside the city.

Fang Yuan killed one.

There are six points left.

No. It's not just six points. It's about the countless evil cultivators behind those six points. Including the stronghold in Qingyao Valley, there are at least two beings at the Refining Realm or higher.

Fang Yuan removed the token from his forehead and put it in his pocket. His fingers touched the edge of the dark gold fragment.

Constant temperature.

The numbers on the panel went through his mind.

Current savings: 4077 taels. 5923 taels away from the 10,000 tael threshold.

Ten thousand taels can double the current value of a talent. Permanently.

Temporary boost point – one point is generated per evil cultivator. Double the rate. One hour.

Two ways.

Money is a long-term strategy. Slow. Steady. But it takes time.

Temporary increases are short-term supplements. They are fast and rapid, but they have a time limit.

Fang Yuan removed his fingers from the fragments.

The two paths are not contradictory.

Money keeps being earned. Evil cultivators continue to be killed.

The permanent increase to the Hundred Herbs Hall's profit-feeding system. The temporary increase to the Blood Demon Cult's head-feeding system.

He does business with his left hand and carries a knife in his right.

Fang Yuan's footsteps echoed through the night in the west of the city. The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, casting his long shadow across the bluestone slabs. It curved at the corner at the end of the alley and disappeared.

-

A first-class courtyard.

Tie Meng leaned against a pillar by the main entrance, clutching his iron arm guards. He wasn't asleep. His eyes flickered in the moonlight—the sound of Fang Yuan scaling the back wall was barely audible. Tie Meng's ears caught that faint sound.

Fang Yuan landed in the courtyard. He patted the dust off his short brown coat.

Tie Meng straightened up from the pillar. His gaze swept from Fang Yuan's face to the soles of his feet, and then back to his face.

No injuries.

Tie Meng's shoulders relaxed slightly. But he remained sharp-tongued.

"You came back alive?"

Fang Yuan didn't reply. He walked to the water vat, scooped up a ladle of water, drank half a mouthful, rinsed his mouth, and spat it out.

Tie Meng took two steps closer. He twitched his nose.

"You smell of blood."

Fang Yuan placed the water ladle back on the edge of the vat.

"It's not mine."

Tie Meng's mouth opened slightly. Then it closed. Then it opened again.

"Dead?"

"one."

Tie Meng ran his fingers along the dent in the iron arm guard. The action lasted for two breaths.

"What level?"

"Early stage of bone refining."

Tie Meng's fingers stopped. He tilted his head to look at Fang Yuan. There were many things in his eyes—"as expected", "a sigh of relief", and a kind of bewilderment that Tie Meng himself probably didn't even realize, something like "what kind of person have I followed?"

Early stage of the Bone Refining Realm. In Tie Meng's understanding, martial artists at this level were already beings he had to fight desperately to defeat.

When Fang Yuan said "one," his tone was similar to saying "I stepped on a cockroach."

Tie Meng swallowed hard.

"How many do you plan to kill?"

Fang Yuan didn't answer. He raised his hand and tugged at the collar of his short-sleeved shirt. Tie Meng's nose was very sensitive—the smell of blood had to be gotten rid of. He'd wash this short-sleeved shirt tomorrow.

Fang Yuan walked towards his room. He stopped at the door.

"Is Fang Ying asleep?"

Tie Meng nodded. "He went to sleep two hours ago. Fang Lin is keeping watch over him."

Fang Yuan pushed open the door and entered the room.

The door closed very gently.

Inside the room, Fang Yuan sat down at the table, his right hand outstretched. A panel appeared on the screen.

The numbers lit up quietly on the semi-transparent screen.

Talent Multiplication System.

Root bone: 4 times.

Stance training: 8 times.

Comprehension: 2 times.

Soul: 2 times.

Current savings: 4077 taels of silver.

The threshold for the next increase is 10000 taels.

At the very bottom, there's an extra line.

Temporary increase in points: 1.

Fang Yuan's gaze lingered on the "1" for three breaths.

He closed the panel.

On the table, the patrol captain's iron plaque sat in the corner. The rough iron lettering turned gray in the moonlight.

Beside it was a blood-red token. The grayish-white bat totem faced upwards.

Fang Yuan pressed his finger on the bat totem on the token. His fingertip slowly traced a circle along the tip of the bat's wing.

The pulse beats once a day under the fingertip.

First.

Fang Yuan lifted his finger off the token.

Outside the window, the moon had fully emerged from behind the clouds. Moonlight streamed through the half-open windowpane, illuminating the tabletop. An iron plaque and a token lay side by side. One was grayish. The other was pale.

Fang Yuan's shadow was cast on the wall. The shadow's hand—was still resting on the table.

It was quiet for a long time.

Then Fang Yuan stood up, walked to the window, and glanced outside.

In the courtyard, Tie Meng leaned back against a pillar, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted to the side. He was dozing. But the clasps on his iron arm guards weren't closed—they could spring open at any moment.

Fang Yuan's gaze shifted from Tie Meng to the window of the main room. The window was dark. Fang Ying was asleep.

He closed the window.

He returned to the table, took a piece of paper from his pocket, and spread it on the table.

I pick up my pen.

The pen tip drew seven dots on the paper.

The positions correspond to the seven red dots on Shen Youlan's silk handkerchief.

Fang Yuan drew an "X" on the first point.

Northwest corner of the city. Abandoned alleyway. Abandoned house.

The pen tip hovered above the paper. A drop of ink clung to the tip, suspended in mid-air.

Fang Yuan's gaze shifted from the first "X" to the remaining six dots.

Six points.

A drop of ink fell from the pen tip, creating an irregular ink stain next to the second dot.