Bai Zang exited the Chaos Realm and expertly opened the Spirit Realm battlefield's trading interface. His mech's hull still bore traces of scorch, looking as if it had rolled over the battlefield thirty times, but he cared little for such details. As long as the spoils remained, it didn't matter how battered his mech was.
He clicked on the inventory. While the items inside weren't luxurious, they were numerous: several psychic core fragments, two complete psychic cores, a high-level treasure chest component, and some rare mecha parts. He had just risked his life to "pick up" these things from the corpses of others.
"These parts can be exchanged for at least 500 spirit stones, right?" Bai Zang muttered as he dialed a familiar middleman - a notorious but greedy profiteer.
The screen lit up, and the image of a chubby, middle-aged monk lazily appeared, a psychic cigarette dangling from his lips, his eyes filled with impatience. "It's you again, Gu Master. Tell me, whose mecha did you strip this time?"
Bai Zang's mouth curled up slightly, but his tone was cold: "The parts and treasure chests, the list has been sent to you."
The merchant glanced at the list, casually scanning it before curling his lips. "Just this little crappy thing? Psychic cores are everywhere. I'll give you... two hundred spirit stones."
Bai Zang listened without a frown, but his eyes grew colder. He leaned back in his chair, his tone tinged with sarcasm, "Two hundred? Do you want me to starve to death in the Chaos Realm? These two psychic cores alone are worth eighty each, and you're actually trying to get rid of me with two hundred?"
The merchant blew a puff of spiritual energy mist and said lazily, "Gu Master, don't be too greedy. You got these things from the Chaos Region, right? Everyone knows that goods from there are 80% likely to have a somewhat unclean aura, and very few people dare to buy them. You're lucky to sell them to me. Others might not even give you a hundred."
Bai Zang sneered, moved closer to the screen, and lowered his voice a bit: "I see you don't think the goods are dirty, but the price is high. Don't pretend, at least three hundred, otherwise no deal."
The merchant seemed to have expected him to bargain. He remained silent for a moment, expressionless, holding his psychic cigarette. Then he sighed, "Alright, three hundred is three hundred, but don't send me such low-end goods next time. It's really cheap."
The transaction was completed, the virtual spirit stones arrived, and a line of numbers appeared on the screen: "+300".
Bai Zang closed the trading interface, a sneer curled up at the corner of his mouth: "Next time I will definitely squeeze you a little harder, let's see how you can cry."
He casually opened a simulation panel, which displayed a comparison of the profits from the previous transaction. He muttered to himself, "Three hundred isn't much, but it's fifty more than last time. It seems this fat guy's appetite isn't as big as I thought."
At this moment, a message suddenly popped up on the screen: "Gu Master, are you trying to trick me again? How about we have a head-on confrontation?"
Seeing this message, Bai Zang didn't bother to reply and simply blocked it with a single click. He stretched out his body and activated the mecha's self-diagnosis system. A red alert immediately popped up on the screen: left arm component damaged, psychic core energy less than 50%, and beam gun overheating and shutting down.
Bai Zang opened the exchange interface for the Spirit Realm battlefield and stared at the familiar message on the screen: "50 Spirit Stones Arrived." Just four words nearly made his scalp tingle. He subconsciously rubbed his eyes, as if suspecting there was something wrong with the screen.
"50?" He chuckled bitterly, leaning back in his chair and letting out a long breath. "I've been messing around all day, risking my life, and this is all I get?" He reached into his pockets, finding nothing but a few crumpled bills. In the Spirit Realm battlefield, he was a resplendent "Gu Master," but in reality, he was a poor, incompetent man who depended on his luck for food.
"This little bit of spiritual stones is barely enough to make ends meet." Bai Zang tapped the table with his fingers, and the screen automatically went dark. His eyes swept over a broken fragment of a spiritual core on the table. He picked it up, turning it around in his hands twice, and said self-deprecatingly, "If this thing was worth something, I'd have made a fortune long ago. But, it's just a virtual thing, and it's good enough to bring me some comfort."
He casually tossed the core back onto the table with a crisp sound, then sighed and walked out the door.
The air in the garbage dump still carried the stench of rotting metal, mingled with the distinct, burnt aroma of psychic waste, a stinging odor that made one's scalp tingle. A mountain of discarded mechas and mangled psychic devices piled up like a graveyard of countless shattered dreams. Occasionally, a wild rat would peek in, attempting to pluck something even more useless from the rubbish.
Bai Zang kicked the scrap metal that was blocking his way and watched a rat flee in panic, muttering, "Why are you running? I'm not going to eat you." He looked down at his hands, which were so thin that they were almost visible, and added dryly, "You might consider eating me. It would help me lighten the burden."
His residence was deep within the garbage dump, a small hut made of several mecha hulls. A half-painted "Spiritual Realm Repair Service" sign was affixed to the outside, making it look both ridiculous and desolate. Inside, there was only a broken, almost collapsed bed and a spiritual stove. Piled in the corner were parts he had found in the garbage dump. They looked like some kind of bizarre collectible, but in reality, they were all scraps from the world of immortal cultivation.
The first thing Bai Zang did after entering the house was to take out the 50 spirit stones he had just exchanged and carefully place them into a rusty iron box. A crooked handwritten label was taped to the lid: "Life and Death Fund." As he closed the box, he muttered, "50 spirit stones, enough for half a month's food. As for the second half..." He paused and shrugged, "Let's just stay alive first."
Hungry, he lit the spiritual stove and fished out a bag of nearly expired spiritual rice and a few pieces of shrunken spiritual beast meat from a tattered storage box. The spiritual flames licked the bottom of the pot, making a hissing sound. As he stirred the ingredients, he unconsciously hummed an off-key ditty: "Cultivating immortality has ended up in a garbage dump. Spiritual rice and spiritual meat can only serve as food..."
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