Chapter 749: A Rare Commodity
No matter how miraculous a medicine might be, if it cannot be used for one’s own benefit, it is no different from garbage. To the young formation master lying on the hospital bed, barely clinging to life, the Cinnabar Pill was precisely such an existence. The general no longer looked at him, turned around, and walked out of the room. Passing by An Hua and the priest, he paused, asked them to take good care of the patient, and then spoke a single sentence in a deep voice.
“I will not say that person is a fame-seeker, but his schemes must be extraordinarily grand.”
People understood the general’s meaning. Regardless of whether that person had found a sacred formula from ancient texts or developed it himself through his talent in medicine, if he truly cared about the safety of humanity and had compassion for all, then the most appropriate course of action would be to release the formula.
Ever since it was confirmed that the Cinnabar Pill truly had miraculous effects and had saved many people who deserved to live, An Hua had developed a great fondness for that mysterious person she had never met, whom no one had ever met. She was unwilling to believe that person could be a schemer or have ulterior motives, but she likewise had no way to deny the general’s words.
That person could only produce one bottle of Cinnabar Pills each month, and the dozens of pills within were far too few compared to the needs of the soldiers on the front lines. She believed that person had done his best, only because he could not gather enough rare medicinal ingredients, or perhaps his abilities were limited, preventing him from increasing production. But as long as he was willing to hand over the formula, all these problems could be solved. Just as she had thought from the very beginning, no matter how rare the medicinal ingredients required for this pill might be, both the State Religion and the Imperial Court would surely be able to find them.
The State Religion and the Imperial Court could mass-produce this pill, and humanity would gain an enormous advantage in this war. The future of the continent would be bright. Of course, this would also bring immense benefits to that person. He would receive the gratitude of the entire world and countless merits. Even if he never cultivated, he would become a true saint.
So why was he unwilling to do this?
……
……
The middle-aged man sat quietly in a chair, sipping tea. The innkeeper stood before him, not daring to move a muscle.
Hearing the sounds from beyond the wall, a mocking smile curled at the corner of his lips. “A saint? Merely hoarding a rare commodity.”
The innkeeper lowered his body even further, not daring to say a word.
Hoarding a rare commodity to sell at a high price was a merchant’s tactic for selling goods.
How much was a Cinnabar Pill worth? If judged by its effects, it could regenerate bones and revive the dead, making it naturally priceless. But in truth, ever since the Cinnabar Pill first appeared at Yongguan Pass, it had never had a price tag. To obtain it required no money at all—only waiting. If you were lucky enough to live until that moment arrived.
Neither the owner of the Cinnabar Pill, nor the Hall of Brilliance, nor the current Tang Clan of Wenshui could derive any profit from the pill. In some people’s eyes, the Tang Clan of Wenshui had no reason whatsoever to offend so many forces and powerful figures across the world for a pill that yielded no profit. But to those with true insight, this notion was undoubtedly extremely foolish. The owner of the Cinnabar Pill had set the rules, but rules were dead things. There were always loopholes to exploit. For example, if two formation masters were both gravely wounded and on the verge of death, and their cultivation levels, past military merits, and all other conditions were very similar, how would one determine their order in the queue?
At such a time, that was the Tang Clan’s power.
Even if this power did not manifest at every moment and seemed very slight, the infinite ten-thousandth part was still as vast as the ocean, and no amount of emphasis could be too much. The Tang Clan would never give up this resource. To ensure they retained it long-term, they would do everything possible to meet that person’s conditions, including enforcing the rules on his behalf.
After the incident at the Heavenly Book Mausoleum, the Tang Clan’s status among humanity had risen even higher. They had left the Tianhai family far behind and become the de facto first family of the Zhou Dynasty. Now, with the distribution rights to the Cinnabar Pill in their hands, their position was further consolidated, even causing many forces to feel a vague sense of fear.
If it were an ordinary noble family, reaching such a position would have been enough to satisfy them. But the Tang Clan of Wenshui was no ordinary family. They were the continent’s oldest merchant clan. Merchants could never be satisfied; they were insatiably greedy. This statement, whether meant as praise or criticism, was true to business. Of course, the Tang Clan could not be content with the profits brought by the Cinnabar Pill.
Compared to the pill’s miraculous nature, their current gains were too meager. And… they were not the ones in control.
That mysterious person was the true master. The Tang Clan could not accept this.
Whether it was weapons, grain, cities, treasures, or medicines, in every business the Tang Clan engaged in across the continent, they had to be the sole master, or at least the majority shareholder.
For tens of thousands of years, greed for profit and an intense desire for control had been the most defining traits of the Tang Clan of Wenshui, one could even say the very purpose of their existence. These two qualities had long been ingrained in the blood of every family member, becoming an obsession. Thus, even with the bloodbath at the Hall of Brilliance fresh in their minds, they still wanted to extract more from the Cinnabar Pill.
They wanted to know who the true owner of the Cinnabar Pill was more than anyone else.
Compared to other forces in the world, they were undoubtedly the closest to that person. There might still be several layers of mist between them, but they could already vaguely glimpse the truth.
Yes, this inn was a property of the Tang Clan of Wenshui.
The middle-aged man was the Seventeenth Master of the Tang Clan of Wenshui.
He had traveled thousands of miles from Wenshui to Songshan Military Prefecture precisely to uncover the secret hidden behind the Cinnabar Pill.
A voice, respectful yet tinged with fear, sounded from outside the door.
“The shipment from Black Mountain has arrived.”
Hearing this, the Seventeenth Master of the Tang raised an eyebrow slightly, and his eyes brightened by several degrees.
He rose from his chair and, under the innkeeper’s guidance, made his way to a secret chamber in the inn’s rear courtyard.
In the center of the chamber stood a large black stone table. On the table lay the goods that the Tang Clan of Wenshui had transported from Black Mountain Military Prefecture at great cost.
It was a corpse.
The deceased was a man, severely wounded. His face and neck were charred black, clearly having been scorched by poisonous demonic flames. The partially opened clothing bore obvious military markings. His fingers were extremely long, with slightly prominent knuckles. In the ghastly gash across his chest and abdomen, faint traces of starlight had not yet completely dissipated.
From these details, it could be deduced that this was a Star Gathering cultivator who had died in battle against a powerful demon, most likely a general in the Zhou military.
The Seventeenth Master of the Tang took a clean white handkerchief from his sleeve and covered his nose and mouth, gesturing with his eyes for the innkeeper to proceed.
The innkeeper walked up to the black stone table, took out a sharp knife, and began cutting into the corpse’s chest and abdomen, slicing downward from the already existing wound.
With a faint tearing sound, the blade cut open the deceased’s stomach. A foul-smelling green liquid gushed out, spilling onto the table.
The Seventeenth Master of the Tang frowned slightly, pressing the handkerchief tighter with some disgust, but he did not look away.
Before him, the innkeeper appeared to be a particularly ordinary servant, but at this moment, he acted like a very experienced coroner.
Without hesitation, the innkeeper reached his hand into the deceased’s stomach, fumbled for a moment, and then pulled out a small pouch.
The pouch was made of some unknown material—neither leather nor paper. Its surface was very smooth, and it felt extremely thin and soft. Faintly visible inside was a round object.
That object might have been a stone, or perhaps a pearl.
Or it could have been a pill.