Zhou Yan summons ten more White-Robed Ghost Soldiers, hoping for a general. No luck—only a corporal emerges. He levels them to 10, standard for his ranks. Upgrades demand soul coins, a slow grind. Patience, he reminds himself.
At the dwarves' forge, he grins. They toil for meals and shelter, no wages, thrilled to craft. "Capitalists would seethe," he chuckles. Their joy—forging carefree—fuels his own. He sweeps the trading hall's ore, delighting them.
By the Spiritual Spring, workers bottle its water in bamboo, sourced from Little Guaiguai. Zhou Yan notes his prior gear sales—snapped up by rich foreigners. He lists hundreds more, cheaper than yesterday. Profit's guaranteed, bought or not.
Messages flood from Guihai Yidao—hundreds, trivial chatter. Zhou Yan snaps: "Send nonsense again, and we're done."
Guihai Yidao wails, "No next time!" and stops, venting to others.
Frozen Three Feet messages: "Got silver weapons?"
She knows he's the silver seller. With dwarves forging surplus—his team equipped—he replies, "How many?"
She pauses, stunned. Others beg for one; he offers bulk. "Ten?" she ventures.
"Silver weapons only," Zhou Yan clarifies. Armor's scarce, reserved for his people.
"Price up—ore costs rose," he adds. Today's ore sweep spiked prices, but buyers bear it.
"No issue," she agrees.
Ten pieces net four million spirit coins. In the lord world, top silver gear fetches 100,000; in trials, his 400,000 is pure profit. No rivals, no coercion—buyers beg him.
"I'm forced to sell," he jests, smirking.
Frozen Three Feet takes ten, maxed out. Zhou Yan targets Qin Yao, a deep-pocketed lord. "Silver weapons?" he asks.
"Fifty," she replies.
Zhou Yan gapes. "That's dominance."
"Only thirty-two, 400,000 each," he counters.
"Done," Qin Yao says.
The deal—12.8 million coins—flows smoothly. Gear's durability, unfixable without smiths, inflates trial prices. Zhou Yan's dwarves repair for mere ore and time.
"A wealth vein," he realizes, eyes gleaming.
To scale, he must reveal Heavenly Court's name. Profit outweighs anonymity. In the trading hall, he unhides his identity and opens equipment recycling: Black Iron at 50 spirit coins, Bronze at 500, Silver at 5,000, plus all ores.
He disables friend requests—only he initiates. Then, in the National Chat Room, he broadcasts:
"I'm the Spiritual Spring seller. Check my territory name in the trading hall—unhidden. Buying damaged gear: Black Iron, 50 spirit coins; Bronze, 500; Silver, 5,000. Also recycling all ores…"
Ten messages flood the chat, igniting uproar.