I Live Forever In The World of Cultivation World - Chapter 7: Wei Fan

As He Song, dressed in the attire of a Spirit Planter, stepped into the Spirit Builder Pavilion, a voice called out to him.

Moments later, a young man wearing similar attire to other market personnel appeared before him.

The man’s eyes were warm and his smile gentle, exuding a friendly demeanor that made He Song feel at ease, almost as if meeting a close colleague.

However, He Song could sense a strong spiritual pressure emanating from the man, suggesting that his cultivation was far above his own.

Recognizing the man’s strength, He Song quickly cupped his hands respectfully.

“Indeed, Senior. My name is He Song. I became a Spirit Planter just yesterday. Greetings, Senior.”

He Song spoke truthfully. As a newcomer with nothing of value to envy or covet, there was no reason to hide anything.

Moreover, the man before him didn’t appear to harbor ill intentions.

“I am Wei Fan, a steward of the Spirit Builder Pavilion,” the young man said with a knowing smile.

“If you are a Spirit Planter, then you are part of our market family. No need to be so formal.”

As a steward, Wei Fan personally interacted with most market personnel who came to renew their leases.

He was already aware that the Spirit Herb Pavilion had recruited new cultivators for the spring planting season, so He Song’s presence wasn’t unexpected.

“Come with me, Daoist He,” Wei Fan continued. “The market has its own rules, and there’s no need for you to stand in line with these wandering cultivators.”

He glanced at the line of scattered cultivators waiting to pay their rent. A trace of disdain flickered briefly across his expression.

The gap between wandering cultivators and market personnel was vast.

Wandering cultivators were often desperate, using any means necessary to obtain cultivation resources. As a result, their mortality rates were alarmingly high.

Market personnel, by contrast, had skills or roles that ensured steady resources without risking their lives. Their mortality rates were much lower.

To Wei Fan, there was no comparison between associating with wandering cultivators, who could die at any moment, and building rapport with market personnel, who had long-term growth potential.

Even a Spirit Planter like He Song, with modest resources, had a far better outlook than most wandering cultivators.

Following Wei Fan’s gaze, He Song noticed the queue of wandering cultivators lining up to pay their rent.

Unlike Spirit Planters, wandering cultivators had to deal with a separate counter.

Once they handed over their ten spirit stones, the clerk would record their housing details, allowing them to stay another month.

For those who failed to renew, the Enforcement Squad would promptly reclaim their accommodations.

Attempting to live rent-free?

Not a chance.

Under Wei Fan’s guidance, He Song was soon led into an elegant, traditional-style room.

The space was adorned with exquisite wooden furniture, neatly arranged and surrounded by lingering wisps of fragrant incense.

The air was dense with a soothing aroma, and He Song felt a subtle difference the moment he entered.

Though He Song was initially cautious, considering the high security of the Spirit Builder Pavilion within Bamboo Mountain Immortal Market, he eventually decided there was no need to hold his breath against potential toxins.

Prudence had its limits, and the setting, as well as Wei Fan’s status, did not warrant excessive suspicion.

Given He Song’s humble status and the setting within the Spirit Builder Pavilion, paired with Wei Fan’s significantly higher cultivation level, showing excessive caution such as holding his breath would only make him appear overly nervous and invite unnecessary ridicule.

Fortunately, Wei Fan didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. Once the two were seated in the elegant chamber, with Wei Fan naturally taking the host’s position, the steward opened the conversation with a calm, knowing tone.

“Daoist He, you’ve just become a Spirit Planter and likely have no other sources of income yet. I assume you’re here today because of financial difficulties, correct?”

Wei Fan spoke as if he had seen this scenario many times before. His tone carried no judgment, only familiarity, which suggested this was a common occurrence.

He continued, flipping his palm to summon a document that appeared on the table before He Song.

“There’s no need to worry. Such situations are frequent, and there is a solution. If you leave behind a trace of your spiritual aura, you won’t need to come here every month anymore—just once a year will suffice.”

Wei Fan gestured toward the document, his words steady and practiced. It was clear he had handled similar cases numerous times.

Calming his thoughts, He Song cupped his hands in thanks before picking up the document. A quick glance over the terms revealed why Wei Fan had been so confident in his approach.

The document outlined a policy for internal personnel at the Bamboo Mountain Immortal Market. By pledging their annual income or “yearly stipend,” employees could secure their residence and defer monthly payments.

Although Spirit Planters like He Song didn’t receive direct stipends, the income from selling spirit rice grown on their allotted five acres of land—amounting to 150 spirit stones annually—qualified them for this system.

After deducting the annual rent of 120 spirit stones, only 30 spirit stones would remain in He Song’s pocket.

The contract also included safeguards for the market. By leaving a trace of his spiritual aura on the document, He Song would be bound to fulfill his financial obligations. Should he default, the Enforcement Squad could track him down using his aura.

Being captured and forced to pay was far more humiliating and punishing than simply abiding by the agreement.

“If Daoist He agrees, all you need to do is leave your aura on the contract,” Wei Fan said, his tone matter-of-fact. Without pressuring He Song, he leisurely began brewing tea.

The fragrant aroma of the tea filled the room, and soon the first cup was placed before He Song.

Recognizing that the agreement was fair and designed for convenience rather than exploitation, He Song promptly infused the document with a wisp of his spiritual aura.

The terms hadn’t changed much—he would still owe the same rent, but payment was now deferred to an annual basis, eliminating the hassle of monthly visits.

Lifting the teacup, He Song took a sip and smiled politely.

“Thank you for the tea, Daoist Wei. It’s excellent.”

Though He Song wasn’t knowledgeable about tea, courtesy demanded that he compliment it. After all, having someone of Wei Fan’s stature serve him tea was an unexpected honor.

“Ha-ha! Daoist He, there’s no need for flattery. I simply enjoy making friends. This is just a simple brew; it’s enough that you don’t find it unpleasant,” Wei Fan replied with a laugh, as though seeing through He Song’s thoughts.

He poured another cup for He Song, but this time, as he placed it on the table, his tone turned slightly more serious.

“Daoist He, do you know Meng Guan of the Spirit Herb Pavilion?”