Chapter Thirty-Two: Trading Rice for Gold Bars

The night passed swiftly, and early the next morning, Qin Jing rose from bed. Rather than going out to eat, he decided to cook in the shop. He had often cooked during his time with Chen Hua, preparing a couple of dishes here and there. Living alone for years had honed his culinary skills, but today was different. Qin Jing took out a bottle of water and a handful of rice from his storage space.

The rice was translucent and large-grained, with a gleam reminiscent of jade if examined closely. The water was even more peculiar—when poured into the rice cooker, it was thick and viscous, free of any impurities. After mixing the two, Qin Jing set the timer for thirty minutes.

Spirit grain and spring water, acquired from Jessica Teo's first deal, were foods for cultivators in the mythic world. They worked much like elixirs, effectively enhancing physical constitution and increasing cultivation speed. Since Qin Jing had begun his own cultivation, he wouldn’t deprive himself of such benefits.

Old Song was always an early riser, and today was no exception. As he returned from his morning stroll, he caught a whiff of an unusual fragrance in the air. Sniffing, he called out to Qin Jing, who was tidying up the shop, “Hey, young Qin, what are you cooking? Smells fantastic!”

“Haha, spirit rice! Eat it and you’ll live to a hundred. Want some, Old Song?” Qin Jing laughed, waving him over. He was never stingy. Spirit grain and spring water—even if they couldn’t grant longevity to ordinary people—would vastly improve physical health, warding off illness for a while. It was truly miraculous. Old Song had been his neighbor for a year, always lending a hand when needed; sharing a bit of fortune with him seemed only right.

“Live to a hundred? Tsk, tsk. You’re so young; don’t get ahead of yourself.” Old Song clearly didn’t believe him, chuckling as he walked in.

Qin Jing checked the time and opened the rice cooker. Instantly, the aroma filled the entire room. The cooked spirit rice was glossy and smooth, extremely appetizing to look at. Qin Jing scooped up a bowl and handed it to Old Song. “Sure you don’t want some?”

“As if I haven’t had rice porridge before! Not so rare, this—” Old Song’s words trailed off as his nose twitched and his eyes lingered suspiciously on the porridge. “What kind of rice is this? Smells incredible.”

“Just taste it and you’ll know. Money can’t buy this,” Qin Jing replied.

Old Song picked up the bowl, beginning with small bites, but soon gave in, eating large mouthfuls and quickly finishing the entire bowl of porridge.

Qin Jing began eating only after Old Song was done. He ate slowly, savoring each mouthful, feeling a pure spiritual energy seep into his limbs and bones, nourishing his body imperceptibly. He activated the ‘Six Strategies Literary Technique’ to circulate the energy, reaping extraordinary benefits. By his estimate, a single bowl matched nearly a tenth of yesterday’s cultivation progress.

And yesterday, he had absorbed the superhuman-level power from Wang Keng!

“What on earth is this? It's delicious!” After Qin Jing finished, Old Song gazed at him expectantly. Qin Jing had cooked only a little; after two bowls, the pot was empty.

“Just think of it as rare imported rice,” Qin Jing replied offhandedly.

“Where did you get it? I want some too.”

Hearing this, Qin Jing paused. That’s right—spirit rice could be sold. Old Song aside, for superhumans, this stuff was highly beneficial.

He had five pounds of spirit rice in total—not much, really—but as a businessman, Qin Jing understood the principle of circulating goods and money. Once this batch sold, he could use the G points to seek a third summoning.

“Old Song, you really can’t buy this. To be honest, it’s made with my exclusive secret recipe. It’s not so much rice as it is a medicinal ingredient. Eat it, and you’ll be free from illness for a month. How much do you think it's worth?”

Qin Jing spoke earnestly. He was happy to share a little with Old Song out of goodwill, but couldn’t do so long-term. He hadn’t even managed to share it with his impoverished mother yet!

The thought crossed his mind—perhaps he should mail some home. Having struggled in life and spent years away at school, he rarely contacted his family and had no idea how things were now. His father had died early from lung cancer, leaving only his mother, who had always lived in hardship.

No, he must find time to bring his mother to Cold Sea City. It was a big city, after all; if she ever had any ailments, help would be close at hand. Qin Jing resolved silently.

“A secret recipe? Hmm, it does taste like one. After eating, my body feels light and energetic.” Old Song furrowed his brow, but smiled warmly at Qin Jing. “You’re a good kid, always sharing your treasures. Name your price—I’ll buy some.”

“All right, this is useful even for ordinary people. I’ll set aside half a pound for you; just pay what you wish.”

Because of Old Song, Qin Jing couldn’t help but think of his own mother, and so he found Old Song rather agreeable at the moment. He’d already priced the spirit rice in his mind: ten thousand per pound, and he’d sell only two pounds. The remaining two and a half pounds would last him a few days of cultivation. According to the ‘Literary Technique’ records, the more spirit rice one ate, the less effective it became. Though it always worked, it was best to ration it sensibly.

“Two hundred? How about a pound?” Old Song asked with a grin.

“Old Song, half a pound is already generous. This stuff is precious. Tell you what—I won’t even take your money. Just enjoy it.” Qin Jing felt a charitable pride swell within him. Wasn’t he generous? Ten thousand per pound, yet he gifted his neighbor half a pound—who could be more magnanimous?

“Ah, so my offer was too low? It’s that valuable?” Old Song was no fool; he caught on quickly. For a moment, he was stunned, but having just eaten spirit rice and feeling vigor surge through his aging body, as if a withered branch had found new life, he realized it truly was a remarkable thing.

“Wait here.” Old Song called out, slipped back to his own shop, and returned a few minutes later holding a gold bar, which he placed in Qin Jing’s hand. “My little yellow fish, collected over years. I’ll trade it for half a pound of your rice. Surely that’s not too low a price?”

Civilian gold bars came in two sizes: big and small yellow fish. The big ones were ten taels; the small ones, just one tael—by ancient measures. In modern times, a small yellow fish was about the size of a thumb, weighing just over thirty grams. At current gold prices, a small yellow fish was worth about ten thousand. Old Song’s offer was indeed generous.

---

Another chapter tonight! Buried in writing—please bookmark and vote!