“With [Scorpion Celery Bone-Strengthening Broth], my strength will soar. Add [Barbarian Strength], and I might just stand a chance against that bastard Zhao!”

  Jiang Heng’s thoughts raced, excitement surging.

  Killing Sly Zhao would propel him to hunter status.

  Hunter!

  In Great Qing, hunters were upper-css citizens, showered with privileges.

  Tax exemptions.

  Keeping all treasures found in the mountains, no need to tithe the Mountain Patrol Division.

  That alone drove countless to chase the title.

  Even Division guards were mere second-css citizens, while hunters were revered elites.

  Look at Zhao, lording over the camp—who dared defy him?

  Every mountain dweller dreamed of hunter status.

  Jiang Heng, a transmigrator, had neared that threshold in days. His progress was unreal.

  One word: Awesome!

  Half an hour ter, he left Tiger Pass Town, climbing back into the mountains.

  His hands held a fragrant bundle—the herbs for [Scorpion Celery Bone-Strengthening Broth].

  This trip down the mountain had been a haul, but his coin was spent. Not a single copper remained.

  Leaving town, he’d used his st copper to buy a bun, washing it down with spring water.

  Rough days.

  But the future gleamed bright.

  He stayed cautious, wary of trackers, but the journey was uneventful. No robbers pounced.

  Initially, his rare mountain goods had drawn eyes, but once word spread he’d bought the venomous [Scorpion Celery Broth], interest faded.

  Who’d want that recipe?

  Even bandits scoffed at it.

  In a red cy stove, fmes flickered.

  A thick herbal scent filled the cave, growing pungent, almost choking.

  “No wonder it’s a venomous recipe…”

  Jiang Heng frowned. If the recipe hadn’t warned of the broth’s acrid smell, he’d have thought he botched it.

  Standing by the stove, he fanned the fmes with a reed fan, stirring occasionally and adding spring water to meld the herbs’ properties.

  After an hour, a bowl of viscous broth, steaming with miasma, was ready.

  Taking a deep breath, he double-checked the broth for errors, then downed it in one gulp.

  The taste?

  Ugh, bitterer than gall!

  But it was true medicine.

  The broth hit his stomach, and a warm current spread, flowing to his acupoints, seeping into bones and flesh.

  A faint itch bloomed in his bones.

  Bones can itch?

  The sensation was bizarre.

  Then, he noticed his hemp trousers felt… short.

  The first dose’s potency was so strong, he’d grown taller on the spot!

  The bone-strengthening effect was miraculous.

  But the benefits Keeper Went beyond height.

  From the inside out—bones, then flesh.

  His muscles visibly bulked, a tingling itch signaling growth.

  The itch was pleasant, like basking in warm sunlight, utterly satisfying.

  After flesh, his skin transformed.

  As a mountain dweller, toiling in miasma, his skin had been rough, his frame gaunt and dark.

  Now, it tightened, calluses peeling to reveal new, smooth skin.

  This broth’s incredible!

  Skin changes were minor.

  What mattered was his strength.

  Stepping outside, Jiang Heng approached a pine tree and threw a punch.

  Bang!

  A dull thud, followed by a sharp crack.

  The decades-old pine splintered, leaves raining down, birds fleeing in a chaotic flurry.

  My strength’s up at least ten percent!

  The first dose was said to be the strongest, but continued use wouldn’t taper off much.

  Six taels well spent. Worth every copper.

  Why were medicinal meals so pricey?

  You got what you paid for.

  The martial-grade rating helped. Jiang Heng was essentially consuming a hundred-tael recipe. How could it not shine?

  Money well spent!

  But joy was tinged with regret.

  After buying the recipe, his funds were nearly gone. The herbs he’d purchased would st only five or six days.

  Gotta rake in coin hard these next few days. Then I can stock up on herbs down the mountain.

  Silver.

  He needed piles of it.

  Back to treasure-hunting!

  To better absorb the broth’s power, Jiang Heng moved through the forest, jogging, stretching, like morning exercises.

  These moves, drawn from his past life, were basic. To truly hone his body and maximize the broth’s effects, he needed martial arts.

  Yes, this world had martial arts.

  Noble scions trained from childhood, eating medicinal meals to build strength, becoming hunters young and aiming for martial cultivator status.

  But martial arts were pricier than recipes.

  The cheapest Great Qing standard manual started at fifty taels.

  Even for Jiang Heng, that’d take serious saving.

  Truth be told, he craved martial arts more than recipes.

  Who didn’t dream of scaling walls and rooftops like a wuxia hero?

  In this world, high-level martial arts could hurl sand, shift stones, even move mountains and seas!

  Transmigrated here and not learning that? I’d be wasting this life!

  If I kill that cloud-breathing spirit beast peacock, I could scrape together fifty taels, right?

  The peacock was a spirit beast—unbeatable at full strength.

  But it was injured, its body faltering.

  A few more days of broth, and Jiang Heng might stand a chance.

  A spirit beast corpse typically fetched a hundred taels, but as a Hellseed, the cauldron would absorb part, leaving a husk worth less—maybe fifty taels with nest loot included.