"Ladies and gentlemen, for this sale, money is secondary—barter is our priority." Nina Cloud, the Herb Maiden, spoke again, her calm voice tinged with hope. "If you have Life-Restoring Elixirs or peerless divine weapons, Herb Valley will offer the fairest exchange possible."
Hearing Nina Cloud's words, the crowd on the fourth floor couldn't help but start buzzing with whispers. One sect leader spoke up: "Miss Cloud, we've never even heard of such miraculous pills that restore one's life force, so we'll refrain from commenting for now. As for those divine weapons—would Hair-Splitting Grade be enough?"
"Hair-Splitting Grade, a hundred cuts without dulling—that's our minimum standard. Of course, if you have weapons that can slice iron like mud or endure a thousand cuts, that's even better."
As soon as Nina Cloud finished, the whispering grew louder. Jack Young perked up his ears and quickly figured out what was going on. Divine weapons are generally divided into three grades. The first is 'Hair-Splitting Grade'—you put a strand of hair on the blade, blow gently, and the hair splits in two. If the hair breaks under its own weight without even blowing, that's even higher quality.
Even big sects might only own a handful of weapons at this grade, reserved for the sect leader or core disciples. For smaller sects, having just one is something to brag about.
The second grade is called 'Iron-Slicing Grade.' The exact standard is a bit fuzzy, but it's clearly a notch above Hair-Splitting. Sects on the smaller side shouldn't even dream about owning one—top-tier sects treat them as heirlooms or treasures of the house.
The third and highest grade wasn't even mentioned by the folks chatting nearby, and Jack Young didn't know much about it either—maybe they didn't, either. These are legendary weapons, rarely seen in public. Whenever one appears, it causes a huge stir.
As for "a hundred cuts without dulling" or "a thousand cuts without dulling," that's about the weapon's durability. If you're really good at sharpening, you could even make a kitchen knife achieve Hair-Splitting Grade (true story), but after a few uses, it goes blunt or gets chipped, and won't stay razor-sharp for long. To meet both the Hair-Splitting standard and keep the edge sharp for a hundred cuts straight—that's a tall order.
So, if you're thinking about trading a Hair-Splitting Grade weapon that can stay sharp for a hundred cuts for a rare herb, all the sect leaders here have to really weigh their options.
"Miss Cloud, could you possibly make an exception on the weapon standard? Our sect has a Hair-Splitting Grade weapon that can do seventy-two cuts without dulling—would that count?" For every top-tier weapon, there are plenty of runners-up. With so many blacksmiths out there, not all of them can meet the gold standard.
Someone swaggered, "I say we lay our cards on the table—better to hash things out now than fight later. Everyone wants Calming Grass and Meridian Purifying Tea, but we need some ground rules. Shopkeeper, get rid of these screens."
The private rooms on the fourth floor were separated by screens and sheer curtains. Once the screens were gone, the place turned into a big hall like the second and third floors. This was clearly planned—soon a bunch of attendants came up and whisked the screens away. With the screens gone, everyone could see each other, and the looks exchanged were wary, to say the least.
Suddenly, Leon Liu Jr. pointed at Jack Young and demanded, "Who are you? Why are you sitting here?"
Everyone turned to look—dozens of eyes fixed on Jack Young. Compared to the crowd, Jack's internal energy was nothing; they could see right through the three of them.
Someone sneered, "Young hero, this is the seat for sect leaders. You shouldn't be sitting here, should you?"
Another chimed in sarcastically, "Young hero? That's a stretch. If we're talking young heroes, Leon Liu Jr. here definitely qualifies, but this guy? Not even close."
Leon Liu Jr. shouted, "Innkeeper, get over here! I've said before, the fourth floor is reserved for the big sects—why are there random people up here? Kick them out!"
"Uh..." The Head Innkeeper hurried over, clearly nervous—he wasn't from the Big World, had no martial arts skills, and with the Iron Palm Sect so powerful around here, he didn't dare offend anyone. He put on a pitiful face, "Master Leon, please don't be angry, sir—I didn't know! This guest said he was a sect leader when he arrived."
"Oh?" Many people raised their eyebrows, and some even snickered.
Master Leonard Liu spoke up, "May I ask which sect you lead, sir?"
Jack Young glanced around, perfectly at ease: "Flower Shifting Palace."
"Flower Shifting Palace?" Maybe the name rubbed people the wrong way—many exchanged glances, but some scoffed, "Never heard of it."
The sarcastic guy piped up, "So, 'sect leader,' your sect must be seriously short-staffed. Ten years of cultivation and you get to be the boss? Ha! In my sect, you'd be stuck at the door with the flunkies!"
Another chimed in, "Kid, don't make a fool of yourself. This isn't the place for your antics. Dragging two girls around trying to look important—you're embarrassing yourselves."
Leon Liu Jr. snorted, then barked at the innkeeper, "Are you blind? Just take anyone's word for it? How dare these nobodies come up here—kick them out! You three, we've got big business to discuss, no time for small fry like you. If you don't leave, we'll toss you out!"
"Toss me out?" Jack Young wasn't the patient type—when he spoke, he didn't hold back: "Ha! What a moron."
"What did you say?!" Leon Liu Jr. slammed the table, furious.
"Need me to repeat myself? Fiona, say it for him." Jack Young couldn't be bothered to argue, so Fiona Fang promptly shouted, "My master says you're a moron!"
At that, a lot of people shot them new looks; the two snide old men even looked like they were about to stand up.
Jack Young corrected her, "Fiona, you got it wrong. I didn't say he was a moron."
"Not?" Fiona Fang was confused. One of the snide old men sneered, "Taking insults lying down—are you talking about yourself?"
"I'm talking about all of them." Jack Young raised his finger and pointed at each person who'd been hostile, sarcastic, or snide, ending with Master Leonard Liu—making the old man frown. "All these guys, every last one—morons."
"What?!" The whole fourth floor erupted—everyone was shouting. Their looks for Jack Young had changed; most now looked at him like he was already dead. The sarcastic old man laughed coldly, "Young and reckless—no sense of danger. So many have died for less. Today, Drunken Moon Pavilion's going to see blood."
Jack Young wasn't fazed at all; he suddenly spoke up, "You’re all jumping on me to make yourselves look tough. When it comes time to split the herbs, whoever's got the loudest voice gets the biggest share. You use me as a punching bag for show, right?"
The two old men exchanged glances, surprised—because Jack Young was absolutely right. But then they both sneered, "So what if we are?"
"Which is why you're all idiots. Think I'm an easy target? Ha, you’re the real pushovers." Jack Young pointed at the two, "Old fools, kicked out of brothels and still strutting around—garbage like you wants to act tough?"
The crowd was abuzz, some looking ready to jump in. But Jack Young just grinned, "You want a fight over herbs? Go on, but don't blame me if things get messy."
Master Leonard Liu gave a cold snort, "You talk big for someone with no backing. Let's see how long your bravado lasts."
Rachel Luo whispered, "Jack, do we really have to stir things up this much?"
Jack Young replied with a wink, "If you want herbs in this city, you gotta make some noise. Otherwise, they'll eat us alive."
Fiona Fang grinned, "Master, I'll back you up! If anyone dares to touch us, I'll show them what a soft persimmon can do!"
The sect leaders exchanged glances, some amused, some annoyed, but none willing to back down. The atmosphere was thick with rivalry and anticipation.
Just then, a new voice broke out, "Enough with the banter! Let's get down to business—who's got the best offer for the Calming Grass?"
The crowd quieted, eyes shifting to the Herb Boutique's catalog as the real bargaining began.
Jack Young leaned back, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold with a satisfied smirk.
And so, the Herb Conference's real battle lines were drawn—not with swords, but with sharp words and sharper deals.