Need Information and a Plan Fast!
John's stomach growled loudly as he walked through the bustling Eastern Market, his senses overwhelmed by the symphony of aromas wafting through the air.
Everywhere he looked, food vendors called out to passing customers, their stalls overflowing with culinary delights that made his mouth water uncontrollably.
To his left, an elderly woman tended to a massive wok, the sizzle of stir-fried noodles mixing with the rich scent of garlic and soy sauce.
Next to her, a burly man with arms like tree trunks rotated skewers of glistening meat over glowing coals, the fat dripping and crackling as it hit the fire.
Further down, steam rose from enormous bamboo baskets holding fluffy white buns, their warm, yeasty aroma mingling with the sharper tang of pickled vegetables from a neighboring stall.
John's feet moved almost of their own accord toward a particularly busy soup stand where thick, milky broth bubbled in a massive cauldron.
The vendor, a round-faced man with a perpetual smile, was deftly slicing ribbons of fresh noodles and dropping them into bowls along with tender chunks of stewed meat and vibrant green vegetables.
The sight made John's prison rations, that horrible, rock-hard stale bread, seem like a distant nightmare.
"When was the last time I ate real food?"* he wondered, his fingers unconsciously flexing at the memory of teeth straining against that awful prison bread.
In the almost Six months since his reincarnation into this world, he'd known nothing but captivity and survival.
The thought of hot, flavorful food made his eyes sting unexpectedly.
"Spicy lamb skewers! Get your spicy lamb skewers here!" a nearby vendor's cry snapped him back to the present.
John's hand drifted toward the spirit stones hidden in his robe. "Maybe... just one skewer wouldn't hurt," he thought longingly.
But as a group of well-dressed merchants passed by, their noses wrinkling at his disheveled appearance, John came to his senses.
He looked down at himself his prison garb torn and stained from his forest battle, his skin caked with layers of dirt and dried blood.
Even with his Bone Refinement cultivation, he couldn't disguise the fact that he looked like a fugitive who'd just crawled out of the wilderness.
"First things first," he reminded himself sternly.
"A bath, fresh clothes, then food." The last thing he needed was to draw unnecessary attention before he'd even secured lodging.
Remembering the gate guard's advice, John scanned the marketplace for the mentioned inn.
His Spatial Sense hummed at the edge of his consciousness, helping him filter through the crowd's noise and movement.
Then he saw it rising five stories above the surrounding buildings, its elegantly curved eaves adorned with red lanterns that swayed gently in the afternoon breeze.
"Nine Sky Inn", the characters above the entrance proclaimed in gleaming gold against dark wood.
The establishment clearly belonged to the clan itself the quality of construction far superior to the simpler buildings surrounding it.
Several well-armed guards stood at attention near the entrance, their eyes constantly scanning the area.
John hesitated for only a moment. "If this is clan-operated, it will be secure... but also more expensive," he calculated.
Still, the promise of safety and anonymity outweighed the cost.
With a determined nod, he straightened his posture and approached, doing his best to project the aura of a traveling cultivator rather than a desperate fugitive.
As he neared the entrance, one of the guards stepped forward, his hand resting lightly on his sword hilt.
The man's eyes swept over John's ragged appearance with obvious skepticism.
John met his gaze evenly, allowing just a whisper of his Bone Refinement aura to surface.
The guard's expression immediately shifted from suspicion to cautious respect.
"Honored guest," the guard said with a slight bow, stepping aside.
"Welcome to Nine Sky Inn. The reception is straight ahead."
John returned the nod and stepped inside, the cool interior air a relief after the market's heat.
The lobby was spacious and well-appointed, with polished wood floors and tasteful landscape paintings adorning the walls.
A few well-dressed patrons glanced up from their tea as he entered, their eyes briefly lingering on his rough state before politely looking away.
Making his way to the reception desk, John caught sight of himself in a nearby mirror and nearly winced.
His face was streaked with dirt, his hair matted with leaves and who knew what else.
No wonder people were staring.
"Definitely bath first," he thought, already imagining the bliss of hot water and soap.
Then food.
Then... well, then he could finally start figuring out what to do in this strange new chapter of his reincarnated life.
The reception area of the Nine Sky Inn was as opulent as the rest of the establishment, with polished mahogany counters and delicate incense wafting through the air.
Behind the desk stood a stunning young woman dressed in an elegant blue chenghongsam, the silk hugging her slender frame perfectly.
Her jet-black hair cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall, with artfully arranged bangs framing her delicate features.
When her almond-shaped eyes landed on John's disheveled appearance, her perfectly shaped brows arched in surprise.
But to her credit, she quickly schooled her expression into one of professional politeness, offering a slight bow.
"Hello, sir. How may I help you?" Her voice was smooth and melodic, carrying the practiced warmth of someone used to dealing with wealthy patrons.
John's gaze flickered around the lavish lobby—the gilded lanterns casting a warm glow, the plush seating areas where well-dressed guests sipped tea, the intricate carvings adorning every surface.
Then his attention returned to the receptionist, whose beauty was as striking as the inn's decor.
For a brief moment, he hesitated, acutely aware of the stark contrast between his filthy, battle-worn state and the refined elegance surrounding him.
"Lodging," he finally said, keeping his tone neutral.
The woman's painted lips curved into a practiced smile.
"Ten gold coins per night," she replied smoothly.
John's eyebrows shot up. Ten gold coins? From the memories of his body's previous owner, he knew that was an exorbitant price, one spirit stone equaled a hundred gold coins, and one gold coin was a hundred silver.
Most inns in the Blue Rain Clan's territory charged a mere silver or two per night.
This place was charging a thousand times that.
His jaw tightened.
He had the funds, but spending so much on mere lodging stung.
Still, safety was worth the cost.
With a resigned sigh, he reached into his inner robe and produced a single spirit stone, placing it on the counter with deliberate casualness.
"Nine days," he stated simply.
The receptionist's eyes widened almost imperceptibly before she regained her composure.
A scruffy-looking man pulling out a spirit stone without hesitation was clearly unexpected.
She quickly retrieved a small ledger, making a note before handing him back a single gold coin as change.
"Exchange it for silver," John said before she could close the transaction.
Nodding, she counted out a hundred gleaming silver coins from a locked drawer beneath the counter.
John pocketed them with a satisfied nod—he'd need smaller denominations for food, clothes, and other necessities.
Within moments, a neatly dressed attendant appeared to escort him to his room.
They ascended a grand staircase lined with intricate carvings, passing landings where oil paintings depicted legendary battles and serene landscapes.
When they reached the fifth floor, the attendant led him down a hushed hallway before stopping at a heavy oak door.
The room was nothing short of luxurious.
A massive four-poster bed dominated the space, its silk sheets shimmering under the soft light of crystal lanterns.
Plush rugs covered the polished wooden floor, and antique furnishings, a writing desk, a carved wardrobe, a low tea table added to the refined atmosphere.
Best of all, the wide window offered a breathtaking view of the entire marketplace below, the colorful stalls and bustling crowd resembling a living painting.
John nodded in approval. This would do nicely.
After settling in, John wasted no time.
He returned to the market, weaving through the crowd until he found a reputable clothier.
There, he purchased a set of sturdy yet nondescript robe, dark gray fabric reinforced at the seams, perfect for blending in while still allowing freedom of movement.
A pair of new boots and a leather belt completed the ensemble.
Back in his room, he finally indulged in a long, scalding bath, scrubbing away weeks of grime, blood, and the lingering stench of prison.
The hot water soothed his aching muscles, and he took the time to properly clean and bandage the wounds from his battle with the six-legged beast.
When he emerged, the transformation was striking.
Gone was the ragged fugitive in his place stood a sharp-eyed young man with an air of quiet intensity.
His damp hair, now free of dirt and leaves, framed a face that was more handsome than he'd realized.
The new clothes fit well, lending him an air of unassuming confidence.
With his immediate needs met, John's thoughts turned to food.
He returned to the marketplace, this time with the relaxed gait of a man who didn't fear recognition.
The aroma of sizzling meat led him to a popular skewer stand, where he bought several sticks of juicy, spice-rubbed pork.
The first bite was a revelation, tender, smoky, bursting with flavor.
After months of prison rations, it tasted like heaven.
As he ate, his sharp ears caught a conversation at a nearby table.
"Did you hear? A prisoner escaped from the Blue Sapphire Clan's dungeon," a thin, weaselly-faced man muttered around a mouthful of meat.
"Killed two guards on his way out."
His companion, a short man with a patchy beard, nodded eagerly.
"I heard they've put a bounty on his head fifty spirit stones for his capture!"
John's blood turned to ice.
His fingers tightened around his skewer, but he forced himself to keep chewing slowly, his face a mask of indifference.
Fifty spirit stones? That was enough to tempt even seasoned mercenaries.
The first man smirked.
"Rumor says he's a cultivator, Bone Refinement Realm, at least. Not someone to take lightly."
"Doesn't matter," the short man scoffed.
"With that kind of reward, every bounty hunter from here to the Black Mountains will be hunting him."
John finished his meal with deliberate calm, but his mind raced. He needed information, and a plan, fast.