Fat Preacher did not change his attitude just because Henry Clark had a Ding-grade aptitude. First, because he himself was also Ding-grade—no need to mention the eldest brother, let alone the second. Moreover, it was from his mouth that Henry Clark learned that among the more than a thousand outer disciples of Qingyun Sect, more than half were actually Ding-grade. Of the rest, more than half were Bing-grade, and of those remaining, more than half were Yi-grade.

As for the truly Jia-grade aptitudes, there were only a handful in the entire Daoist sect, all treated like precious treasures.

Thinking of this, Henry Clark felt a bit more balanced in his heart—at least he wasn’t at the very bottom.

Before long, they arrived at Qingmu Pavilion, a three-story tower built entirely from a kind of wood that emitted a faint greenish fragrance. At first glance, it looked plain and unadorned, but upon closer inspection, it was seamless and finely crafted, simple yet imposing. There wasn’t a single wormhole on the surface, not even a speck of dust seemed to cling to it. Bathed in the light of the rising sun, it faintly shimmered with a dignified brilliance.

As Fat Preacher and Henry Clark approached, a thin, elderly Daoist walked over from beside the wooden pavilion. Fat Preacher hurriedly pulled Henry Clark along to pay respects, addressing him as Senior Brother Johnson. Henry Clark sized him up and found that he could see through his cultivation—it was only at the fourth level of Lingdong. Although his appearance and age seemed similar to that tall elder from before, their cultivation levels were worlds apart.

Senior Brother Johnson took Henry Clark’s wooden token, glanced at it, and without much fuss, assigned Henry Clark a small house at the foot of Cloud Hidden Peak as his place of cultivation. He also gave him a small-sized Qingyun Sect Daoist robe, a thin booklet of the Qingyun Qi Refining Manual, and a small, red, translucent stone about the size of a goose egg. This, he said, was a spirit stone used for cultivation. Then he sent Henry Clark off to the Magical Artifact Pavilion.

“Junior Brother Clark, don’t underestimate this spirit stone. Our future cultivation depends entirely on it. As outer disciples, our benefits are low—we only get one spirit stone every three months, so we treat them like treasures. In the mortal world, each one is worth a hundred gold coins…”

Seeing Henry Clark turning the spirit stone over and over in his hand, Fat Preacher spoke up.

“Only one every three months? This Daoist sect is so stingy!”

Henry Clark was a bit dissatisfied.

“Hey, these are cultivation resources. Getting one for free every three months is already good. It’s because our aptitude is low. Even among outer disciples, those with Ding-grade aptitude get one every three months, Bing-grade get one every two months, Yi-grade get one every month, and Jia-grade—now that’s something—get two every month. They’re the real rich ones…”

“Heh, it’s good to have rich folks around. Maybe I’ll rob them for two someday…”

“Junior brother, don’t mess around. Those Jia-grade disciples are not to be trifled with. If there’s any trouble, even if it’s clearly their fault, the elders will definitely punish us. If you want to earn a little extra, I can introduce you to a position in the Miscellaneous Affairs Office. As long as you work hard, you can get an extra spirit stone every three months—that’s double!”

“Haha, not really suitable for me, senior brother. Let me think about it!”

As they chatted, they arrived at the Magical Artifact Pavilion. Fat Preacher suddenly remembered something and whispered, “Junior Brother Clark, when you get to the Magical Artifact Pavilion, just obediently hand this spirit stone to the senior brother guarding the pavilion, and then, under his guidance, pick out a magical artifact…”

Henry Clark was taken aback and rolled his eyes. “Are you kidding? Only one spirit stone every three months, and I have to give it to them?”

Fat Preacher couldn’t help but laugh and cry. “This isn’t the time to be stingy! The Magical Artifact Pavilion in our Qingyun Sect’s outer sect is full of old items discarded by seniors—more than half are damaged. If you offer a tribute, the senior brothers guarding the pavilion will point you to a good one. If you don’t, they’ll ignore you completely. How would you know which ones are good and which are bad? These black-hearted guys often polish up broken flying swords until they shine, just to trick people…”

As he spoke, he took out his own sword talisman to show Henry Clark: “Look, back then I didn’t offer a tribute, so under their instigation, I picked this sword talisman. They said it could unleash sword energy equivalent to a fourth-level Lingqi cultivator. I thought I’d found a treasure and was overjoyed. Later, I found out it could only be used once. After that test, it was useless. I can’t throw it away, can’t keep it, and I’m left with nothing but regret. Now I just keep it as a memento…”

“Looks like you’re pretty useless yourself. No wonder you go around showing off among the Daoist children…”

Henry Clark grumbled about Fat Preacher in his heart, but smiled and said, “Thank you for the advice, senior brother. I understand!”

Fat Preacher didn’t follow him into the Magical Artifact Pavilion, waiting outside instead, while Henry Clark swaggered in by himself.

“How dare you! The Qingyun Sect Magical Artifact Pavilion is no place for idlers to wander!”

Suddenly, a loud shout startled Henry Clark. He saw three people emerge from beside the pavilion. The leader, a man in his thirties with two thin mustaches above his lip, was small and skinny—he looked even more like a rat than a rat spirit. His beady little eyes shone with a sharp light, and only now did Henry Clark understand why people said small eyes could focus light—this guy’s eyes really did gather quite a bit.