The morning sun cast a bright, cheerful glow across the cedar porch of Solitude Spire.
Felix Vance sat comfortably in his woven recliner, holding a steaming bowl of white rice congee topped with a generous scoop of pickled radish cubes.
He scooped up a spoonful of hot porridge with three crunchy cubes and slid it into his mouth.
*CRUNCH.*
The sound was as sharp and loud as a dry twig snapping underfoot.
The tangy rice vinegar cut cleanly through the starch, followed by a pleasant spark of chili oil and the sweet, crisp solar finish of the radish.
"Man," Felix whispered around his mouthful, eyes half-closed in bliss. "Ten out of ten. Great crunch. The chili vinegar brine was definitely the right play."
Beside him, his white porcelain Infinite Cozy Teacup rested at its eternal 68.5 degrees, sending up a faint coil of aromatic steam.
Beneath the short left table leg, Grandmaster Vivienne’s purple Sovereign Heart Seal held the table rock-steady.
Right beside the cup, the glowing fist-sized Soul-Pearl held down Felix’s notes on upcoming gacha banners.
Perched on his brass pole, Barnaby the clockwork owl stood silently, his black rubber stopper clamping down on the polished copper tip.
Inside his brass chest, his gears ticked with faithful precision: *tick... tick... tick...*
Down in the clover meadow, the Thunder Gryphon snoozed in leather sleep goggles, puffing tiny ozone rings.
Near the garden, the Sun-Lotus Cabbage kept the spire locked at sixty-nine degrees, while Lord Nether-Bane and his corsairs swept the gravel path in hemp aprons. Everything was in peaceful, quiet equilibrium.
Then, a deep brass horn echoed from the cloud sea.
Felix frowned, his spoon pausing midway to his mouth.
"What's that?" Felix grumbled. "Did someone turn on world event alerts? I thought I muted regional notifications."
Beyond the perimeter of the newly expanded three-square-mile field, the sea of white mist parted.
A colossal, three-decked flying cloud-galleon glided through the fog.
The ship was a floating fortress of lacquered mahogany and polished gold leaf, its crimson sails bearing the crest of a soaring golden griffin clutching a coin purse.
This was the flagship of the Golden Griffin Trade Guild—the wealthiest merchant syndicate in the Southern Heavens.
The galleon dropped anchor fifty yards outside the boundary, terrified of the heavy gravitational pressure radiating from Felix’s hidden Sol-Class core.
A gangplank lowered onto the black loam.
A dozen guards in gilded armor filed down, followed by eight porters carrying four ironbound chests that radiated multi-colored spiritual light.
Descending the gangplank with trembling steps was Lord Merchant Malakor.
Malakor was a round man with three chins, dressed in shimmering robes of sun-caterpillar silk, every finger weighed down with jade rings.
Despite the cool breeze, sweat poured down his face.
The instant his boots touched the black earth of the new field, Malakor’s breath caught in his throat.
The soil was warm, humming with primeval vitality that vibrated straight through his soles into his meridians.
"Merciful ancestors..." Malakor wheezed, eyes bulging at the dirt. "This is Primeval Void Loam! And they are using miles of it as a cabbage patch?!"
Lyra Ashford stepped down the porch steps, her silver rapier strapped to her waist.
Behind her, the Ghost King and ten corsairs fell in formation, gripping their brass hoes like palace guards.
Malakor hurried across the dark loam, dropping to his knees thirty paces from Lyra and pressing his forehead against the soil.
"Lord Merchant Malakor of the Golden Griffin Trade Guild greets the immortal fairy of Solitude Spire!" Malakor shouted, voice shaking with desperate hope. "We beg for an audience with the Supreme Solar Patriarch!"
Lyra looked down at the groveling merchant with detached calm.
"Senior Brother is eating his morning meal," Lyra said coolly. "He does not receive mortal merchants. State your business and depart, before your presence disturbs his peace."
Malakor lifted his sweaty face, gesturing frantically toward the four ironbound chests.
With loud clattering snaps, the porters threw open the heavy lids.
Blinding beams of azure, emerald, and violet light shot into the sky.
Each chest was packed to the brim with polished, top-grade spirit stones glowing with pure spiritual essence.
"Five million top-grade spirit stones!" Malakor pleaded, clasping his hands. "Along with three bottles of Void-Melting Elixir and tier-eight dragon marrow coral! Our guild brings our entire quarterly treasury to trade!"
Lyra’s expression remained indifferent. "Trade for what?"
Malakor swallowed hard.
"The news has swept across three provinces," Malakor whispered, eyes gleaming with desperation. "The Ten-Thousand-Year Sun Ginseng of Creation has matured upon this holy peak!"
He looked toward the center of the field, where the remaining stump of the giant golden radish still sat glowing in the dirt.
"Our Guild Patriarch lies upon his deathbed with withered meridians," Malakor wept, tears cutting lines through the grime on his cheeks. "We beg for merely one ounce of that celestial ginseng’s flesh to save our ancestor's life! We offer five million spirit stones and an eternal vassal treaty!"
Lyra looked at the chests of glowing stones, then back at the merchant with cool pity.
"Senior Brother does not sell his harvest," Lyra replied with absolute finality. "The divine root has already been harvested. The white flesh within was sliced and preserved for Senior Brother's personal breakfast congee. None of it is for sale."
Malakor’s heart plummeted into a dark abyss.
"Harvested for... breakfast congee?!" Malakor stammered, his soul shattering into fragments. "A ten-thousand-year primordial celestial ginseng... eaten with porridge?!"
The merchant felt as if the heavens had collapsed upon his skull.
Five million spirit stones meant nothing here.
They were eating the medicine of immortality as a casual morning snack!
Then, a sudden gust of wind blew across the garden fence.
A sharp, pungent aroma drifted into Malakor’s nostrils—damp earth, old coffee grounds, and sweet, crisp vegetable matter.
Malakor blinked, his merchant instincts twitching.
His gaze drifted to the wooden fence, twenty paces to his right.
There, beside an old wheelbarrow, was a battered wooden compost bucket filled with decaying cabbage leaves, onion skins, and potato peelings.
And resting right on top of that rotting mulch were three large, curling ribbons of discarded golden peel.
Malakor’s spiritual inspection swept over the bucket.
Instantly, his vision flashed pure, incandescent white.
The radiant veins running through those discarded peels flared in his spiritual vision like blazing celestial constellations!
First Epoch solar runes!
The unbroken sacred scriptures of the Primordial Golden Dragon!
The raw celestial vitality radiating from those discarded peels was so overwhelming that the air directly above the compost bucket shimmered with liquid golden mist!
This was the thick outer skin—the very vessel that had absorbed forty-eight hours of concentrated solar fire!
Malakor’s jaw dropped so wide it strained his jowls.
"The... the Golden Dragon Bark..." Malakor gasped, breath wheezing through his teeth. "The sacred scripture rind of the Sun Ginseng... it is sitting in... fertilizer?!"
Lyra raised an eyebrow, glancing toward the compost bucket.
"Those are merely discarded peelings," Lyra said dismissively. "Senior Brother deemed the outer skin too tough and fibrous. He tossed them aside to nourish next season's pumpkins."
Malakor let out a high-pitched, strangled shriek.
"Nourishment for pumpkins?!" Malakor screamed, scrambling forward on his knees, completely oblivious to the mud ruining his expensive robes. "You are feeding the holy scriptures of creation to squashes?!"
He stopped an inch before the bucket, trembling violently.
"Lady Ashford! Have mercy on our syndicate!" Malakor howled, beating his chest. "We do not dare ask for the holy flesh from the Patriarch's bowl! But the peelings! The discarded trash! Please, sell us the trash!"
Lyra frowned slightly. "You want to buy our kitchen scraps?"
"Yes! All of it!" Malakor begged hysterically, tears streaming into his mouth. "Take the five million spirit stones! Take our flying galleon! Just grant us three strips of those holy peelings from the compost bucket!"
Up on the cedar porch, Felix finished the last spoonful of his congee.
He set the empty bowl on the side table, took a sip of warm tea, and rested his arms on the porch railing.
He looked down at the yard, squinting against the bright morning light.
Down near the garden fence, a fat man dressed like a golden disco ball was kneeling in the mud, crying hysterically while hugging an old wooden compost bucket.
Beside the man sat four giant chests overflowing with glowing neon rocks, surrounded by thirty armed guards who looked ready to faint.
Felix blinked, completely deadpan.
He tapped the power notch on his obsidian AetherDeck, bringing up the Inspector HUD:
【Target: Lord Merchant Malakor】 【Status: Attempting to trade the gross domestic product of a kingdom for discarded vegetable trash.】 【Inspector Note: A wealthy merchant NPC whose pathfinding AI has completely broken. He has mistaken tough radish skin in your compost bin for an ancient divine relic. Feel free to exploit this broken barter mechanic immediately.】
Felix rubbed the bridge of his nose, letting out a heavy sigh.
"Unbelievable," Felix muttered to himself, shaking his head. "The economy in this sandbox is completely scuffed."
He looked at the four chests of glowing spirit stones.
Five million high-grade stones were worth enough cosmic idle currency to fund his AetherDeck energy reserves for an entire month.
And the guy was crying over three strips of vegetable skin that Felix had tossed in the trash because they were too chewy to pickle.
"Why is this weird NPC trying to buy my compost?" Felix muttered under his breath. "Are junk-collector side quests an actual thing in this expansion? The devs really need to fix the vendor trade tables."
Felix leaned over the porch railing and cupped his hands around his mouth.
"Hey!" Felix shouted down toward the garden.
The entire yard froze.
Malakor instantly clamped his mouth shut, eyes widening in sheer, terrified awe as he looked up at the figure on the porch.
The Supreme Solar Patriarch stood framed against the morning sky, wearing a simple hemp tunic, faded pants, and straw slippers, holding a white porcelain teacup in one hand.
The aura of boundless, terrifying stillness radiating from his relaxed frame made Malakor’s soul feel like an ant gazing upon a supernova.
"Hey, fat guy in the shiny bathrobe!" Felix called out, voice echoing lazily across the meadow. "If you want the garbage in that bucket, just take it and get off my lawn! Stop yelling down there, you're making too much noise while I'm trying to digest my breakfast!"
Malakor stared up at Felix, his mind completely numb.
*Just take it... and get off my lawn...*
The Supreme Patriarch surrendered the sacred peelings with a casual wave!
Five million top-grade stones were not worth a glance to him. He gave away immortality simply because someone was making noise outside!
"The boundless benevolence of the Solar Sovereign..." Malakor sobbed, bowing so hard his forehead dented the black loam. "He gives life to the dying as if discarding fallen leaves!"
Malakor scrambled to his feet, gesturing wildly to his guards.
"Leave the chests! Leave all five million stones! Leave the dragon coral!" Malakor roared in a frantic whisper. "Quickly, wrap the sacred peels in golden velvet and retreat! Do not breathe! Do not scrape a boot! If we disturb the Patriarch's digestion, the heavens will strike us down!"
The merchant guards carefully lifted the three glowing golden ribbons from the compost bucket with trembling hands, wrapping them in velvet cloths as if handling the beating hearts of gods.
They left the four chests of glowing spirit stones sitting in the clover, scrambling back up the gangplank with terrified haste.
Within two minutes, the gilded cloud-galleon raised its anchor and vanished into the northern mist at maximum speed.
Down in the field, Lyra Ashford stood looking at the four chests of gleaming spirit stones, then up at Senior Brother with deep admiration.
Up on the porch, Felix shook his head, finishing the last sip of his warm tea.
"Free five million currency just for letting some crazy NPC clean out my compost bin," Felix chuckled softly, setting his cup down beside the Soul-Pearl. "Easiest daily quest I've ever completed."
He pulled his straw hat down over his eyes, kicked his straw slippers off, and sank deep into his woven recliner.
Beside him, Barnaby's gears continued their faithful, rhythmic march: *tick... tick... tick...*
And within seconds, the Supreme Solar Patriarch was sound asleep, completely unconcerned with the five million fortune sitting in his yard.