Dimensional Storekeeper - Chapter 90

90: A Casual Stroll with Cultivator Drip 90: A Casual Stroll with Cultivator Drip Well, it was normal.

At least, in the Dimensional Convenience Store.

But in a regular pavilion like this, crystals were hardly ever used – unless the robes offered some kind of defensive formation or special enhancement.

The kind with spiritual thread woven in, or reinforced by beast hide, things meant for battle or important ceremonies.

Otherwise, coins were the standard.

After all, crystals were a direct resource used in cultivation.

A pure, condensed form of spiritual qi.

Most cultivators hoarded them like precious lifelines, counting every piece as a step closer to a breakthrough.

Burning them on clothes?

That was practically sinful in the eyes of most cultivators.

Which was why, as Huo Ming silently eyed the payment again, he came to a conclusion.

‘He must be some inner disciple from a hidden sect… probably from a faraway land.’ ‘That attire isn’t seen anywhere in this region.’ Huo Ming wasn’t just guessing either.

With years of experience watching people come and go, he could tell the outerwear Hao wore wasn’t ordinary, aside from its unique design.

The fabric had a soft sheen to it, not flashy, but refined.

The stitching was tight, straight, and precise – clearly done by expert hands.

It should be custom-made and quite pricey.

Even without any form of protection, they could still reach crystal-level costs.

Huo Ming smoothly handed over a thin jade slip.

A silvery rune shimmered faintly across its surface.

“This is for you, Young Master.” “If you visit this store again or one of our sister branches – show this.

You’ll receive a five percent discount.” Hao stopped for a bit.

“Oh.

Thanks.” He hadn’t expected a store in the cultivation world to already be using discount tactics.

But maybe this was typical.

It was his first time stepping outside the store, after all.

For all he knew, the market out here had long caught up.

The transaction was completed, and moments later, Hao stepped out of the changing room dressed in one of the new black robes.

It fit well.

Did he gain some aura points just by wearing it?

Maybe a passive buff in charisma?

If this were a game, his drip stat definitely just leveled up.

‘Nice.’ he thought, adjusting the collar.

‘No more weird stares.

Hopefully.’ Hao nodded at Kurome, and they exited the Jadeweave Pavilion.

‘Let’s see if this outfit actually makes me look like I belong here.’ They walked through the streets, and Hao didn’t feel the weight of anyone’s gaze anymore.

He was finally blending in!

He was tempted to laugh and clap for himself, but that might get him reported as a rogue cultivator who’d gone crazy from qi deviation.

They spent an hour just browsing through shops.

There was a stall selling spirit-forged hairpins said to hum when near danger.

Another displayed rows of rare herbs sealed in wooden boxes, each labeled with dramatic names like “Dragonbone Bloom” or “Thousand-Year Cold Vein.” At one forge, a shirtless blacksmith shaped flying swords with his bare hands, shouting at them like unruly disciples.

His assistant just sat on a stool, chewing grass and nodding solemnly after every insult.

Even a talisman vendor had set up shop, offering limited-edition charm packs.

If you bought ten, you’d get a “Mystery Talisman” that promised either great luck or… a sudden fart curse.

It all depended on the “winds of fate,” said the sign hanging above the stall.

“…” Hao squinted.

Was that just a poetic way to say it was a scam?

He was 90% sure the vendor made it up on the spot.

Hao didn’t really buy anything.

He was just a tourist, soaking in the sights, occasionally poking things he probably shouldn’t.

They didn’t wander too far.

Hao wanted to get back early in case the store needed him.

Ultimately, there was no rush to explore everything in one go.

So, he bought a meat skewer from a street vendor and headed back toward the store.

As Hao stared at the skewer, his stomach growled.

The meat was sizzling with a smoky aroma that made his mouth water.

The glaze on the meat glinted in the sunlight, making it look even more tempting.

Taking a bite, Hao was surprised.

The meat had a tender texture, soft enough to pull apart without effort, but still with a satisfying chew.

The taste was like a mix between lamb and pheasant – rich, slightly gamey, but smooth on the tongue.

Smoky undertones clung to the edges, layered with a sweet-spicy glaze that left a lingering warmth in his mouth.

It wasn’t wagyu.

But it didn’t need to be.

It had that open-fire taste, like it had been cooked over charcoal with care.

Juices dripped down the side of the skewer, and the crisped edges had a slight crunch that made each bite better than the last.

Hao nodded to himself.

It couldn’t beat a product from his store in terms of flavor, but it was a solid deal for the price.

Hao glanced at Kurome, offering her a piece.

She looked at him, then down at the skewer, and after a brief pause, accepted it with a small nod.

He tore off another chunk and lowered it toward Little Sneak.

The small rat sniffed, acting like he was above it all.

Nose lifted, tail swishing.

As if to say, “I don’t need leftovers.” Then the scent hit him.

The meat vanished from Hao’s hand in a blur of fur and teeth.

“You’re greedy, Chibisuke.” Hao muttered, blinking at his now-empty fingers.

“I didn’t even let go yet.” Chomp chomp chomp.

Little Sneak – now fully locked into munching mode – paused just long enough to speak.

‘Don’t chomp chomp think I’ve forgiven you slrp just ’cause you gave me something tasty.’ Snrk.

Crunch.

Mmf.

‘I nom nom still haven’t forgiven you.

munch munch I still not approved of you either.’ Scarf scarf.

Slrp.

‘But this is… acceptable tribute.’ He licked his paws slurp slurp, gave Hao a sideways glare, then turned around with a dramatic hmph and a flick of his tail.

A few minutes later, the three of them returned to the familiar dark alley where the store’s door awaited.

Seven steps in, they felt it.

It wasn’t killing intent.

Nor was it spiritual pressure.

Just the distinct, blatant feeling of someone following them.

Brazen.

Clumsy.

Loud.

Whoever it was… wasn’t even trying to hide.

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