Before long, Song Miaozhu had absorbed all the nearby spiritual energy particles. By this point, the small box on the back of her e-bike could no longer hold all the folded paper lotuses she had made.
She had to retrieve a large plastic bag from under the seat to carry them all. However, there were still many places in the town rich with spiritual energy. Faced with the choice of returning to the paper shop to sleep or continuing to absorb the energy, she chose the latter.
She felt her mental state was still excellent, with no trace of drowsiness. Besides, it wasn't like she had to be at the Ghost Shop every night—she could check in remotely from the living world whenever she wanted.
Luckily, she knew the old town well. It didn't take her long to find a small alleyway free of surveillance cameras. She transferred the paper lotuses to the Ghost Shop's warehouse and made her way to the next location to continue folding and channeling spiritual energy.
Once the small crystal in her brow space was completely filled with crimson spiritual power, the newly absorbed energy began condensing into a second crystal. A single crystal, the size of a bean, now stood side by side with another.
When the second crystal fully formed, the adjoining surfaces of the two fused together, becoming a tiny rectangular prism.
At this point, Song Miaozhu was certain: this spiritual resurgence was different. There were no dantian meridians, no Qi Refining, Foundation Establishment, or Golden Core stages.
Spiritual energy entered her body, condensed slightly, and then solidified. The energy was stored entirely within the small crystals. The larger the crystal, the more spiritual power it could hold. The only thing she still didn't understand was the purpose of the beautiful seven-colored light gate floating in her brow space.
By the time she finished refining the second crystal, it was already dawn. Strangely, Song Miaozhu didn't feel tired at all. She simply hopped back on her electric scooter and headed to another untouched area to continue making paper offerings.
She repeated this cycle—folding for a while, moving to a new spot, folding again—until she had traveled from the north end of town to the south. Just as she was about to stop and pull out more paper, she heard the sound of a rolling shutter door opening nearby.
Song Miaozhu turned to look. "Wow, the breakfast shops are already opening?"
The shop owner stared at her in surprise. "Young lady, what kind of heartless company do you work for? You're up even earlier than us breakfast vendors?"
Song Miaozhu, who hadn't slept all night: "..."
"Cultivation—the most heartless workplace."
She checked the time. "Five in the morning already?"
Still full of energy, she was genuinely baffled. "Maybe it's because I've been circulating spiritual power through my body after each absorption?"
Though she wasn't sleepy, her stomach was starting to growl. She parked her scooter outside the breakfast shop—a small Chongqing noodle stall—and called out, "Boss, can I get a bowl of noodles? Add a fried egg, please!"
"Sure thing! Coming right up! Won't hold up your work schedule!"
The shopkeeper seemed to be in a good mood and even started offering unsolicited advice.
"There are plenty of jobs out there. But you only get one body, y'know? You young folks have options. Not like us old-timers…"
"You're absolutely right," Song Miaozhu replied sheepishly.
"I quit the workforce long ago."
As the owner got to work, no spiritual energy gathered around him. Based on how little the energy was drawn to him, his cooking skills were probably just average. When the noodles arrived, she took a bite and was pleasantly surprised—they were actually decent. Not as delicious as spirit-infused food, but definitely above average.
That could only mean one thing: the broth seasoning wasn't made by him.
A quick question confirmed it.
"My wife makes the seasoning. She's a native of Chongqing. She wakes up even earlier than me, prepares the broth, then goes back to sleep," the owner explained.
After breakfast, Song Miaozhu noticed more shops opening and early risers appearing on the streets. She knew she couldn't keep folding paper offerings in public during the day. At night, with no one around, she could work wherever she pleased. But doing it in broad daylight would just invite trouble.
When she returned to the paper shop, her three cats stared up at her with eyes full of judgment, clearly displeased with her overnight absence. She opened a can of wet food and filled their bowls to the brim. Only then did the cats finally leave her legs alone and stop meowing in protest.
To test whether circulating spiritual power really let her skip sleep without side effects, she decided not to rest after returning. Instead, she did a quick inventory of the previous night's earnings at the Ghost Shop's warehouse.
She used a remote-transfer technique to send all the subpar, unstable underworld currency into the Tiandi Bank's Treasure Basin, converting it into RMB. Nowadays, she stored most of her wealth in the underworld, only converting the poorest-quality spirit money into cash.
"Money is money, but hell coins is tied to afterlife longevity—way more stable than RMB."
Rumor had it that prices in the underworld hadn't changed in over a thousand years. With the spiritual resurgence, who knew how the mortal world's economy would be affected?
Ancient texts mentioned that cultivators used a different currency from mortals—something called spirit stones.
Still, even with her current strategy, her Wealth Vault account now held over 6 million yuan. After subtracting the remaining balance due for her ancestral home's renovations, she still had more than 5.78 million left.
Good thing the Treasure Bowl handled the transfers—otherwise, that kind of balance change would've triggered all sorts of financial red flags. Fortunately, she had nothing to worry about.
No matter how much money appeared in her account, everyone around her just assumed it came from an inheritance. Like now—she'd spent a fortune restoring her old family home and fixing the mountain road leading to it, and not a single person in town questioned where her money came from.
She only found out what people were saying when she overheard two old ladies gossiping in the street one day.
"Truly the underworld's only legitimate bank—privacy protection at its finest!"
The ghost shop's treasury, including last night's earnings, now held a whopping 7.21 million in hell coins.
She'd only taken over the shop a little over a month ago, but already her savings—both earthly and ghostly—were in excellent shape. That said, the Ghost Shop's former days of long queues and overwhelming demand were over.
Now that Xu Jingsi and Mao Jinxia had officially joined the team, they took alternating shifts—six hours each. The shop was now open 24/7, with regular restocking. Ghost customers came at all hours.
After a massive spike in sales during Qingming Festival, business had started to taper off and recently stabilized again.
Including large custom orders, daily revenue now hovered around 250,000 hell coins.