Hu Tao Is Monetizing My Existence. [82]

“I found it on top of Guyun Stone Forest. No idea why such a fine sword would be left stuck up there…”

“Stuck on top of Guyun Stone Forest? Now that’s strange,” said Old Zhang, the blacksmith, shaking his head in puzzlement.

A sword of this quality could easily be passed down for generations by ordinary folk, yet someone had just abandoned it atop a mountain, letting it rust away.

What kind of extravagance was that?

“Here’s your Mora. I’m heading off.”

After paying, Hu Tao went straight back to the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor.

She planned to show the sword to Zhongli—maybe he could uncover its secrets.

“Hehe, old man, I’m back again! Did you miss me?”

Hu Tao popped into the courtyard out of thin air. Zhongli, already long used to her antics, barely reacted.

“What is it this time?” he asked calmly, setting his teacup down.

Hu Tao scooted over with a grin and sat in her usual spot. “Can’t I drop by for no reason at all?”

“The Director rarely comes unless there is a purpose.”

Hu Tao puffed up her cheeks and huffed. “That’s slander! I came all this way, and the first thing I did was check on you. Isn’t that enough?”

Zhongli gave a quiet chuckle but didn’t answer.

When it came to dealing with Hu Tao, he had learned that the more you went along with her, the more spirited she became.

Sure enough, she immediately changed the subject and pulled out a large sword, placing it on the stone table.

“Take a look, old man—am I right about this?”

She tapped her fingers on the tabletop, eyes sparkling as she looked at him.

A little ghost floated out from her body, wrapping its arms around her head with only its eyes showing, blinking curiously at Zhongli.

He examined the greatsword before him, gently reaching out to touch the blade. After a moment, he gave a slight nod.

“You’re right, Director. This sword houses a slumbering soul.”

As his fingers traced along the blade, golden light flowed from his touch, coalescing into a translucent figure whose features were indistinct. The figure’s lower body was vague, and its arms stretched wide as if embracing the sky.

“This soul has existed for quite some time. It’s extremely weak now.”

Hu Tao had felt something inside the sword before—faint and fleeting, like a trick of the mind.

But after retrieving it from Old Zhang, the sensation had grown stronger.

Now, with Zhongli’s guidance, the soul within had been brought into view.

Staring at the faint figure, Hu Tao blinked and asked, puzzled, “Why would a soul be trapped inside a sword? Normally, when someone dies, don’t they go straight to the Boundary? Even if they don’t, and end up wandering the world… they shouldn’t be like this, right?”

The Boundary—the place where life and death meet.

The world of the living and the dead were two distinct realms, each existing in balance, never interfering with the other.

In Liyue, after death, a soul would follow the ley lines to the Boundary and cross into the underworld—a place meant for spirits. There, after purification, the soul would reincarnate as a pure, innocent newborn.

Of course, some spirits with powerful attachments would linger at the Boundary, waiting—perhaps for someone, or for some final message.

But over time, those souls would lose their senses, remembering only the obsession that tethered them.

As for souls that lingered in the mortal world, that required rare conditions.

Perhaps the person had died in a particularly inauspicious hour—under the influence of yin elements—allowing their soul to retain awareness. Or maybe they’d carried a spiritual artifact capable of nourishing the soul. Sometimes, the place where they died prevented the soul from reaching the Boundary at all.

Though rare, such cases did occur.

And when they did, they were Hu Tao’s responsibility to handle.

“Most likely, it’s due to an obsession,” Zhongli said, eyes on the flickering image atop the blade. The figure still held its skyward-reaching pose.

Perhaps this was the exact position he had died in—and perhaps, that very act had become the root of his lingering will.

When a soul fails to reach the Boundary, it slowly forgets its past, eventually becoming a wandering, aimless spirit.

Some pose no threat. But others, clinging too tightly to their obsessions, turn into malevolent spirits.

Such ghosts unconsciously attack the living, plaguing them with nightmares, draining their vitality, and sapping their strength. Long-term exposure could even lead to death.

This man had likely, through a strange twist of fate, died in such a way that his soul entered the sword—only to fall into slumber ever since.

But over time, exposed to sunlight, wind, and rain, even this slumbering soul had begun to fade. If she’d found it any later, it might’ve vanished completely.

“Let’s place the sword in the ancestral hall and nurture the soul for a while.”

“Got it.” Hu Tao nodded and carefully put the sword away.

She made her way to the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor’s ancestral hall, where memorial tablets of past Directors were arranged neatly—every one of them, from the first to the seventy-sixth, lined up in solemn order.

She placed the sword on a wooden rack, then took out three sticks of Soul-Nourishing Incense.

This incense wasn’t just any incense. The ability to nourish a weakened soul alone made it worth its weight in gold—let alone the fact that it was the official incense used during the Rite of Parting.

Add to that the rarity of its ingredients and the difficulty in crafting it—not to mention the few who actually knew how—and its value had skyrocketed. It was virtually impossible to find on the market.

But Hu Tao’s stash came from the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor’s own supply, so to her, it wasn’t all that precious.

She flicked her fingers, conjuring a small flame, and lit the incense. Then she bowed respectfully to the tablets and placed the incense sticks into the burner.

Thin wisps of smoke curled upward, filling the hall with a delicate, orchid-like fragrance—calming and serene.

The smoke gently wrapped around the sword, enveloping it completely, nurturing the frail soul within.

At this rate, by the same time tomorrow, the soul should be significantly restored.

Hu Tao left, satisfied.

Outside, the sun had set, but full darkness hadn’t yet fallen.

A deep blue sky stretched overhead, faint stars beginning to twinkle.

The moon had already emerged from behind the clouds, bathing the world in gentle silver light.

“Sun’s out, I bask in the sun~ Moon’s out, I bask in the moon~”

Hu Tao hummed as she stretched her arms above her head.

Tomorrow, she’d need to visit Granny Ping to craft the spiritual vessel. Tonight, she’d get a good rest.

The moon rose high into the center of the sky… then slowly began its descent.

…

The Northland Bank remained as quiet as ever.

The guards stood firm at their posts, alert to the slightest breeze or rustle.

Despite being the largest bank in Liyue Harbor, the Northland Bank wasn’t actually part of Liyue.

It belonged to the Fatui of Snezhnaya—and more specifically, to their Ninth Harbinger, Pantalone the Regrator.

To establish such a powerful foreign bank in Liyue as a non-native… the Harbinger’s capabilities were beyond question.

And yet recently, Yelan—an intelligence agent under Tianquan Ningguang—had unearthed a surprising truth about him.

This illustrious Harbinger of Snezhnaya… wasn’t Snezhnayan at all.

He was born and raised right here, in Liyue.

As for why a Liyue-born citizen would end up as an enforcer for Snezhnaya’s brutal Fatui… that, no one knew.

—

This is a fan translation of 胡桃拿我冲业绩 by 余溯. All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!