Teacher by day, Farmer by passion Chapter 165: Man dies for wealth [1]

Pot Black, puffed up his chest like a rchant 'trying to sell sand in a desert', clasped his hands behind his back and paced with deliberate calm.

""Now, listen here, young man," Pot Black said in a tone reserved for explaining fire to caven. "One thousand taels of gold. Generous. Extrely generous."

Shan Yifeng narrowed his eyes. "Generous? Generous? We bet 50,000 gold coins! What you're giving isn't even two percent! That's not generosity—that's robbery with extra wordings!"

Pot Black raised a finger, as if about to give a sermon. "Now, now. Let's not get emotional. Let's try and understand values here."

He stopped in front of Shan Yifeng and leaned in slightly, eyes twinkling with confidence.

"Tell , Shan Yifeng… What's your favorite dish?"

Shan blinked. "What?"

"Your favorite dish, boy."

"…Spirit chicken?"

"Ah! Excellent choice." Pot Black clapped once, like he'd just proven a theorem. "Spirit chickens, very tender. Tastes just like regular chicken, doesn't it?"

Shan Yifeng frowned but nodded. "I guess?"

"Perfect. Now," he turned to his student, who had been doing an admirable job trying to camouflage into the background like a blade of grass in a field of fear.

With a single look from Pot Black, the poor boy straightened up like he had been struck by lightning.

"You! Price of one chicken?"

The boy swallowed, clutched his scroll tighter, and whispered, "T-Ten copper coins, Master…"

"Good, good!" Pot Black's grin grew smugger. "Now, how many chickens can you buy with 1,000 gold coins?"

He didn't wait for anyone to answer. "One million chickens! That's right! I'm offering you a million chickens, Shan Yifeng. A million! How many people ever get to eat a million chickens in a lifeti?"

Shan Yifeng didn't even blink. "Which ans fifty thousand gold would get fifty million chickens. Enough to start my own sect. The Cult of Cluck."

Pot Black's smile froze.

He muttered sothing under his breath only he could hear. "Damned smart-mouthed prodigies…"

Clearing his throat, he recovered. "Ahem. Well, regardless! Even if you are not a student of this academy, all winnings acquired within its grounds are subject to the standard Betting Tax, Inco Adjustnt Fee, and Legal Winner's Surcharge."

"Legal winner's surcharge—are you kidding ?!" Shan looked monts from breathing fire.

Shan Yifeng turned sharply to the boy. "Oi! Go and call the Duke's son. Tell him that Ace's second disciple is calling."

The boy froze.

Then he turned to look at his master, Pot Black.

The stare he received was… lethal.

A cold sweat broke down his back, and his knees buckled with a soft thud as he collapsed to the floor, face pale, voice quivering.

"Y-young Master Shan… P-please don't m-make choose between my l-loyalty and my life…"

Pot Black let out a long, theatrical sigh. "So dramatic."

Shan Yifeng growled. "I'm not asking for drama, I'm asking for my fifty thousand gold!"

"Then sue ," Pot Black said with a wink. "But we'll have to tax the legal proceedings, of course."

Shan Yifeng's eye twitched so violently it could've started a storm.

Just then, the door creaked open and in walked Milson Edinburgh, his hands in his sleeves, a lazy grin on his face.

"Milson!" Shan Yifeng called out, his tone lighter now, more relaxed.

"Your Lordship," Pot Black greeted quickly, his voice taking on a respectful, almost reverent tone.

He even bent slightly at the waist, like a man trying to bow and retreat at the sa ti.

anwhile, the unfortunate student couldn't take the tension anymore. With a soft thud, he slumped fully to the ground, having fainted on the spot. Face first.

Shan Yifeng glanced down at the unconscious kid and muttered, "He isn't exactly cultivator material…"

Milson chuckled and walked over, ruffling the kid's hair with fond amusent. "Little Shan, didn't we agree we would split the money since I vouched for the bet? And here you are, collecting it all by yourself."

He turned toward Shan with a smirk, but his tone was playful. Warm, even.

Despite the teasing, all Shan Yifeng could feel from Milson was genuine kindness, like an older brother poking fun just to make you smile.

"Ahem… well, they approached , so I just… went with the flow," Shan replied, scratching his cheek, slightly embarrassed.

Milson let out a hearty laugh and then with a smooth turn of the head, he locked eyes with Pot Black.

"So…" Milson said, smile still intact, "where's our fifty thousand taels of gold?"

Pot Black's mouth opened, but no sound ca out.

"And surely," Milson added, his voice still friendly, but now laced with sothing colder, sharper, "you wouldn't dream of scamming the Duke's only child… right?"

He stepped forward slightly. The temperature in the room seed to drop.

"I an," he continued casually, "I probably can't use my Dark Gold strength within city limits. But I can tell my father everything. And then, well… a certain soone might find themselves hunted down to the last corner of the empire."

Pot Black gulped audibly. His face paled.

"Wha—what do you an scam?" he said with a nervous chuckle, sweat starting to bead at his temples.

"I—I was just trying to explain how taxes work to this… this eager young man."

He looked around desperately for support that didn't exist.

"And, of course, it was all hypothetical! Completely hypothetical!" he added hastily, his voice cracking.

Shan Yifeng leaned back, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with amusent. "Well, you did call over. I assu it's because the money's ready?"

Milson didn't even try to hide his grin as he turned his head slowly back to Pot Black. "Yes… where's our money?"

Defeated, Pot Black let out the heaviest sigh of the day. He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a storage ring with a pained grimace, like he was surrendering his soul.

"It's not… exactly fifty thousand gold…" he muttered, reluctantly holding the ring out.

"But it has a Level 3 Formation Brush, worth at least thirty thousand and twenty-five thousand gold coins inside. That's… technically fifty-five."

Milson took the ring without hesitation and inspected it briefly.

Shan Yifeng leaned over with a smirk. "Oh, look at that… you can do math after all."

Then, under his breath, he muttered, "Trying to scam with that tax nonsense…"

"Huh? Wait, what?" Milson blinked, glancing at him. "There are taxes on bets though…"

Shan Yifeng rolled his eyes.