Chapter 13: Milk Skin, Milk Tofu
Fang Shu naturally wouldn’t disdain his Second Uncle just because of this scene in the Blood Refinement Hall, treating him as someone he’d never seen.
He simply didn’t want to reveal himself and acknowledge the other at such an embarrassing moment for his Second Uncle.
He silently noted his Second Uncle’s current appearance and attire.
Fang Shu then changed spots and asked around from others about the rumors regarding “Yu Lao Er.”
Some had heard of Second Uncle, some hadn’t, but when it came to the words “lying alive,” they all thought of a lazy bum who sold blood for a living.
Hearing this news, Fang Shu’s mood sank even further.
As he was lost in thought about this, three figures suddenly appeared beside him:
“What’re you thinking about, Fang Ge Er? Wait just a bit, old Lu will take you all to eat something good right away.”
These three figures were none other than Old Daoist Lu and his two companions.
They leaned against the corner of the wall, unfastened their belts to urinate, while excitedly chatting:
“How much money did you sell for?” “I sold for nine hundred coins!”
“Haha, that’s low, too low. I sold a full thousand, so the boat ticket money’s already back! This guy’s even bolder, damn it, he dared sell for twelve hundred coins.”
Hearing their conversation, Fang Shu was startled and quickly looked up at them.
He saw three ghastly pale faces right in front of him.
The group was urinating, their bodies swaying unsteadily, as if they might collapse to the ground any moment.
Especially that Old Daoist Lu.
This sight startled Fang Shu into suppressing his stray thoughts, standing up to approach them, pretending to help keep watch.
“Heh heh! No need, no need, we’re steady.”
Old Daoist Lu waved a hand at Fang Shu, propping his head against the wall himself to steady his body, legs spread apart.
Nearby, Yin Xiao Jian and Tian Tian Quan followed suit, acting just like drunkards.
After finishing urinating, the three were even more shaky, visibly weakened to the naked eye.
But their eyes were all excitedly bloodshot.
Seeing this, Fang Shu couldn’t help but sigh inwardly.
During the time waiting outside, besides inquiring about his Second Uncle, Fang Shu had also asked around or eavesdropped on matters related to selling blood.
If not counting discounts for selling blood, ordinary people supplementing household expenses would typically sell two hundred talisman money to four hundred talisman money worth of blood at a time, which did no major harm to the body and was even said to have benefits.
But if a single sale exceeded five hundred coins yet fell short of a thousand, it would harm the body, requiring rest and damaging one’s essence; if exceeding a thousand coins at once, one would need to lie in bed and take supplements and such to recover.
If exceeding fifteen hundred coins at once, one would faint or even suffer organ decay; if even more ruthless, exceeding two thousand coins at once, unless blood was immediately returned to the body, it was basically a “death.”
The three before Fang Shu, the lowest seller among them had sold nine hundred coins in one go, and even discounting the Blood Hall’s favoritism for newcomers, that was still over eight hundred coins worth of human blood, long since reaching the point of harming the body.
“All tough guys.” Fang Shu thought to himself, glancing at that Tian Tian Quan.
This guy was the highest among the three, the one who’d sold twelve hundred coins in one go.
As Fang Shu sighed for the three, Old Daoist Lu and the others were sighing for him:
“Why be stingy with your mortal blood, Fang Ge Er? New to the marketplace, you can’t get by without money.”
They shook their sleeves, coins jingling from their pockets, smug and proud.
The four didn’t linger long in front of the Blood Hall. Old Daoist Lu called out lightly:
“Let’s go! Brothers, we sold blood, time to eat it back.”
Fang Shu and the others followed the old Daoist deeper into the marketplace.
Not far along, they reached a street market with banners fluttering on both sides, just like a mortal world bazaar—rice shops, oil shops, tea and wine sellers, cries hawking nonstop.
But it was clear this wasn’t comparable to a mortal market, as the street had humans and beasts, even stray monsters wandering about.
The vendors burned not dry firewood for fuel, but ointment incense, or bone-like kindling that burned without smoke and gave off a strange fragrance.
Fang Shu walked along with the thick scent of incense in his mouth, wondering if he’d entered a prosperous temple.
“Come, come! After selling blood, the first bite must be blood too—that’s called supplementing form with form.”
Old Daoist Lu beckoned them to sit at a street-side stall, then slapped the table and chairs:
“Waiter, sheep blood sausage, pig blood soup, cow blood porridge—one set each for us brothers.”
“Right away.” The stall waiter responded.
In no time, the waiter performed like a magician, hands a blur, setting down twelve plates at once before Fang Shu and the others.
He wiped his hands with a towel, glanced at the group, and said with a cheerful smile:
“Our place is the old established name on this street. Plenty of dojo prodigies and sect disciples, back when they were hanging around here, came often to nourish their bodies.
Gentlemen, come back often.”
The waiter’s words immediately caught Fang Shu and the others’ attention:
“Sect disciples… come sell blood too?”
The waiter dusted his robe, holding back smugly:
“Who didn’t step here from the mortal world one step at a time? I see you gentlemen all carry immortal aura on your faces. If you join a sect later, remember to revisit your old haunts and patronize our business.”
Hearing this, Yin Xiao Jian, Old Daoist Lu, and the others hadn’t even started eating, but their pale faces flushed a bit, all grinning happily.
Once the waiter left, Old Daoist Lu hurriedly said, “Dig in, dig in.”
As soon as the words fell, the tabletop erupted in a clatter of dishes.
The three greedily chewed the blood sausages to bits, gulped down the blood soup, licked the blood porridge clean, as if this could really replenish the blood they’d sold.
Fang Shu also started eating right away.
But soon, disappointment showed in his eyes.
The stall’s blood sausages, duck blood, cow blood were fresh and of good quality, but carried no demonic energy or spiritual energy—just mortal blood and meat.
Still, he calmly ate all the milk food into his belly.
The stall’s portions were generous. Old Daoist Lu and the others finished with bellies bulging, belching nonstop, while Fang Shu seemed utterly composed, as if he hadn’t eaten.
Yet the plates before him were even cleaner than those of Old Daoist Lu and the rest.
They glanced at him in amazement but asked nothing.
Full and sated, Fang Shu thought they’d part ways, but Old Daoist Lu dragged them along, staggering down the street market:
“Blood sausage and soup just replenish blood—if you want health preservation, this place has top-notch milk skin and milk tofu for sale.”
They looked up, eyelids twitching.
For just one bowl of milk skin, the price wasn’t cheap, starting at fifty coins.
Before they could ask, the old Daoist smacked his lips and explained:
“This place is nicknamed ‘Blood Street,’ specializing in business for us blood sellers.
Any shop with a front here naturally won’t be like that last stall, just peddling pig, sheep, or cow blood—expensive for good reason.”
Fang Shu’s heart stirred. Looking at the plump, ripe women behind the milk shop, he hesitated:
“Brother Lu, do you mean…”
Old Daoist Lu clapped his hands with a smack, interrupting:
“Exactly! Human milk is the essence of all things—the milk skin and milk tofu here are all human milk!
From veteran wet nurses too—one portion of their milk equals one portion of our blood. Too bad we can’t produce the stuff ourselves.”
Words finished.
The guy rushed over excitedly, picked the most eye-catching milk shop beauty, chatted her up shamelessly, then beckoned the others.
“This stuff’s too pricey, brothers—if you wanna nourish yourselves, pay your own way.”
Old Daoist Lu grumbled, promptly buying a bowl of milk skin.
The milk shop beauty, around thirty, seeing them as newcomers, came out specially, shakily delivering the bowl of milk skin before the old Daoist.
Old Daoist Lu ate big mouthfuls, savoring it.
Finishing the whole bowl in gulps, he asked the milk shop beauty for a bowl of milk tofu.
This made Yin Xiao Jian and Tian Tian Quan swallow hard. After muttering, they dug out talisman money, each buying a bowl of milk skin and milk tofu, then swapping to eat.
Fang Shu stood by, smiling at them before turning to look at the street.
He’d already noticed the variety of blood foods here—not just blood sausages and human milk, but blood buns, blood pancakes, blood tofu, grilled blood maggots, blood silkworm pupae, blood wine, and more.
Anything blood-related was available.
He had no talisman money for human milk, but could trade his remaining pearl for some food.
Better than standing awkwardly by.
Old Daoist Lu noticed Fang Shu’s move. He looked at his uneaten milk tofu, face conflicted.
But in just a breath, Fang Shu had walked off.
When Fang Shu returned, he held a bowl of tofu made from some kind of blood, rich in blood scent.
The four squatted together by the street, watching the Immortal Market’s colorful crowds come and go.
“This Immortal Market… what a lively place…”
“Hey, milk tofu’s delicious!”
“We’re finally big shots too!”
In an instant, milk fragrance, blood scent, strange aromas, and the musky stench from their bodies mingled vividly, leaving the four tipsy as if drunk.
But even good feasts end, let alone for four chance-met seekers each with their own dreams.
Not long after.
Fang Shu was alone, strolling Blood Street, looking around.
After a loop.
Coincidentally, nearing the milk shop again, his eyelid twitched—he immediately looked toward the shop.
He saw someone chatting with the milk shop beauty, asking for milk food.
The man wore a faded Daoist robe, utterly poor-looking. Though back turned, Fang Shu wouldn’t mistake him—his Second Uncle!
Taking a deep breath, Fang Shu didn’t hesitate this time, striding forward before slowing.
Standing behind him, his throat slightly dry, he pondered how to greet.
Just then, Second Uncle turned around on his own.
Fang Shu instinctively stepped back.
But Second Uncle seemed to know, reaching to pat his shoulder while handing over a bowl with his other hand.
The bowl held half milk skin, half milk tofu, milk thicker than water, white and glossy.
Fang Shu looked up.
Second Uncle’s aged, pale face grinned at him.
