Chapter 40: Ghost Market
Deep into the night, with moonlight hazy.
A few miles from Yanziwu, in a desolate mountain temple rarely known to anyone.
Yang Lu lowered his voice, coughed lightly twice, grabbed two handfuls of grasshoppers, didn’t light a fire to roast them, and stuffed them directly into his mouth.
These grasshoppers were plump and of excellent quality; in terms of supplementing Qi and Blood, they were in no way inferior to pills or dietary supplements.
A burst of crisp crackling sounds filled his mouth, as thick juice and grasshopper meat paste exploded together in Yang Lu’s mouth.
The taste wasn’t bad at all; instead, there was a fresh grassy fragrance.
It was just sticky.
Moments later,
Yang Lu’s face immediately became much ruddier, and all his injuries fully healed.
Actually, that day in the fierce battle with Lin Shou Zhuo and the others, Yang Lu had only sustained minor injuries.
But that mysterious lightness skill expert had given Yang Lu a huge psychological trauma.
After fleeing in shock, he feared that person might suddenly appear right behind him.
This was why he had fled all the way, changed his appearance, hidden in a remote corner, planning to return to Wuqing County once his injuries fully recovered.
“It’s just that the Azure Gang Yang Huo is lost; this is troublesome. The reason the paste fire supplies could bypass Nanhai Prefecture’s customs supervision was entirely due to that one Azure Gang Yang Huo…”
Yang Lu thought of this, his face showing worry.
Click, click…
Suddenly, steady footsteps came from outside the temple.
Yang Lu’s eyes sharpened.
Several breaths later,
A white-clothed swordsman appeared at the door, with sword-like eyebrows and starry eyes, carrying a long sword on his back.
“The moon is bright and stars are few, enduring wind and dew for meals. As I pass through this place, may I borrow lodging for one night?”
The white-clothed swordsman saw Yang Lu in the temple, stopped politely at the door, and revealed a row of bright shining teeth.
Yang Lu frowned.
This broken temple was hidden deep in vines and branches; in the past, aside from occasional woodcutters who rested here when entering the mountains, almost no one passed by.
However, with high skill comes boldness; Yang Lu wasn’t too worried.
“Help yourself.”
The white-clothed swordsman nodded lightly, entered the broken temple, didn’t light a fire, cleared a clean spot, then sat cross-legged alone opposite Yang Lu, hugging his sword.
He closed his eyes and nourished his spirit, silently circulating Qi and Blood.
Seeing this, Yang Lu slightly relaxed, and also entered meditation to regulate his breathing.
Time passed; outside the temple, insect chirps and bird calls continued endlessly.
Cock crowed three times; the sun was about to rise.
Yang Lu slowly opened his eyes, his vision focusing.
He saw a handsome jade-like face with eyes like dots of lacquer right in front of him, staring straight at him.
It was this white-clothed swordsman, who at some point had squatted in front of Yang Lu, silently observing him the whole time.
“Your body indeed carries the scent of Hibiscus Paste Fire.”
The white-clothed swordsman smiled coldly.
“Hm?!”
Yang Lu’s alertness surged; he gathered his Qi and Blood, thrust out a punch, thunder-like rumbling from his fist heart. Before even touching the white-clothed swordsman, it had already shaken the surrounding firewood and wood to scatter everywhere.
However, the white-clothed swordsman merely thrust out a light sword.
This sword was elusive, sometimes fast, sometimes slow.
In Yang Lu’s eyes, it seemed to come from all directions, every part of his body.
Nowhere to dodge, impossible to defend!
“Zhou Tian Liu Qi Sword, Guo Lu Society?!”
Yang Lu suddenly understood something, his pupils contracting sharply.
Sword light flashed and vanished.
Yang Lu stood like a statue, abruptly frozen in place.
Only after several breaths did a clear bloodline appear at his neck.
This one sword not only severed Yang Lu’s throat and shattered his internal organs, but even his regenerated ‘eye thief’ let out a wail and instantly perished.
Sickly Big Bug Yang Lu, dead.
“Bai Manlou, he only indirectly touched Hibiscus Paste Fire and didn’t burn and eat it; why take his life?”
A helpless voice came.
From outside the broken temple, from far to near, a figure swiftly approached and leaped into the temple.
It was a man wearing a rat-gray tattered jacket, thin build, with a bitter expression on his face.
This person glanced at Yang Lu’s corpse, his bitterness deepening.
“Alas, alas, a fine first-rate martial artist, cultivated with such hardship until now, killed for no reason!”
Bai Manlou stood up, turned his head, expression normal as he said,
“Hibiscus Paste Fire is a poison that brings calamity to the country and its people. Though it’s just a budding sign, we swordsmen cannot allow it to spread. Better to kill a hundred than let one go!”
Bai Manlou sheathed his sword, his tone stern,
“Anyone who has touched Hibiscus Paste Fire must die! The infamy, I, Bai, will bear it!”
The thin man, hearing this, was secretly shocked by Bai Manlou’s heavy killing intent, a flash of displeasure in his eyes.
He said with a bitter face,
“On this trip to the capital, we only aim to cut off the paste fire smuggling line from Nanhai Prefecture to the Capital City, and hand over the collected evidence of the Twelve Guilds colluding with foreigners to His Majesty the Emperor.
We seek no favor in the emperor’s heart, only a clear conscience; as for the rest, do not create extraneous complications.”
Bai Manlou looked strangely at the thin man and said,
“I’m not some killing maniac; it’s not like those two loaders from Jinmen…”
The two exchanged a few more quiet words, then left the broken temple one after the other.
While that corpse, who had been surrounded by stars in life and called Master Yang, lay on the ground like a blade of grass, ignored by all.
Night as dark as ink; mountain wind swept through treetops, making rustling whispers.
The two stood on a cliff, clothes fluttering.
In the distance, a county town, half dim, half bright, not yet prosperous.
And behind the county town, a hundred miles away, stood a grand city like a heavenly palace on earth.
Vermilion towers and painted pavilions hung with colorful lanterns, long streets like white silk, faint sounds of music floating in the air. Even from a hundred miles away, that majestic ancient aura could be clearly felt.
“The Sacred Dynasty’s Capital City… an ancient capital of thousands of years; who knows how many romantic figures have yearned to gather here.”
Bai Manlou’s eyes showed longing.
The thin man said bitterly: “Who knows how many filthy people and unjust matters.”
“Heh…”
Bai Manlou smiled, not wanting to say more, leaped off the cliff, his figure like a falcon skimming a cold pool, vanishing into shadows after a few breaths.
The thin man lingered in place for a moment, then also drifted like smoke and clouds toward Bai Manlou.
……
Banye Ferry Crossing, Ghost Market.
Even though it wasn’t his first time, Chen Shun’an remained cautious and reserved, draped in black clothes with a face mask, shoe pads padded high for disguise, fearing to reveal any physical features.
This Ghost Market was not far from Sancha River, situated on both sides of a stone bridge, with the turbulent river in between.
Many thieves came here to fence stolen goods, all doing business late at night; stall owners lit a horse lantern in front, with the wick twisted thin as a thread, just to keep buyers from seeing clearly.
Everything was sold: His Majesty the Emperor’s yellow jacket from his childhood, ashes left by immortals after sitting in meditation, self-striking clocks and mechanical watches from Nanhai Prefecture.
Cultivation methods, secret manuals, live refugees…
Anyway, each relied on their own eye; no guarantee of authenticity.
They packed up and left before dawn, coming and going without trace. Once something felt off, they’d dive into Sancha River; even first-rate experts were few willing to chase into the water.
Chen Shun’an didn’t even glance at the stalls on both sides, had no thought of bargaining or finding a bargain, and hurried forward with head down.
Mainly because back then, young and arrogant when he first entered the Ghost Market, he had taken heavy falls several times and been cheated.
So he resolved never to touch things from casual street vendors again.
Only go to those with fixed dens.
Clanging and clanking sounds of blacksmithing came.
Chen Shun’an arrived at an iron smithy built by the river; the shop was small, with one master craftsman and three or four apprentices, the room full of various weapons.
At the innermost part of the shopfront, a fire god shrine was enshrined, with incense smoke curling.
“Shopkeeper, I want a custom-made weapon.”
Chen Shun’an spoke lowly with pebbles in his mouth.
This master craftsman had a mysterious background, his weapon forging skill extremely high, in no way inferior to the great craftsmen in the military bureau who crafted armor, weapons, bows, arrows, boots, and such.
He had quite a reputation in this Ghost Market; as long as the price was right, he could even custom-forge top-grade precious weapons.
