Selling Meat

Fang Yuan nodded in agreement, but he thought more highly of this shopkeeper who called himself Hu Lao San.

Only then did Fang Yuan realize how extraordinary this man was. His presence was fierce and capable, his temples slightly bulged,

his eyes were sharp and bright, and his voice was full of vigor when he spoke. He was clearly no ordinary merchant, but more like a trained fighter—perhaps even a Martial Artist!

Moreover, though his shop looked ordinary, it could easily take in wild boar meat worth two taels of silver,

and an Old Mountain Ginseng worth eighty taels of silver was displayed openly behind the counter!

One had to know that the county town was still over a hundred li away by rugged, difficult mountain roads, and this was a year of famine,

with no shortage of bandits, road tyrants, and starving refugees driven mad by hunger along the way.

Traveling with large sums of money or valuable goods was exceedingly dangerous.

Yet Hu Lao San dared to conduct such major business here.

Either he had an exceptionally reliable security network, or... he himself was strong enough to fear no petty scoundrels!

Either way, it showed that this man was far from simple.

"Thank you, Shopkeeper Hu. If I find any good goods in the future, I'll definitely come to you first." Fang Yuan clasped his hands, his tone carrying a little more solemnity.

He took another turn around Hu Lao San's shop. The goods here truly were far more plentiful than those in other stores.

"Shopkeeper, how much is this fine salt?" Fang Yuan asked, pointing at a small bag of snow-white salt crystals.

The coarse salt at home was black and astringent, with a bitter taste to it.

"Thirty coppers a jin," Hu Lao San quoted.

Fang Yuan clicked his tongue. It cost even more than meat, but thinking of the flavor it would bring to stir-fries and stews, he still gritted his teeth. "Give me two jin."

"And these chilies?" He spotted a small pile of shriveled but dark-red peppers.

"One hundred and fifty coppers per handful. Add some when stir-frying or stewing meat—it drives off the cold and brings out the flavor."

"I'll take a handful."

Finally, his gaze fell upon that bag of white rice. The grains were plump and white, a world apart from the yellowish brown rice and husks they had at home.

Liu Wanwan and Little Bean Sprout had not eaten a proper bowl of white rice in a long time.

"White rice... what's the price?"

"One dou for a hundred coppers," Hu Lao San said. "But this stuff is precious. We don't grow much around here; it's all shipped up from the south."

Fang Yuan calculated it. The wild boar meat had sold for two taels of silver, or two thousand coppers. Sixty coppers for salt and one hundred and fifty for chilies still left him with quite a bit.

He steeled himself. "Give me one dou of white rice!"

As Hu Lao San had the clerk weigh out the rice and pack the salt, he looked Fang Yuan over with a smile.

"Looks like you're improving the meals at home, brother. Seems you had quite a harvest."

Fang Yuan smiled as well. After paying, he said casually,

"My family's poor and worn-down. It's rare to have a little income, so I figured I'd let them have a taste of meat and oil too."

As he packed up his things, he asked as if without intent,

"Shopkeeper Hu, you've traveled far and wide and seen much. I often hear people talk about Martial Artists, saying their strength is terrifying. What exactly does that mean?"

At those words, Hu Lao San's hand, which had been wiping the counter, paused slightly. He raised his eyes and carefully swept his gaze over Fang Yuan,

lingering especially on his arms, whose lean outlines could still be seen beneath his cotton clothes, and on his steady stance.

He grinned, wearing an expression that said, just as I thought.

"I knew your gait and bearing didn't look like those of an ordinary farmer, brother. So you're a trained fighter too? Asking about this because you want to walk this road?"

Fang Yuan's heart tightened slightly. Shopkeeper Hu truly had a vicious eye. He neither admitted nor denied it, merely saying,

"I'm just curious. It sounds rather mysterious."

Hu Lao San did not press the matter. Taking a sip of coarse tea, he said,

"Martial Artists—if you call it mysterious, it is mysterious; if you call it simple, it is simple. What they train is a breath of blood and vitality!"

He extended a thick finger and tapped his own chest.

"An ordinary person's blood and vitality are loose and scattered, hidden within the five viscera and six bowels, nourishing things silently. But through specific methods and relentless tempering,

a Martial Artist can gather that scattered blood and vitality, refining it into a purer, more powerful force. That is the power of blood and vitality."

"The first threshold of entry is a First-grade Martial Artist." Hu Lao San's tone carried both longing and gravity.

"Once you cultivate your first thread of blood-and-vitality power, you've stepped across the threshold of the Martial Dao. Don't underestimate that single thread of blood and vitality.

It can make your strength, endurance, and speed far surpass those of ordinary people!

Normally, when a First-grade Martial Artist swings one arm, he possesses Thousand-jin strength! A dozen ordinary men wouldn't even be able to get close!"

Thousand-jin strength!

Fang Yuan's heart shook violently! He had only just begun cultivating and already felt much stronger, but he estimated that he had only three or four hundred jin of strength—still far from a thousand!

A First-grade Martial Artist really was formidable!

Seeing Fang Yuan's shocked expression, Hu Lao San smiled.

"What do you think? Impressive, right? But this road isn't easy to walk. You need cultivation methods, medicinal ingredients to nourish yourself,

and even more than that, you need unflagging tempering. If you can't endure that suffering, then you can only remain an ordinary person."

He paused, then added meaningfully,

"And great strength alone isn't enough. You need matching fighting techniques and killing moves to bring that strength out.

Otherwise, if you have nothing but brute force, you'll still suffer when you meet someone experienced and seasoned."

Fang Yuan silently committed this information to memory, gaining a clearer understanding of the world of Martial Artists.

He clasped his hands. "Thank you, Shopkeeper Hu, for clearing up my confusion. I've truly broadened my horizons."

Hu Lao San waved a hand. "Why be so polite? Just remember to come back and bring me business whenever you have good goods!"

Fang Yuan smiled and agreed. He hoisted the basket full of grain and daily necessities onto his back, carried the bolt of thick cloth in his hand, bade farewell once more, and left the general store.

This trip to the market had yielded far more than he had expected. Not only had he exchanged for urgently needed supplies and silver, he had also learned crucial information.

With longing for the Martial Dao and a faint sense of urgency in his heart, Fang Yuan quickened his pace toward home.

With the heavy basket on his back and goods in his hands, Fang Yuan did not leave the market immediately.

He noticed that as the sky turned completely dark, this Rural Market instead became even livelier.

More torches and lanterns were lit, illuminating faces weathered by wind, snow, and the struggle to survive.

Many stalls had clearly only just been set up, and their goods were more singular in kind,

mostly various mountain goods and pelts still carrying the smell of blood, as well as some ironware and miscellaneous objects of dubious origin that were not easy to speak of openly.

Both sides of each transaction kept their voices low and moved briskly, carrying an unspoken air of haste and secrecy.

He suddenly understood why this market had been set up at this fork in the road, far from any village. It was likely not merely for the convenience of nearby villages,

but because, at a deeper level, it leaned more toward being a Black Market itself.

Hunters brought in the day's catch to trade at night. Once traveling merchants collected the goods, they could transport them away during the night or before dawn, avoiding much official trouble and extortion.

This works out perfectly, Fang Yuan muttered inwardly.

Though this sort of environment was chaotic, it was also easier to buy things that were normally difficult to obtain.

With the heavy basket on his back and goods in his hands, Fang Yuan made his way through the increasingly clamorous Black Market.