Two Blue Stone Pillars, each thick enough for a man to wrap his arms around, soared into the clouds. Intricate, obscure cloud patterns were carved into them, with a faint glimmer of light shimmering across their surfaces.
With Yun Niang on his back, Chen Ping stood before the formation's light curtain at the entrance to the Market. An oppressive spiritual pressure washed over him, nearly taking his breath away.
Two young cultivators in gray Daoist robes sat cross-legged beneath the pillars. Their eyelids lifted slightly as their cold gazes swept over Chen Ping's dusty, travel-worn appearance, then settled on the Steel Saber at his waist, forged from ordinary iron. The corners of their mouths curled in faint, mocking smiles.
"To enter the Market, one Low-Grade Spirit Stone per person."
The Horse-Faced Cultivator on the left held out a hand, his tone as flat as if he were shooing away a fly.
Chen Ping stiffened.
His fingers, fumbling inside his clothes, touched the remnants of the half a Spirit Stone that had long since crumbled to dust. His fingertips involuntarily turned white.
That one and only Spirit Stone had been used up when he broke through to the first layer of Qi Refining. Now, aside from several thousand taels of mortal gold, he didn't have a single whole Spirit Stone to his name.
"Immortal Master, I've only just arrived, and I've run out of Spirit Stones..."
Chen Ping bowed low, his voice hoarse. "Could mortal gold or silver be exchanged for them?"
"Mortal gold and silver?"
The Horse-Faced Cultivator scoffed as though he'd heard some kind of joke.
"Such vulgar trinkets can only make you look rich among mortals. In the Market, gold is no more than a supplementary material for refining low-grade Magic Artifacts."
He raised a finger and wagged