As evening fell, the mist around the outskirts of Taihang Market seemed to thicken, mingling with an indescribable stench of rot and mildew.
With Yun Niang on his back, Chen Ping trudged along the muddy paths of the Shantytown, one step sinking deep, the next barely finding purchase.
There was none of the dazzling array of formations that lit up the central district. Here, low, haphazard wooden shacks and stone huts crowded together like scabs on a ringworm-ridden scalp.
Most of the houses around them were in a sorry state. Some roofs were held together with nothing but a few scraps of blackened beast hide, which wailed mournfully whenever the cold wind blew.
Every now and then, Chen Ping spotted a few Rogue Cultivators meditating by the roadside. Most had sallow faces, ragged clothes, and hollow, numb eyes. They looked like walking corpses, drained of every last bit of vitality.
As Chen Ping passed, several gazes settled on the cheap Silver Bracelet around Yun Niang's wrist like vultures circling their prey. They only looked away dejectedly after sensing the faint but unmistakable fluctuations of a cultivator's magic power around Chen Ping.
Chen Ping tightened his hand beneath Yun Niang's thighs. His back was slightly bent, as though he were struggling, but every muscle in his body was already taut, and the short blade in his sleeve could slide into his palm at any moment.
After turning two corners, Chen Ping stopped in front of a stone house bearing a tattered sign that read "Rental Agency."
The room was dim. An old cultivator with a goatee half-reclined in a Grand Master Chair, rolling two iron walnuts around in his hand.
The old cultivator was only at the second level of Qi Refining. His drooping eyelids and shrewd, mercenary air spoke volumes.