Zhou Xuan wore blue robes without the slightest ripple of spiritual energy, looking like an ordinary mortal scholar.
He stopped, his gaze sweeping over the lowly rogue cultivators lying in the muddy water, and frowned slightly.
Ji Chen followed beside him, dressed as a servant in coarse gray clothes. He lowered his voice.
"Token Master, this place wasn't like this half a month ago. Back then, the rogue cultivators were brimming with enthusiasm. Thirty percent of the scrap sent to the Immortal-Burying Abyss every day came from this distribution hub. The Marketplace here stayed open all night, and hawkers selling scrap and pills could be heard everywhere."
Zhou Xuan said nothing and walked on. Blackish-red muddy water covered the bluestone path beneath his feet.
A shabby tea stall covered with a torn tarpaulin stood by the street.
Stones propped up several tables with missing legs, and the long benches were covered in grease and unidentified stains.
Zhou Xuan walked over, chose a reasonably clean table, and sat down.
The tea stall's owner was a scrawny old man with a badly hunched back. He brought over two bowls of tea in trepidation, his hands trembling so badly that he spilled quite a bit.
The tea was murky, with a few yellowed, inferior tea leaves floating in it, and smelled bitter and moldy.
Zhou Xuan lifted the coarse porcelain bowl, took a small sip, and set it down without expression.
Three rogue cultivators sat at the next table.
All three were wounded, and the edges of their dharma artifacts were curled. They huddled together, talking in low voices.
"We can't keep living like this." A man with a scar on his face gritted his teeth and slammed his fist against the tabletop with a dull thud.
"Yesterday, Old Li and I nearly