Brick Kiln Black Market

He sighed, deciding not to press for further details on the war. Instead, he said to Zhang Shun, "Brother Shun, I must trouble you to keep an eye out for me. If any news comes from the front lines—especially regarding You Province—please let me know, regardless of whether it is good or bad."

Zhang Shun patted him on the shoulder and solemnly agreed, "Don't worry, Junior Brother Lin. If there is any news, I will be sure to tell you the moment I hear it."

Having stepped into the Skin Tempering Realm and brought his Iron Wire Fist to the level of pure mastery, Lin Qing could clearly feel his own strength growing.

His blood and qi were abundant, his skin and membranes were tough, and the force behind his strikes was far beyond what it had been in the past.

However, after sparring with his senior brothers at the martial arts hall and experiencing the thrill of that night at the docks, a thought remained firmly in his mind: fist and foot techniques were, in the end, only surface-level skills.

Once someone figured out his patterns, or if he encountered a desperate thug wielding a sharp blade, he would inevitably be at a disadvantage.

He recalled a common close-combat weapon from his past life: the brass knuckle.

The structure was simple, yet it could greatly enhance the destructive power of a punch. It was especially suited for a fierce and violent style like the Iron Wire Fist, and it was inconspicuous when worn on the hand, allowing for an unexpected strike at a critical moment.

But here in the Great Shun Dynasty, any blacksmith shop forging standard weapons like swords or sabers had to report to the government and keep official records.

Privately forging weapons was a serious crime.

Though a niche weapon like brass knuckles was not a sword or saber, its lethality could not be underestimated; openly asking a blacksmith to forge one carried significant risk.

After much thought, Lin Qing remembered a place his father, Lin Qing, had once mentioned in passing.

It was a black market located twenty miles southwest of Qingping County, hidden beneath a field of abandoned brick kilns.

His father had encountered all sorts of people while practicing medicine and gathering herbs, and he had visited the place once for a rare medicinal ingredient.

Upon returning, he had strictly forbidden Lin Qing from going near it, only vaguely mentioning the method of entry and the token required.

Now that he had reached the First Stage of cultivation and possessed a certain level of strength, he decided to go and investigate.

Relying on his memory, he drew a detailed structural diagram of the brass knuckles, adding a sharp blade to the tip and specifying that it be forged from refined iron with the edges ground to a razor's sharpness.

He named this slightly modified weapon the Kirin Spike.

The next day, he told his sister he was going on a long trip.

He left early, and after exiting the city, he saw many young masters and ladies in brocade robes, riding tall horses and surrounded by attendants, heading into the distance.

Along the road, he also saw many refugees setting up shacks and lighting fires to boil porridge with their children.

But the porridge in those pots contained only clear water and a few wild vegetables; there were barely any grains of rice to be seen.

In this world, there was no peace anywhere; once disaster struck, most people were forced to leave their homes.

Lin Qing changed his attire in a secluded thicket.

He covered his face with a black cloth and changed into a slightly worn, simple garment.

He proceeded with caution, avoiding the main roads.

There were other ragged travelers on the path, most of whom looked at others with wary eyes.

After nearly an hour, following his father's vague description, Lin Qing found the abandoned brick kilns, overgrown with weeds and collapsed.

On the way, he noticed a significant increase in masked figures moving in a hurry, most carrying swords or sabers and eyeing each other with suspicion.

Following the direction of the crowd, Lin Qing arrived at the side of a kiln that appeared completely collapsed.

He pushed aside the dense vines to reveal a wide dirt path leading underground.

Lin Qing moved forward carefully, passing many people, though no one spoke to each other.

Soon, a man-made underground cavern appeared before his eyes.

The cavern was vast, covering several thousand square meters.

The space inside was brightly lit and filled with shadows, yet it remained quiet.

A burly man guarding the entrance blocked his path.

"To enter the black market, you must pay an entry fee of one hundred wen."

"Understood."

Lin Qing counted out one hundred wen and handed it over.

The man took the money and tossed him a wooden token.

"When you leave, hand the token back to me. If it is missing, you must pay another hundred wen."

"Understood." Lin Qing nodded and tucked the token away.

Upon entering the black market, he saw rows of crude stalls and small rooms partitioned by cloth curtains, selling a wide variety of goods.

There were gleaming standard-issue crossbows, arrows, and even leather armor.

There were also so-called "great medicines" that emitted a pungent, medicinal scent.

Martial arts manuals, pills, and other such items were also not uncommon.

However, very few items here had clear price tags.

Most of the vendors had shifty eyes, revealing their cunning nature.

Lin Qing felt a shiver of apprehension; this place was exactly as his father had described—a lawless zone where dragons and snakes mingled together.

Along the way, people kept sidling up to him, whispering their wares.

"Young brother, care to take a look at this incomplete manual for the Golden Bell Cover?"

"Once mastered, you'll be impervious to blades and arrows!"

"Brother, a fresh arrival: the Northern Border Strong Bow. Three-stone draw, pierces a willow leaf from a hundred paces!"

"I've got secret elixirs leaked from the palace here—guaranteed to make you vigorous and unyielding..."

Lin Qing kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, either shaking his head slightly or simply ignoring them altogether.

He knew well that these people were cunning foxes, fluent in all manner of underworld jargon and slang.

If he were to rashly engage them or ask too many questions, he would easily expose himself as a greenhorn, and he would likely be picked clean to the bone before he knew it.

Soon, he found a blacksmith shop tucked away in a corner of the black market.

The shop was small, its furnace burning bright.

A burly man with a bare, muscular torso and a burn scar across his face was silently hammering a piece of red-hot iron, the ding-ding sounds ringing out rhythmically.

Lin Qing studied his face; if he wasn't mistaken, this man must have been a slave once, having somehow escaped and destroyed his slave brand.

Lin Qing couldn't think of any way to achieve that without killing the master's entire family.

He had intended to look for another smithy, but it seemed this was the only one in the entire black market.

With no other choice, Lin Qing waited for him to finish his work.

Only then did he step forward, lowering his voice: "Master, do you take custom orders?"

The burly man looked up, his murky eyes sweeping over Lin Qing, his voice raspy: "Let me see the item."

Lin Qing handed over the blueprint he had drawn for the Kirin Spike.

The man took it and examined it carefully, a flicker of surprise flashing in his eyes; clearly, he had never seen a weapon with such a design.

He pondered for a moment, then extended a hand as large as a palm-leaf fan: "Forged from refined iron, sharpened—the materials aren't worth much, but it will take a lot of effort."

"Five taels as a deposit, five taels upon completion. Come back at this hour in ten days."

Ten taels of silver—the price was far higher than ordinary ironware.

But Lin Qing knew there was no room for bargaining here, and the item was indeed labor-intensive.

He readily took out five taels of silver fragments and placed them in the man's hand: "Deal."

With the money and the blueprint handed over, Lin Qing felt a bit more at ease.

He began to wander through the black market.

The monthly profits from the pharmacy seemed substantial.

But to purchase martial manuals that cost dozens or hundreds of taels, powerful bows and crossbows, or the medicinal baths required for further body tempering, it was still a drop in the bucket.

He had to find a faster way to make money.

His gaze fell primarily on the stalls selling medicinal herbs.

The herbs in the black market were a mixed bag; some were of illicit origin, while others were rare finds picked by mountain folk who didn't know their true value.