Ghost Market

"Chenyang wood, water-suppressing patterns, seven nails in the Big Dipper formation—the one inside didn't pass on peacefully."

Chen Mo cupped his hands toward the group and continued, "It's just rare to see a coffin transported by water. Aren't you worried the jolting might disturb the guest?"

The old craftsman finally stopped his wiping motion.

He patted the coffin lid, producing a dull, hollow thud. "What needed to be settled has been settled. We are simply sending a guest back to their hometown."

"Young man, your eyes are sharp." The old craftsman slowly straightened his back and looked at Chen Mo. "Which trade are you in?"

"I just craft paper effigies, making a living as best I can." Chen Mo gestured toward his handcart. "Nothing compared to the craftsmanship of masters like you."

A strange glint flashed in the old craftsman's cloudy eyes. He re-examined the cart covered by a straw mat and nodded. "No wonder you could spot the technique. But the aura you carry, young man, doesn't look like you only craft ordinary golden boys and jade girls."

Chen Mo remained noncommittal, his gaze sweeping over the dust clinging to the young craftsmen—a color different from that of the Jin City area. It was the distinct red soil found further south.

"Coming from the south? The newspapers said there was a drought down there a few days ago."

The old craftsman sighed, looked left and right, and lowered his voice. "By the time we left the borders of Yongzhou, the riverbeds were dry enough to drive a carriage through."

A young craftsman nearby couldn't help but interject, "It wasn't a natural disaster. Something emerged from the earth and sucked the water veins dry."

"A Drought Demon?" Chen Mo slowly spat out the two words.

"You've heard of it too? Indeed. The elders are whispering about it in secret; they fear it's a Drought Demon."

The old craftsman looked at him deeply. "Once this thing appears, it's no longer a matter for just one or two counties. Along our journey, we've already seen several waves of refugees, dragging their families along, moving toward wherever there is still water."

"It won't be long before Linhe County is packed with refugees from the south."

Chen Mo's gaze tightened. "Is the situation already that dire?"

"It will only get worse." The wrinkles on the old craftsman's face deepened. He thought for a moment and added, "When we were passing through, we ran into a master who is also in your line of paper-crafting."

"The man's surname was Chen. He was traveling with a woman who looked quite frail and a sharp-witted girl of about ten."

"That Master Chen, were there any distinct features?" Chen Mo was momentarily stunned. Could it really be such a coincidence?

In the original owner's memories, Chen Dachuan had indeed headed south, only to vanish without a trace for over three months.

"Tall and thin, square-faced, thick eyebrows," the old craftsman recalled. "There was an old scar on the tip of his right eyebrow, and a deep claw mark running from the web of his left hand to his wrist. Yet, those hands were incredibly steady when working with paper."

Eyebrow scar, claw mark on the hand.

Chen Mo was speechless. The original owner was all too familiar with those two marks.

It was Chen Dachuan. Did he have a mistress on the side?

"Were they also heading to Linhe?" Chen Mo's expression was complicated.

As for this cheap father of the original owner, he couldn't say he felt any deep affection.

But since he had taken over the man's body and inherited his memories and karma, he couldn't exactly treat him like a stranger, could he?

"Yes, they took the land route, which is slower than ours. They should be arriving in Linhe County soon."

Linhe County, Funeral Street, Deliverance Studio, middle courtyard.

A travel-worn Chen Dachuan pushed open the courtyard gate, followed by the pale-faced Lady Liu and a clever-looking girl of six or seven.

The layout of the courtyard was no different from when he had left. Several bamboo frames for half-finished paper effigies were covered in cloth, looking lonely in the twilight.

"This is the place. It's a bit crude, but you and the girl can make do in that brat's room for tonight."

Chen Dachuan's voice carried exhaustion. Days of travel, coupled with a heavy heart, made him look much older than his actual age.

After settling Lady Liu and her daughter, he walked quickly to the room next door.

Pushing the door open, he walked straight to a black wooden cabinet in the corner and pulled out a key to open it.

The stack of spirit paper that had once been neatly piled inside was now reduced to a mere three thin sheets, lying forlornly at the bottom of the box.

"Only three sheets left?!"

Chen Dachuan's face twitched in agony. "That spendthrift brat! How long have I been gone? Did he use them to patch the windows or what?!"

He remembered there being a thick stack in the box when he left home.

That stack of spirit paper had cost him ten silver dollars; even he usually couldn't bear to use it.

He never expected that after one trip away, it would be squandered down to almost nothing.

"Truly, a son selling his father's land feels no pain!"

Chen Dachuan felt a tightness in his chest and slammed the cabinet door shut. "I'll deal with him when he gets back tonight!"

He took a deep breath to suppress his anger and stood up to head toward the storefront.

He wondered if the things in the cellar had been ravaged by that little rabbit as well.

In Jin City, the sky had not yet fully darkened, but the dim yellow streetlights were already flickering to life one after another.

A tram clattered past, kicking up a breeze mixed with the scent of coal smoke and a faint, lingering trace of perfume.

Neon signs flickered on the second floors of certain buildings, casting light upon the hurried silhouettes of passersby and the occasional black car driving past, carrying dignitaries with blurred faces inside.

It was a completely different world from the nights in Linhe County.

This was merely the outskirts of Jin City; it was said that the city center was even more bustling.

Chen Mo sighed with emotion for a moment, then pulled the cart covered with a straw mat, silently merging into the chaotic flow of people.

The gold and silver jewelry obtained from the Black Tiger Gang had already been exchanged for dark green banknotes printed with the name Bank of Communications, in various denominations.

In total, he had exchanged them for over two thousand two hundred silver dollars, which were hidden in a secret compartment close to his body.

Right now, the most scorching item on him was the package of Yin Soil, sealed tightly with oil paper and wax.

This item was of immense value and a hard currency on the black market, but it also carried the greatest risk.

Although Jin City was chaotic, the trade of Yin Soil was deeply entrenched and complex.

As a stranger unfamiliar with the territory, rashly seeking out a buyer could very likely invite unnecessary trouble.

If all else fails, I'll just take it to the Ghost Market to sell!

Chen Mo pondered for a moment, then pulled his cart into the deepening night, heading toward the White Bone Tower in the west of the city.

The further west he went, the more desolate and dilapidated the streets became; the streetlights were sparse and dim, and the houses on both sides grew low and aged.

The air's sense of urban vanity and restlessness gradually faded away.

The White Bone Tower was not a real tower, but rather a slightly elevated barren hill, named for its long history as an execution ground and mass grave.

It was said that the ground beneath was piled with bones, heavy with Yin energy.

Few people approached it even during the day, and at night, it became a forbidden place that the people of Jin City spoke of with terror.

Yet, precisely because of this, some illicit transactions chose to take place here.

Over time, it had formed a Ghost Market that circulated only within specific circles.

When Chen Mo arrived, the scarlet moon was obscured by thin clouds, casting only a dismal, blurred dark red moonlight.

The edges of the barren hill were filled with flickering shadows, and while many figures were moving about, they were exceptionally quiet.

Even when they spoke, their voices were kept extremely low, like ghostly whispers.

No one carried lanterns or torches; both buyers and sellers kept their faces covered, relying on dim flashlights to inspect items.

The goods traded here were mostly of unknown origin or forbidden nature.

Burial objects stolen from tombs, stolen goods from wealthy households, firearms scattered from the military, and even some strange, unorthodox medicinal herbs and talismans.