Making a Move

The cart wheels ground over the pitted dirt road, drawing a few furtive, probing glances.

But upon seeing the outline of the cargo covered by a straw mat, those gazes quickly shifted away.

Chen Mo, his face obscured by a cloth strip, found a spot in the shadow of a withered old locust tree to stop; it was inconspicuous, yet allowed him to observe most of the trading area.

He did not act immediately, merely leaning against the cart like an ordinary peddler waiting for a buyer, his eyes scanning the surroundings with calm detachment.

Transactions in the Ghost Market followed their own unwritten rules: no hawking, no revealing one's hand. If something caught your eye, you stepped close to whisper a price, and once the money and goods were exchanged, you parted ways immediately.

He saw someone trade a few silver dollars for a mud-stained bronze tripod, and others dealing in items wrapped in red cloth that faintly exuded a bloody stench.

Beyond the smell of earth, the air was also permeated with a cloying, sweet scent.

Sure enough, there was Yin Soil being traded here as well.

About half an hour passed.

A man with a thin, monkey-like frame, dressed in a black, front-buttoned short jacket, moved silently toward Chen Mo's cart.

He first circled at a distance, seemingly observing, before slowly approaching, his eyes glinting in the dim light.

"Brother, what are you hauling? You can't come to a place like this with an empty cart." The monkey-like man's voice was low, carrying a local Jin City accent.

"Just some local produce from the countryside, looking to trade for travel expenses." Chen Mo's voice was flat.

"Produce?" The man chuckled softly, his nose sniffing imperceptibly. "This smell doesn't resemble grain or vegetables. Mind letting me have a look?"

Chen Mo didn't move, merely glancing at him. "I know the rules, but are your eyes sharp enough? Don't look if you can't afford it; it only brings bad luck."

The man was provoked, yet he didn't get angry, instead leaning in closer. "Rest assured, brother. Anyone who does business at the White Bone Tower wouldn't last long without a keen eye and some guts. As long as the soil is good, I guarantee you'll be satisfied with the price."

Only then did Chen Mo turn slightly, lifting a corner of the straw mat to reveal a rectangular package sealed tightly with oil paper and wax.

He pressed his finger against a specific spot on the package, and a bit of black-brown substance seeped out from beneath the wax seal.

The man's eyes lit up instantly, like a hyena catching the scent of blood.

Borrowing the faint light, he carefully examined the quality of the paste, then leaned in to take a deep breath of that almost imperceptible, cloying sweetness, a look of satisfaction appearing on his face.

"Yin Soil? The quality is excellent... how much do you have, brother?"

"Not much, just enough to trade for a boat ticket heading south and some provisions for the road." Chen Mo gave an ambiguous figure.

"Fair enough!" The man rubbed his hands together. "At this weight... given the current market, I'll give you this much."

He extended his sleeve and made a gesture underneath—the standard way of bargaining in the Ghost Market.

Chen Mo took a look, shook his head, and extended his own sleeve to signal a slightly higher number.

The two engaged in a silent clash within their sleeves for a few rounds before finally reaching an agreement.

The man fished a small cloth bag from his bosom.

Chen Mo took it and felt the contents with his fingers; it contained crisp banknotes and a few small gold bars, the weight and value matching his estimates almost exactly.

He nodded and pulled the Yin Soil package from the bottom of the cart, handing it to the man.

The exchange happened in a flash, both men instinctively turning their bodies to block any potential prying eyes.

"You're a straightforward man, brother." The man quickly stuffed the package into a tattered burlap sack he had brought along. "If you have good stock in the future, come back here and just look for Night Cat."

Chen Mo made no promises, tucked the banknotes and gold bars into his inner pocket, pulled his cart, and turned to leave.

The man also immediately shouldered his sack and vanished into the shadows on the other side.

Transactions in the Ghost Market were clean and swift; no questions asked about origins, no questions asked about destinations.

Chen Mo circled the perimeter, securely hiding the banknotes and gold bars in a specially made secret pocket in his lining.

Seeing that no one was paying him any mind, he abandoned the cart and headed deeper into the Ghost Market from another direction.

The outer rim sold nothing more than antiques and cursed objects; the real treasures were never displayed in the open.

The further in he went, the narrower the path became.

On both sides were crumbling brick walls, and in front of the walls were dwellings constructed from thick, dark tarpaulins.

A two-meter-wide alley remained in the middle.

The light had all but vanished, save for the occasional green-bean-sized oil lamp lit by a stall owner, casting blurred outlines of the items on the tables.

The people here were even more silent, almost like stone statues.

Chen Mo's gaze swept over several stalls, where the goods were bizarre and varied.

There were copper coins with blackened edges, covered in runes, looking as if they had been pried from the mouths of corpses in a tomb.

Three withered, twig-like fingers with long, black, pointed nails were bound with red string, emitting a cold, sinister aura.

There were also those selling jars; the coarse clay mouths were sealed with mud, yet faint scratching and sobbing sounds seeped out. The stall owner sat with eyes closed, ignoring the noise entirely.

Chen Mo did not stop until he reached a corner.

The stall owner here was a hunched old man wrapped in a faded gray robe, huddled in the deepest shadow of the wall.

On the stall in front of him lay a few items.

A broken piece of animal bone wreathed in gray-white wisps, and several crystals with a dark red hue, their surfaces flowing with blood-like veins.

There were also a few grey-black stones of varying sizes, their surfaces rough and unremarkable.

"How much for the Red Sun Blood Crystal?" Chen Mo crouched before the stall, lowering his voice to ask.

According to the rules of the Ghost Market, one could not touch the goods without the stall owner's permission.

"Five hundred silver dollars per piece, no haggling, or trade for Yin-attributed materials."

So expensive!

His entire net worth was only enough to buy six pieces.

Chen Mo hesitated for a few seconds before taking the Resentful Bone fragments and Wraith Fluff from his cloth bag and placing them before the other party.

The old man lifted his eyelids to inspect the materials, then extended a withered, bony finger to nudge the dark red crystals, pushing six of them forward. "Only enough for these."

He nodded and collected the six Red Sun Blood Crystals, which felt warm to the touch.

The transaction was complete, and he should have left.

However, the chilling aura surrounding the old man, so distinct from that of ordinary cultivators, suggested he might know of methods or news regarding life extension.

At the very least, he could inquire about basic knowledge of the cultivation world, all of which Chen Mo lacked.

He steadied his mind, bowed once more, and carefully weighed his words: "Old sir, your knowledge is vast, and this junior dares to ask a bold question. Since the Red Moon, the spiritual energy of heaven and earth seems to have changed. May I ask if there is still a clear path forward? Or... is there another way to follow?"

Chen Mo asked with extreme caution.

The old man, who had kept his head bowed, lifted it by a fraction, almost imperceptibly.

Those grey, turbid eyes looked directly at Chen Mo for the first time under the cold light of the oil lamp.

The surrounding cold aura suddenly congealed, and the pale blue flame on the table shrank inward before slowly returning to normal.

The silence lasted far longer than before, and the old man's cracked lips moved slightly. "With the Red Moon hanging in the sky, the path of the Dao is severed."

He spoke the forbidden truth directly, his voice devoid of emotion. "The old ways of Qi Induction, Sha Condensation, and Foundation Establishment... they are nothing but ladders in a dream, long since burned to ash. Those who still wish to climb the ashes today are either madmen or dead men."

Chen Mo's heart shook violently; was the path of cultivation truly broken? Chen Dachuan had never told the original owner about these things.

The old man's grey eyes seemed to reflect no light as he continued: "Those who can still move today generally fall into a few categories."

"The first is to worship gods. Not the Orthodox Gods of the old heavenly court, but those things that, after the Red Moon, either by chance or by clinging to survival, can still absorb the power of incense and wishes."

"Trade with them, borrow their power, and become their sustenance. As for the price... it depends on the god's mood, and whether your life is tough enough."

"The second is body tempering. With spiritual energy severed, the potential of the physical body's blood and Qi has instead been unearthed by some. This path involves tempering the sinews and bones and stimulating the bloodline."

"This path is relatively orthodox, but it is also the most bitter, and yet..." The old man hesitated, leaving the rest unsaid, as if fearing something.

"There is another category."

His gaze seemed to sweep past Chen Mo, or perhaps toward a more distant void. "Sha-eaters."

"I am not very clear about this kind, only that their progress is extremely fast, and their power is often treacherous and vicious. But nine times out of ten, they meet a bad end, eventually turning into monsters that are neither human nor ghost."

"As for other more eccentric and bizarre paths, such as corpse refining, ghost raising, soul snatching, or studying ancient broken arrays and strange artifacts, they are merely desperate struggles of the lowest order, amounting to nothing."

After speaking, the old man lowered his gaze again, returning to his statue-like expression.

"Then, are there any paths or methods for extending life or restoring one's lifespan?"

Chen Mo could not help but press further...