The old Daoist seemed to sense his gaze and slowly opened his eyes.
His eyes were bright, black and white clearly distinct, without the murkiness peculiar to the things in the Ghost Market.
"A living person?" The old Daoist's voice was clear, like a mountain spring striking stone.
"Yes." Chen Mo nodded.
"Rare indeed."
The old Daoist said the same thing Zhao Bancheng had, then asked no further questions. He merely extended a hand, signaling for Chen Mo to look for himself.
Chen Mo pointed at the first brocade box. "How much for this Heavenly Thunder Talisman?"
The old Daoist glanced at the talisman, his tone even. "Two thousand dharma cash."
Two thousand.
Chen Mo's heart gave a thud.
That price was only two hundred cheaper than the cleaver he had sold.
The tool the Blade Lender relied on to make a living could only be exchanged for a one-use talisman like this.
"May I take a look?" Chen Mo asked.
The old Daoist nodded.
Chen Mo carefully lifted the brocade box and leaned closer to inspect it.
The talisman paper truly was not paper, but fine jade material—thin as a cicada's wing, yet exceptionally tough.
He lightly flicked it with his fingernail, and the talisman paper gave a crisp ring.
The runes upon it overlapped layer upon layer. Every stroke was smooth and natural, without the slightest hesitation or pause. It had clearly been drawn by a master.
He set down the brocade box and pointed to the Spirit-Calming Pill.
"What about this?"
"One thousand five hundred."
Chen Mo nearly lost his seat.
One thousand five hundred.
Together with the Heavenly Thunder Talisman, that was three thousand five hundred gone.
He had just made four thousand three hundred. After spending three hundred fifty on talisman paper and cinnabar, he