A Strange World

Two days later, Shanghai International Exhibition Center.

Sunlight shone onto the glass curtain wall, reflecting a blinding glare. People came and went at the entrance: businessmen in suits, reporters carrying cameras, and elderly folks clutching cloth bags. A massive red banner hung above the main entrance: "The 15th International Traditional Chinese Medicine Expo."

Ning Rongrong stood at the entrance, craning her neck to look for a long time.

"This is it?"

Zhang Mo nodded and pulled two invitations from his pocket.

Ning Rongrong took one, turning it over and over. The invitation was made of heavy cardstock with gold-stamped lettering, printed with her name—or rather, the alias Zhang Mo had arranged for her in advance.

"Can this thing get us in?" she asked.

"Yes," Zhang Mo said.

The two of them followed the flow of the crowd inside.

There was a line at the security checkpoint; some people placed their bags on the conveyor belt, while others walked through the metal detector. Ning Rongrong stared nervously at the gate, tugging on Zhang Mo's sleeve as she whispered:

"What is that?"

"A security gate," Zhang Mo said. "It's fine, just walk through."

When it was their turn, Ning Rongrong steeled herself and walked through. The gate didn't beep, so she let out a sigh of relief, looking back with a sense of wonder.

Once inside the exhibition hall, she was stunned.

It was too big.

An exhibition hall that seemed to stretch on forever, packed with dense rows of booths and countless people. The air was filled with all sorts of scents—fragrant, foul, sweet, and bitter, all mixed together, making her nose itch.

"Are... are these all medicinal herbs?" she asked in a low voice.

Zhang Mo nodded. "Exhibitors from all over the country, and from abroad as well."

Ning Rongrong didn't know where to look.

To her left, someone was slicing a massive Lingzhi mushroom; to her right, someone was stewing a pot of something pitch-black; ahead, someone was shouting through a megaphone; and from behind, a rich, medicinal aroma drifted over.

She took a deep breath and sneezed.

Zhang Mo handed her a tissue.

She wiped her nose, suddenly drawn to a particular booth.

A long line had formed in front of it, with people holding small paper cups, waiting to receive something. She leaned in to look—it was a large pot filled with a dark brown liquid, bubbling away.

"This is..."

"A tasting," someone nearby said. "Free samples of health tea."

Ning Rongrong didn't understand what a "tasting" was, but she smelled the sweet fragrance wafting from the liquid, and her eyes lit up.

She turned to look at Zhang Mo.

Zhang Mo didn't say anything; he walked over, grabbed two cups, and handed one to her.

Ning Rongrong took the paper cup and cautiously took a sip.

It was warm and sweet, with a hint of bitterness that was quickly masked by the sweetness. She finished it in one go and licked her lips, wanting more.

"Delicious."

Zhang Mo handed her his cup as well.

Ning Rongrong took it, drank a few sips, then suddenly remembered something and looked up at him.

"Aren't you drinking?"

"You drink it," Zhang Mo said.

Ning Rongrong paused for a moment, then lowered her head and continued drinking.

Her ears were a little red.

The two continued walking deeper inside.

The further in they went, the more precious the herbs became. The display cases held all sorts of strange and exotic items—Lingzhi mushrooms the size of fists, ginseng roots as thick as an arm, dark Polygonum Multiflorum, as well as deer antler, musk, and bezoar. Ning Rongrong didn't recognize most of them.

She pressed herself against a display case, staring at a ginseng root inside for a long time.

That ginseng was as thick as a child's arm with intact root hairs, and the price tag read: three million.

She gasped, her mouth agape, and looked back at Zhang Mo.

"This... this thing is worth three million?"

Zhang Mo nodded. "Wild mountain ginseng, over a hundred years old. That price isn't considered expensive."

Ning Rongrong stared at the ginseng, then back at Zhang Mo, and whispered:

"Where we come from, hundred-year-old ginseng is valuable, but not this expensive."

"In this world, spiritual energy is thin," Zhang Mo said. "Hundred-year-old wild mountain ginseng is nearly extinct."

Ning Rongrong looked thoughtful.

After a moment, she asked, "Then that piece of Polygonum Multiflorum you have, how much is it worth?"

Zhang Mo said, "It cost two hundred thousand when I bought it. If I take it to an auction now, it might double in value."

Ning Rongrong widened her eyes.

She looked down at the white dress she was wearing—bought by Zhang Mo, which seemed to have cost only a few hundred.

She suddenly felt that the people in this world were quite strange. They were willing to spend hundreds of thousands on a black, shriveled tree root, yet they were stingy when it came to a few dresses.

Walking to a corner, Ning Rongrong suddenly stopped in her tracks.

In front of them was a small booth, which looked pitifully shabby compared to the luxuriously decorated booths surrounding it. There was an old table covered with a piece of blue cloth, displaying a few black, lump-like objects. Beside it sat a thin, withered old man wearing a faded Zhongshan suit, eyes closed as he dozed off.

But Ning Rongrong stared at those black objects on the table, unable to look away.

She could feel that there was something inside them.

It was very faint, but it definitely existed.

She tugged on Zhang Mo's sleeve.

Zhang Mo followed her gaze and was stunned for a moment.

He walked over, crouched down, and examined the objects carefully.

There were a few rhizomes of varying sizes and irregular shapes. Their surfaces were wrinkled, and the color was a purplish black. They looked no different from ordinary medicinal herbs.

But he could feel it too.

That faint, elusive fluctuation.

He looked up at the dozing old man and asked softly:

"Old sir, how are these sold?"

The old man opened his eyes, glanced at him, and closed them again.

"Not for sale."

Zhang Mo was taken aback.

The old man said, "I just put them out for fun. Dug them up in the mountains, keeping them for myself."

Zhang Mo was silent for a few seconds, then pulled the thousand-year-old Polygonum Multiflorum from his pocket.

"I'll trade this for them."

The old man opened his eyes, glanced at the object in his hand, and his pupils constricted slightly.

He stared at the Polygonum Multiflorum for a long time, then slowly reached out his hand.

"May I take a look?"

Zhang Mo handed it to him.

The old man took the Polygonum Multiflorum, turned it over and over, brought it to his nose to sniff, and finally stuck out his tongue to lick it lightly.

His expression changed.

"This..." He looked up, staring at Zhang Mo, "Where did you get this?"

Zhang Mo said, "It's a family heirloom."

The old man stared at him for a few seconds, then looked back down at the Polygonum Multiflorum in his hand.

After a long silence, he finally spoke:

"You want to trade for these few pieces of mine?"

Zhang Mo nodded.

The old man thought for a moment, then handed the Polygonum Multiflorum back to him.

"No trade."

Zhang Mo was stunned.

The old man said, "This thing is too precious; my few pieces aren't worth it." He paused, then added, "If you really want one, I'll give you one."

He picked up the smallest piece from the table and handed it to Zhang Mo.

"Take it. Consider it a gesture of friendship."

Zhang Mo looked at the rhizome, then at the old man.

The old man smiled, his wrinkles bunching together.

"Young man, I can tell you understand this stuff," he said. "Those pieces of mine were dug up deep in Changbai Mountain. When I dug them up, there was a snake guarding them that almost bit me. This thing has a spirit and can recognize its owner. Take it back and nurture it well; it might just grow into something significant."

Zhang Mo took the rhizome, was silent for a few seconds, and then said:

"Thank you."

The old man waved his hand and continued to close his eyes for a nap.

Ning Rongrong watched this scene from the side, her eyes wide with astonishment.

Once they had walked a distance away, she asked in a low voice:

"That person... who is he?"

Zhang Mo shook his head: "I don't know. But it's definitely not simple."

He looked down at the root in his hand. It was a little smaller than his fist, dark purple, and felt warm to the touch.

That fluctuation was even stronger than his Polygonum Multiflorum.

Ning Rongrong leaned in to look, and suddenly said:

"Zhang Mo, if Yang Wudi saw this, do you think he'd go crazy?"

Zhang Mo thought for a moment and put the root into his pocket.

"He would."

Ning Rongrong's eyes lit up.

"Then we can use this to lure him?"

Zhang Mo nodded: "With both of them, he definitely won't be able to resist."

Ning Rongrong smiled.

But as she smiled, she suddenly remembered something.

"But," she said, "if he comes, how will we fight?"

Zhang Mo didn't speak.

He looked around at the dense crowd.

The exhibition hall was bustling with noise, filled with ordinary people. There were old people, children, and young mothers pushing strollers.

He withdrew his gaze and said softly:

"Let's get him out of here first."

Ning Rongrong was stunned for a moment.

Zhang Mo said: "There are too many people here. We can't fight here."

Ning Rongrong followed his gaze, looking at the people coming and going, and suddenly understood.

She nodded.

The two continued to walk forward.

But after walking for a while, Ning Rongrong suddenly stopped.

Zhang Mo looked back at her.

She stood still, staring in one direction within the crowd, her expression changed.

Zhang Mo followed her gaze—

In the crowd stood a man.

He was over six feet tall, broad-shouldered and burly, with a full beard. He wore black tight-fitting clothes, completely out of place with the people around him. A long spear was strapped to his back, wrapped in cloth, with only a section of the spear shaft exposed.

He stood in front of a display case, staring motionlessly at a thousand-year-old Ganoderma lucidum priced at eight million.

Zhang Mo's pupils contracted slightly.

Ning Rongrong tugged at his sleeve, her hand trembling.

"Yang... Yang Wudi..."

Zhang Mo took her hand.

"Don't panic," he said in a low voice. "He hasn't noticed us yet."

Ning Rongrong took a deep breath and nodded.

The two slowly retreated, moving behind a pillar.

Zhang Mo poked half his face out, staring in that direction.

Yang Wudi was still standing there, staring at the Ganoderma lucidum.

After a while, he reached out, intending to take it.

A staff member stopped him: "Sir, this is an exhibit, you can't touch it."

Yang Wudi frowned: "I want this medicine. How much?"

The staff member explained: "This is an exhibit, it's not for sale. If you want to buy, you can go to the auction area."

Yang Wudi was taken aback: "What is an auction?"

People around him chuckled.

Yang Wudi's expression darkened.

A fat man in a suit walked over, looked at the Ganoderma lucidum, and said: "Sir, I'll buy this Ganoderma lucidum for five million."

Yang Wudi glared: "I asked for it first!"

The fat man smiled: "Don't you understand the rules of auction?"

Yang Wudi's hand gripped the spear shaft on his back.

Zhang Mo's heart skipped a beat.

He looked at the dense crowd around them, then at Yang Wudi's hand gripping the spear.

Then he let go of Ning Rongrong's hand and walked out from behind the pillar.

Ning Rongrong tried to pull him back, but couldn't.

She could only watch him walk towards that dangerous man.

When Zhang Mo reached Yang Wudi's side, the fat man was still laughing.

"Five million, cash. If you can offer more, this Ganoderma lucidum is yours." The fat man sized up Yang Wudi, a look of disdain in his eyes. "But judging by your appearance, can you even afford five million?"

Yang Wudi's hand gripped the spear shaft, his knuckles turning white.

The surrounding people felt something was wrong and took a few steps back. The aura emanating from Yang Wudi was imperceptible to ordinary people, but it instinctively made them feel danger.

Zhang Mo stood between the two, blocking Yang Wudi's line of sight.

He said to the fat man, "Friend, please look elsewhere for now. We'll discuss this Ganoderma lucidum later."

The fat man glanced at him, then at Yang Wudi behind him, snorted, and turned to leave.

Yang Wudi stared at the fat man's retreating back, his hand still gripping the spear shaft.

Zhang Mo turned around and looked at him.

"That Ganoderma lucidum," he said, "you want it?"

Yang Wudi's gaze shifted from the fat man to Zhang Mo.

He stared at Zhang Mo for a few seconds, his eyes sharp enough to pierce through him.

"Who are you?"

Zhang Mo replied, "Someone interested in medicinal herbs."

Yang Wudi frowned.

Zhang Mo continued, "I can tell you understand medicine. The way you looked at that Ganoderma lucidum just now was different from those who only cared about the price."

Yang Wudi was taken aback.

Zhang Mo said, "This isn't a place to talk. Shall we find somewhere else?"

Yang Wudi stared at him, silent for a few seconds, then loosened his grip on the spear shaft.

"Lead the way."

Zhang Mo turned and walked out.

Yang Wudi followed him.

As they passed a pillar, Zhang Mo glanced sideways. Ning Rongrong was hiding behind it, her face pale, staring intently at him.

He shook his head slightly.

Ning Rongrong bit her lip and shrank back behind the pillar.

The two walked through the crowd to a relatively quiet corner of the exhibition hall. There were fewer people here, with only a few booths selling ordinary medicinal herbs.

Zhang Mo stopped and turned to face Yang Wudi.

Yang Wudi also looked at him.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, and Yang Wudi spoke first:

"Who are you?"

Zhang Mo said, "Zhang Mo. A person from this world."

Yang Wudi frowned, "This world?"

Zhang Mo nodded, "You're not from this world. You came from Douluo Continent."

Yang Wudi's eyes changed.

His hand gripped the spear shaft again.

"How do you know?"

Zhang Mo said, "I know more than that. I also know who you are—the patriarch of the Breaking Clan, Yang Wudi."

Yang Wudi stared at him, his gaze becoming increasingly dangerous.

"Who exactly are you?"

Zhang Mo said, "I told you, a person from this world. But I have something that allows me to know these things."

He pointed to his right eye.

Yang Wudi stared at his right eye for a few seconds, then suddenly said, "You have the aura of Spirit Power on you. Very faint, but it's there."

Zhang Mo was taken aback.

Yang Wudi said, "You're not a Spirit Master, but you have Spirit Bones. And more than one."

Zhang Mo remained silent for a few seconds, then nodded.

"I killed two people. I took these from them."

Yang Wudi's eyes narrowed.

"You have killed Spirit Masters?"

Zhang Mo said, "They wanted to kill me. It was self-defense."

Yang Wudi stared at him for a long time.

Then, he suddenly smiled.

The smile was brief, but genuine.

"Interesting," he said. "A person without Spirit Power, killing two Spirit Masters. A Spirit Saint and a Spirit Emperor."

Zhang Mo did not speak.

Yang Wudi said, "You know who I am, yet you dared to come here alone. You have quite the nerve."

Zhang Mo said, "I have something you want."