A Strange World

Two days later, Shanghai International Convention and Exhibition Center.

Sunlight glinted off the glass curtain wall, reflecting a blinding glare. People streamed in and out of the entrance: businessmen in suits, reporters with cameras, and old men and women carrying cloth bags. A huge red banner hung above the main doors: "The 15th International Traditional Chinese Medicine Expo."

Ning Rongrong stood at the entrance, craning her neck to stare for a long while.

"This is the place?"

Zhang Mo nodded and pulled two invitations from his pocket.

Ning Rongrong took one and turned it over in her hands. It was made of thick paper, with gold lettering and her name printed on it—well, the fake name Zhang Mo had arranged for her in advance.

"Will this get us in?" she asked.

"It will," Zhang Mo said.

The two of them followed the crowd inside.

People were queuing at security. Some put their bags on the conveyor belt, while others walked through the metal detector. Ning Rongrong stared nervously at the gate and tugged on Zhang Mo's sleeve, asking in a quiet voice:

"What's 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. She breathed a sigh of relief, then looked back at it, amazed.

Once inside the exhibition hall, she froze.

It was enormous.

The hall stretched farther than the eye could see, packed with countless booths and people. Every sort of smell hung in the air—fragrant, foul, sweet, bitter—all mixed together until her nose began to itch.

"A-all of this is medicinal herbs?" she asked softly.

"Exhibitors from all over the country, and from overseas too," Zhang Mo said with a nod.

Ning Rongrong didn't know where to look.

On the left, someone was slicing a giant reishi mushroom. On the right, someone was stewing a pot of something black and murky. Up ahead, someone was shouting into a megaphone, while a strong medicinal fragrance drifted from behind them.

She took a deep breath and sneezed.

Zhang Mo handed her a tissue.

She wiped her nose, then suddenly spotted a booth that caught her attention.

A long line had formed in front of it. People held little paper cups, waiting to receive something. She went over for a closer look. There was a large pot filled with dark brown liquid, bubbling away.

"What's this...?"

"Taste testing," someone beside her said. "Free samples of health tea."

Ning Rongrong didn't understand what "taste testing" meant, but the liquid's sweet fragrance caught her nose, and her eyes lit up.

She turned to Zhang Mo.

He didn't say anything. He went over, took two cups, and handed one to her.

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

It was warm and sweet, with a hint of bitterness that the sweetness quickly overwhelmed. She drained the cup, then licked her lips, still wanting more.

"Delicious."

Zhang Mo handed her his cup too.

Ning Rongrong took it and drank a couple of mouthfuls. Then, as if something had just occurred to her, she looked up at him.

"Aren't you going to drink?"

"You drink it," Zhang Mo said.

Ning Rongrong paused, then lowered her head and kept drinking.

Her ears had turned a little red.

The two of them continued farther into the hall.

The deeper they went, the more precious the herbs became. The display cases held all kinds of strange things: reishi mushrooms as big as fists, ginseng as thick as arms, black Polygonum Multiflorum, as well as deer antler, musk, and bezoar. Ning Rongrong recognized most of them.

She leaned over a display case and stared at a ginseng root for a long time.

It was as thick as a child's arm, with all its rootlets intact. The price tag read: three million.

Her mouth fell open. She turned to Zhang Mo.

"T-this thing is worth three million?"

Zhang Mo nodded. "Wild ginseng, over a hundred years old. That price isn't even high."

Ning Rongrong stared at the ginseng, then looked at Zhang Mo and asked in a quiet voice:

"Where I come from, hundred-year-old ginseng is valuable too, but it isn't this expensive."

"Spiritual energy is scarce in this world," Zhang Mo said. "Wild ginseng that's a hundred years old is almost extinct."

Ning Rongrong considered this.

After a moment, she asked, "Then how much is that Polygonum Multiflorum of yours worth?"

"Two hundred thousand when I bought it. If I put it up for auction now, it might fetch twice that."

Ning Rongrong's eyes widened.

She looked down at the white dress she was wearing—the one Zhang Mo had bought for her. It seemed to have cost only a few hundred.

Suddenly, she thought the people of this world were quite strange. They were willing to spend hundreds of thousands on a black, gnarled root, but weren't willing to spend that much on a few dresses.

As they reached a corner, Ning Rongrong suddenly stopped.

Up ahead was a small booth, pitifully shabby beside the lavishly decorated ones around it. An old table covered with a piece of blue cloth held several black, gnarled things. A thin old man sat beside it, dressed in a faded Mao suit, dozing with his eyes closed.

But Ning Rongrong couldn't take her eyes off the black things on the table.

She could sense something inside them.

It was faint, but it was there.

She tugged at Zhang Mo's sleeve.

Zhang Mo followed her gaze and froze for a moment.

He walked over, crouched down, and studied the things carefully.

They were several roots of different sizes and irregular shapes. Their surfaces were wrinkled, and their color was black with a purplish tinge. They looked no different from ordinary medicinal herbs.

But he could sense it too.

That faint, almost imperceptible fluctuation.

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

"Sir, how much are these?"

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

"Not for sale."

Zhang Mo paused.

"They're just here for show," the old man said. "I dug them up in the mountains and kept them for myself."

Zhang Mo fell silent for a few seconds, then took the Millennium Fleeceflower from his pocket.

"I'll trade you this for them."

The old man opened his eyes. When he saw the thing in Zhang Mo's hand, his pupils contracted slightly.

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

"May I take a look?"

Zhang Mo handed it to him.

The old man turned it over and over, held it up to his nose to smell, then carefully licked it with the tip of his tongue.

His expression changed.

"This..." He looked up at Zhang Mo. "Where did you get it?"

"It's been in my family for generations," Zhang Mo said.

The old man watched him for a few seconds, then lowered his gaze to the Polygonum Multiflorum in his hands.

Only after a long silence did he speak:

"You want to trade this for my few roots?"

Zhang Mo nodded.

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

"I won't trade."

Zhang Mo froze.

"This is far too precious. My few roots aren't worth it." He paused, then added, "If you really want one, I'll give you one."

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

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

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

The old man smiled, his face wrinkling into a mass of creases.

"Young man, I can tell you know your stuff," he said. "I dug those roots up deep in Changbai Mountain. There was a snake guarding them, and it nearly bit me. These things have a spirit. They can recognize people. Take it home and care for it. Who knows? It might one day amount to something."

Zhang Mo took the root and fell silent for a few seconds. Then he said:

"Thank you."

The old man waved him off and closed his eyes again.

Ning Rongrong watched the whole exchange, her eyes wide as saucers.

Only after they had walked some distance away did she ask quietly:

"What kind of person was that?"

"I don't know," Zhang Mo said. "But he's definitely no ordinary man."

He lowered his eyes to the root in his hand. It was a little smaller than his fist, blackish-purple, and warm to the touch.

Its fluctuation was stronger than that of his Polygonum Multiflorum.

Ning Rongrong leaned over to take a look, then suddenly said:

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

Zhang Mo thought for a moment, then tucked the root into his pocket.

"He would."

Ning Rongrong's eyes lit up.

"Then we could use it 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, something suddenly occurred to her.

"But," she said, "if he comes, how are we supposed to fight him?"

Zhang Mo didn't answer.

He glanced at the densely packed crowds around them.

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

He looked away and said quietly:

"First, we get him away from here."

Ning Rongrong paused.

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

Ning Rongrong followed his gaze, watching the crowds moving to and fro. Suddenly, she understood.

She nodded.

The two of them continued on.

But after a while, Ning Rongrong suddenly stopped.

Zhang Mo turned to look at her.

She stood rooted to the spot, staring in one direction amid the crowd. Her expression changed.

Zhang Mo followed her gaze—

A man stood among the crowd.

He was six-foot-three, broad-shouldered and burly, with a thick beard. He wore a black martial outfit that stood out against the people around him. A long spear was strapped to his back, wrapped in cloth so that only part of the shaft was visible.

He stood in front of a display case, staring motionlessly at a thousand-year-old reishi mushroom with a price tag of eight million.

Zhang Mo's pupils contracted slightly.

Ning Rongrong tugged at his sleeve, her hand trembling.

"Y-Yang Wudi..."

Zhang Mo took her hand.

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

Ning Rongrong took a deep breath and nodded.

The two of them slowly backed away, retreating behind a pillar.

Zhang Mo leaned out just enough to watch that direction.

Yang Wudi was still standing there, staring at the reishi mushroom.

After a while, he reached out to take it.

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

Yang Wudi frowned. "I want this herb. How much?"

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

Yang Wudi froze. "What's an auction?"

People nearby began to laugh.

Yang Wudi's face darkened.

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

Yang Wudi glared. "I called dibs first!"

The fat man smiled. "You don't know the rules of an auction, do you?"

Yang Wudi's hand closed around the shaft of the spear on his back.

Zhang Mo's heart skipped a beat.

He glanced at the densely packed crowd around him, then at the hand Yang Wudi had wrapped around his spear.

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

Ning Rongrong tried to grab him, but she couldn't stop him.

All she could do was watch helplessly as he walked toward that dangerous man.

By the time Zhang Mo reached Yang Wudi, the fat man was still laughing.

"Five million, cash. If you can offer more, the lingzhi is yours." The fat man looked Yang Wudi up and down, his eyes full of contempt. "But looking at you, can you even afford five million?"

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

Everyone around them sensed something was wrong and took a few steps back. Ordinary people couldn't feel the pressure radiating from Yang Wudi, but instinct told them he was dangerous.

Zhang Mo stepped between the two men, blocking Yang Wudi's view.

He said to the fat man, "My friend, go have a look somewhere else first. We can talk about this lingzhi later."

The fat man glanced at him, then at Yang Wudi behind him. He snorted and turned away.

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

Zhang Mo turned around and looked at him.

"That lingzhi," he said. "You want it?"

Yang Wudi pulled his gaze away from the fat man and fixed it on Zhang Mo.

He studied Zhang Mo for several seconds, his eyes sharp enough to pierce right through him.

"Who are you?"

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

Yang Wudi frowned.

Zhang Mo continued, "I can tell you know your herbs. The way you looked at that lingzhi just now was different from the way those people who only care about the price looked at it."

Yang Wudi paused.

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

Yang Wudi stared at him in silence for several seconds, then released his grip on the spear shaft.

"Lead the way."

Zhang Mo turned and headed out.

Yang Wudi followed behind him.

As they passed a pillar, Zhang Mo glanced to the side. Ning Rongrong was hiding behind it, her face pale as she stared fixedly at him.

He gave a slight shake of his head.

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

The two of them made their way through the crowd to a relatively quiet corner of the exhibition hall. There were fewer people here, and only a handful of stalls selling ordinary medicinal herbs.

Zhang Mo stopped and turned to face Yang Wudi.

Yang Wudi looked back at him.

They stared at each other for several seconds before Yang Wudi spoke first.

"Who are you?"

"Zhang Mo. I'm from this world."

Yang Wudi frowned. "This world?"

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

Yang Wudi's expression changed.

His hand closed around the spear shaft again.

"How do you know?"

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

Yang Wudi stared at him, his gaze growing more and more dangerous.

"Who are you, really?"

"I told you, I'm from this world. But I have something that lets me know these things."

He pointed to his right eye.

Yang Wudi stared at his right eye for several seconds, then suddenly said, "There's a trace of Soul Power on you. Faint, but it's there."

Zhang Mo paused.

"You're not a Soul Master, but you have Spirit Bones. More than one, too."

Zhang Mo was silent for several seconds, then nodded.

"I killed two people. I took them from their bodies."

Yang Wudi narrowed his eyes.

"You killed Soul Masters?"

"They tried to kill me. I acted in self-defense."

Yang Wudi studied him for a long time.

Then he suddenly laughed.

The smile was brief, but genuine.

"Interesting," he said. "A man with no Soul Power killed two Soul Masters. A Spirit Saint and a Spirit Emperor."

Zhang Mo said nothing.

"You know who I am, and you still dared to come over here alone. You've got guts."

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