Return to the Dark Market

The night had grown rather late.

Chen Chong glanced out the window. The sky was gloomy, with clouds hanging low and tightly blotting out the moonlight.

Scattered lights flickered uncertainly in the wind in the distance, casting small halos of dim yellow that only made the surroundings seem darker.

Wind slipped in through the cracks in the window, carrying a damp, chilly wetness.

Chen Chong pushed open the door and headed toward the Dark Market.

Curled-up figures could be seen everywhere along the roadside.

By the walls, beneath the eaves, under the trees—one after another, wrapped in tattered rags and scraps of stuffing scavenged from who knew where. Some had half a straw mat over them; others simply huddled in the lee of someone else's body.

Their faces could not be seen, only clusters of pitch-black silhouettes. Now and then, an infant's cry rose from some corner, only to be quickly muffled.

Occasionally, he could also hear bursts of commotion.

It seemed another conflict had broken out in an alley in the distance.

Curses, shoving, and the crisp crash of something breaking mixed together and drifted over on the night wind, too indistinct to make out clearly. A constable's gong sounded once from afar, then fell silent again.

Chen Chong recalled when he had first come here with Chen Qian.

Back then, Chen Qian had not known the way either. She had led him around turn after turn, taking quite a few pointless detours.

They passed an abandoned ancestral hall, circled a dry well, and crossed narrow alleys, stopping and starting as they confirmed their bearings.

But at that time, the streets had still appeared peaceful. Though the shops had their shutters up, lanterns hung outside their doors; though the alleys were dark, people occasionally passed through them with unhurried footsteps; though beggars sometimes huddled by the walls, they came only in twos and threes, not packed together as densely as they were now.

The Dingshan County of that time had still resembled a city. Now, it resembled a cage crammed full of people.

Gathering his thoughts, Chen Chong stepped into the Dark Market once more.

The Dark Market's entrance was still that inconspicuous little house, and the guards were still those same two indifferent men.

The illuminating jade stones in the underground passage still gave off their soft white glow, and the corridor remained just as broad. Once inside the market, the streets were clean, the atmosphere beside them bustling—vendors shouted their wares, buyers haggled over prices, lights blazed brightly, and people flowed back and forth.

Compared to the Dark Market, the lives of those outside seemed even darker.

Chen Chong headed straight toward the back. When he reached that stall and looked up, he froze for a moment.

The person sitting behind the stall was no longer that old man with short, grizzled hair. It was a middle-aged man.

He was thirty-five or thirty-six, with somewhat long hair draped over his shoulders. It did not look messy; rather, it gave him an unrestrained air, with something of a wandering rogue about him.

His face was lean, his cheekbones high, and short stubble covered his chin. His eyes were small but exceptionally bright, like two fragments of starlight.

He wore a faded blue-gray robe, its sleeves rolled up to reveal sturdy forearms. A rawhide cord was wound around his left wrist, with a copper coin tied to it.

Puzzled, Chen Chong took out the box the old man had given him last time and handed it over.

To them, the box was a token.

The different boxes and the special markings upon them were understood only by their own people.

This box had been given by that old man last time. The carved cloud patterns carried particular significance; anyone in the know could tell at a glance that it belonged to a distinguished customer.

The middle-aged man took the box, turned it over, and looked at the hidden mark on the bottom. His expression instantly grew solemn.

He looked Chen Chong over again, his gaze gaining a measure of seriousness.

Those are all primary ingredients for the Jade Marrow Essence-Coalescing Pill. This customer is no simple man. Anyone who can produce this box and afford to order these medicinal ingredients is no ordinary person.

As he put away the box, the man took several more boxes from beneath the counter and opened them one by one. Inside were the medicinal ingredients Chen Chong needed.

Earth Marrow Essence Milk, Nine-Jointed Jade Ginseng, and Profound Frost Grass, all sorted into categories and wrapped neatly.

Chen Chong casually asked where the old man from last time was.

"He? He died." The middle-aged man spoke calmly, as if discussing something unrelated to himself. "Your order carried some weight, so he went to gather the herbs personally. Profound Frost Grass grows on damp, shadowy cliff faces. His foot slipped while climbing, and he fell. His internal organs were injured. The cost of treatment was rather high."

Chen Chong fell silent for a moment.

That old man who squinted his eyes and said, "I don't accept inferior pills," was simply gone.

He nodded, took four bottles of True Martial Pills from his sleeve, and set them on the counter.

"Do you take these?"

The middle-aged man opened one bottle and brought it close to smell it. His eyes lit up.

The dark-gold pills shimmered with flowing patterns of light, and their medicinal fragrance was rich and potent.

"Of course, of course." He nodded repeatedly, his smile deepening the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

There were ten True Martial Pills in each bottle, forty pills in all.

In the Dark Market, one True Martial Pill could sell for three taels of silver. Forty pills came to one hundred and twenty taels. The Earth Marrow Essence Milk and Nine-Jointed Jade Ginseng Chen Chong wanted were precious, but together they were worth about that much.

"Keep collecting the medicinal ingredients for me," Chen Chong said evenly. "I'll come by and check when I have time."

The middle-aged man agreed again and again. With practiced movements, he wrapped up the ingredients, then took a banknote from his robes and handed it over. Chen Chong accepted it and looked it over. It was a note from Dingshan Bank, worth fifty taels, redeemable upon presentation.

He narrowed his eyes. This was the first time he had come into contact with such a thing.

Before, he had sold pills to World-Aiding Hall day by day, and they had paid him directly in silver. Broken silver, copper coins, silver ingots—heavy, tangible things he could touch. This sheet of paper was light as air, yet it could be exchanged for fifty taels.

Chen Chong tucked it into his robes and turned to leave.

Just as he was nearing the Dark Market's exit, a figure caught Chen Chong's attention.

The figure was lean and quick-stepping, with their face covered so that only a pair of eyes was visible. Dressed all in black and blending into the Dark Market's crowd, the person should not have stood out.

But Chen Chong sensed an aura—overbearing and dense, like an invisible wall of qi wrapped around the figure's body.

It was heavier and more solid than the Tendon-Tremor Realm, carrying an oppressive force that seeped out from the bones.

The Bone-Forging Stage.

That pair of eyes happened to sweep over as well. Their gazes collided amid the crowd.

Yang He. Chen Chong recognized those eyes. Though his face was covered, Chen Chong knew it was him.

Yang He's steps seemed to pause for an instant.

Then he withdrew his gaze, his figure flashing as he vanished into the crowd.

Chen Chong's steps also stalled for an instant. Then he quickened his pace, hurried out of the Dark Market, returned to the surface, and made his way swiftly down the empty streets toward his little courtyard.

The night wind poured into his collar, icy and biting.

Yang He was in the Bone-Forging Stage. Outside the city gates that time, he had merely exchanged blows with Yuan Zhiwu. Yuan Zhiwu was in the Tendon-Tremor Realm, yet the two had fought back and forth on even terms.

Murder and arson really did earn golden belts!

Chen Chong shut the door, sat down at the table, and took several deep breaths.

The panel lit up.

"Consume one thousand taels of silver to deduce Tyrant Blade (Incomplete)?"

Chen Chong chose "Yes." He had prepared the silver long ago—what he had saved from pill refining these past days, together with the banknote he had just received from selling the True Martial Pills, was enough.

Fortunately, the panel recognized banknotes like this. Chen Chong let out a sigh of relief.

The panel's light flowed as lines of text appeared and vanished.

Deduction in progress... Deduction successful.

"Consume one hundred taels of silver to fuse?"

Fusion in progress... Fusion successful. Myriad Ravines Return to the Edge.

"Consume ten taels of silver to simplify?"

Simplification in progress... Simplification successful. Myriad Ravines Return to the Edge—draw the blade.

Chen Chong touched the knife resting at hand.

It had been newly forged by a blacksmith in the city, its blade made from fine Hundred-Forged Steel and sharpened to a keen edge.

It also came with an ancient, imposing scabbard—plain black lacquer, with brass bands set around the throat and tip. It felt solid and weighty in his hand.

He drew the knife. In truth, the materials were only somewhat better.

Weapons might seem like things one could buy anywhere, but truly sharp weapons and famed blades were all in the hands of those who ought to possess them.

Clearly, Chen Chong was not yet one of those people. The knife in his hand counted as fine goods in a blacksmith's shop, but only in a blacksmith's shop.

Yet the moment the blade left its scabbard, Chen Chong understood what Myriad Ravines Return to the Edge was.

The knife was in his hand. He closed his eyes and felt it.

When the knife entered its scabbard, myriad ravines were hidden within its edge. All strength, all changes, all killing intent were gathered into one narrow blade, revealing not the slightest trace.

When the knife left its scabbard, the force of myriad ravines destroyed all things. Once unleashed, it was as though a thousand mountains and ten thousand ravines came pouring down at once—sweeping away everything rotten and decayed, unstoppable.

Chen Chong opened his eyes and looked at the knife in his hand. Moonlight leaked through a gap in the clouds and fell upon the blade, a cold, ghostly line of white.

He gripped the knife, feeling the faint yet discernible blade intent flowing from his palm.

This technique had gained a genuine trace of blade intent.

Chen Chong sheathed the knife. Myriad Ravines Return to the Edge.

He set the knife on the table, sat in his chair, and gazed out into the night beyond the window.