Visitors from the Northern Plains

After leaving the Nine Abyss Pavilion, Lu Zhao found the Market District as noisy as ever, yet he felt invisible needles hidden within the boiling clamor. Without slowing his steps, he headed straight for the Guest Lodge.

This time, he did not even glance at the ten-person shared room or the windowless singles.

"A single room with a Spirit Gathering Formation. Three days." His voice was calm, and one Spirit Stone and fifty spirit sand had already landed on the counter.

The old innkeeper lifted his drooping eyelids a fraction. His cloudy eyes swept over the Spirit Stone, but he asked no questions, merely drawing a smooth, warm Jade Talisman from his waist and handing it over. "Room A-seven. Use this talisman to activate the formation. Half a Spirit Stone a day, exactly enough for three days."

The stone room was somewhat more spacious than the windowless single, its four walls polished smooth and set with several pieces of fluorite that cast a soft white glow. A stone bed and a stone table were its entire furnishings.

Its true value lay on the floor-the Spirit Gathering Formation. A more-than-half-depleted low-grade Spirit Stone sat in a recess at its nexus, wisps of spiritual energy seeping from it. Though far inferior to the spirit spring in Green Vine Ravine, it was still far better than the impure energy outside.

Another, dimmer set of formation lines lay in a corner: a basic Soundproofing Restriction.

Lu Zhao reached back and shut the heavy stone door, then fitted the Jade Talisman into the recess beside the entrance. With a soft hum, the Spirit Gathering Formation's lines began to glow faintly. The Soundproofing Restriction also rippled outward like water, completely cutting off the noise outside.

He sat cross-legged on the stone bed. At once, the only sounds remaining were his own long, steady breaths and the faint rustling of spiritual energy escaping the Spirit Stone.

With great care, he took out the deep-blue Mystic Water Tortoise-Shell Shield.

It was palm-sized, cool and smooth to the touch. Its profound tortoise-shell patterns seemed naturally formed, watery light flowing within, dense and weighty. This was something that could save his life.

Lu Zhao closed his eyes and focused, slowly circulating the Little Spirit Rain Art. Four streams of pale-blue true qi surged like creeks within his dantian and gathered at his fingertips.

Holding two fingers together like a sword, he lightly touched the shield's core.

Hum!

The little shield trembled, its deep-blue radiance suddenly blazing. A surge of water spirit power carrying the chill of the deep sea rebounded toward him, attempting to resist the intrusion of outside power.

Lu Zhao's expression remained unchanged. Spiritual power flowed ceaselessly from his fingertips, like spring water seeping into solid ice. With his divine sense tightly concentrated, he carefully guided his own water spiritual power, letting it permeate little by little and commune with the shield's natural water-system spirit runes.

This was not the earth-shaking process of refining a high-ranking Law Treasure, but slow, patient work. Using his own spiritual power as a guide, he left a faint yet tenacious divine sense imprint uniquely his own at the Magical Artifact's core, establishing an initial connection.

Time passed in silence. Drawn by the Spirit Gathering Formation, the room's spiritual energy streamed into Lu Zhao's body, replenishing the spiritual power he continually expended.

Fine beads of sweat seeped from his temples, only to be frozen into ice crystals by the cold of the Little Spirit Rain Art circulating around him.

As his spiritual power permeated it, the shield's glow gradually shifted from fierce resistance to docility and restraint. The layer of flowing watery light began to faintly resonate with the pale-blue spiritual power at his fingertips.

Only after a full four hours did Lu Zhao slowly withdraw his fingers. The little shield floated above his palm, its glow steady. With a slight shift of his will, it spun swiftly, and a thin yet incomparably tenacious blue water barrier instantly spread before him. Cold filled the air, coating even the stone bed with a thin layer of frost.

His face was slightly pale, and he had consumed nearly thirty percent of his spiritual power, but a trace of reassurance flashed in his eyes. The initial refinement was complete. The shield could now move at his will and unleash its basic defensive power. Deeper control would require nurturing it with spiritual power over time-slow, patient work.

After regulating his breathing for a while and recovering some spiritual power, Lu Zhao went out again, his destinations clear-Fuyang Studio and the Zhang Family's Alchemy Chamber.

Sandalwood incense curled through Fuyang Studio. Recognizing a regular customer, the middle-aged talisman master behind the counter nodded slightly. Lu Zhao swept his gaze over the dazzling array of talismans. "First-tier superior-grade Golden Sword Talismans, Explosive Flame Talismans, and Water-Escape Talismans. Three of each."

The talisman master raised his eyelids slightly and swiftly took out nine talismans, their spiritual radiance contained within intricate patterns. "The golden swords are keen, the explosive flames fierce, and the Water-Escape Talismans activate swiftly.

"Fine first-tier superior-grade attack talismans sell for one Spirit Stone apiece.

"First-tier superior-grade escape talismans are three Spirit Stones each. Fifteen Spirit Stones for all nine."

Lu Zhao nodded. Fuyang Studio's prices had always been fair. He readily paid the Spirit Stones and carefully put away the nine talismans.

He turned into the Zhang Family's Alchemy Chamber, where medicinal fragrances greeted him. The attendant behind the counter recognized this frequent customer. "Five first-tier middle-grade Spirit-Restoring Pills and five first-tier middle-grade Spring-Rejuvenation Pills," Lu Zhao said succinctly.

"Five Spirit-Restoring Pills cost fifteen Spirit Stones. Spring-Rejuvenation Pills heal injuries, stop bleeding, and dispel low-grade cold, yin toxins. Five cost seven Spirit Stones and fifty spirit sand. Your total is twenty Spirit Stones and fifty spirit sand."

The attendant deftly wrapped two jade bottles and handed them over. Lu Zhao accepted them, his heart sinking slightly. Pills were always voracious consumers of Spirit Stones.

Together with the talismans and the Spirit Chamber rental, more than half the sixty-one Spirit Stones he had just received from the Nine Abyss Pavilion were already gone. But these things were safeguards for the danger-ridden road to Green Vine Ravine. He could not skimp on them.

Dusk closed in on all sides. Lights gradually came on in the center of the Market District, and the clamor subsided a little.

Lu Zhao, however, turned into an inconspicuous back alley. Two men with sinister auras squatted at its entrance, their hawklike eyes scanning the occasional people coming and going.

Without looking aside, Lu Zhao flicked a fingernail-sized piece of inferior cold iron ore, worth roughly ten spirit sand, into a chipped bowl by one man's feet. It landed with a soft clink.

This was the "gate tax."

Deep in the alley, several seemingly abandoned warehouses had been converted. Their doors stood ajar, letting out dim yellow light and the sound of lowered voices.

The air held a mixture of faint blood, moldy herbs, and some prohibited incense. This was one corner of the Black Market beneath the Market District's shadow, where things that could not bear the light changed hands.

Knowing the way well, Lu Zhao walked to the innermost stall, which hung behind a tattered beast-hide curtain. Its owner was a gaunt old man in his fifties. His left leg below the knee had been replaced with a crude wooden prosthesis, and wrinkles scored his face as deeply as knife cuts, yet his eyes gleamed sharply. His cultivation was around the Qi Refinement fourth layer.

He was bent over several bloodstained beast teeth, polishing them with a small file. Ores of unknown provenance, damaged Magical Artifacts, and the shriveled corpses of several small Demonic Beasts lay scattered across his stall.

"Zhao Laoguai."

Lu Zhao's voice was low, just loud enough for the other man to hear.

The old man-Zhao Quezi-looked up at the sound. Seeing Lu Zhao, his eyes flashed before he grinned, exposing several yellowed teeth, shrewd calculation in his smile. "Well, a rare visitor, Fellow Daoist Lu.

"Selling goods or looking for something this time?" He set down the file and patted his wooden leg.

"Looking for some information."

Lu Zhao went straight to the point. He glanced to either side, confirming that no one was paying particular attention to them. "Recently, have any unfamiliar faces been asking about Puppet Masters in the Market District, especially around the street stalls in the West Market and East Market?"

Zhao Quezi's smile faded a little. Narrowing his small eyes, he studied Lu Zhao. "Asking about that? Young Lu, the winds... are blowing a little hard." He rubbed his rough fingers together meaningfully.

Expressionless, Lu Zhao took a small, palm-sized wooden bird puppet from his Storage Bag. Crude warning runes were carved into its joints. He tossed it onto the stall. "The usual arrangement. This will cover it."

Zhao Quezi snatched up the wooden bird puppet. His withered fingers deftly worked its beak and wings a few times, and satisfaction showed in his eyes.

It was a failed piece Lu Zhao had made for practice in his early years. Its only use was as a little household warning device, emitting a faint buzz when it sensed an unfamiliar presence approaching. For someone as vigilant as Zhao Quezi, who spent his years mingling in the Black Market, it was a useful little thing.

"Heh, Fellow Daoist Lu knows me best."

Zhao Quezi nimbly tucked the wooden bird into his robe and lowered his voice. "All right. Your old Zhao Laoguai remembers the favor you did me, selling me that warning Puppet Guard cheaply last time. I'll keep an eye out for you. All sorts of information passes through the Black Market, and I have a few old associates in the West Market and East Market too. But..."

He paused, lowering his voice further, a hint of warning in it. "The waters are a little muddy. Seems like a wind blowing down from the north. One day, no more. Whether I get anything or not, I'll send word. The usual signal?"

"Mm!"

Lu Zhao nodded and said no more. He turned, lifted the beast-hide curtain, and swiftly vanished into the alley's shadows.

Zhao Quezi watched the swaying curtain. The mercenary smile vanished entirely from his face, leaving only gravity.

At dusk the next day, rhythmic knocks sounded at the door of room A-seven in the Guest Lodge: three long, two short. Lu Zhao dispelled the Soundproofing Restriction and opened the door.

Zhao Quezi's gaunt figure squeezed inside, bringing the chill outside and the smells of everyday street life with him.

Bang.

The stone door closed, and the Soundproofing Restriction lit up again. Zhao Quezi wasted no words. He sat straight down on the cold stone stool and pulled an oilpaper parcel from his robe. Inside was half a roast chicken. He began tearing into it without ceremony, speaking indistinctly. "Got word. Two currents of wind."

He gulped some cheap liquor and wiped his mouth. "The first is an old friend of our neck of the woods.

"Those three murderous bastards, the Three Blackbone Owls, have been very short of money lately. They've been lurking around a few shacks used for fencing stolen goods and the West Market entrance. They're watching for fat sheep, especially people like you who come and go alone and often sell goods at the Nine Abyss Pavilion.

"The word they've put out is that they're looking for 'craftsmen,' especially skilled hands who can make flying things."

A trace of mockery flashed in Zhao Quezi's eyes. "Reckon they want to kidnap a Puppet Master and make him slave away laying golden eggs for them.

"Their leader, Blackbone Owl, is at the eighth layer of Qi Refinement. Ruthless and vicious, he usually uses a Poison-Tempered Blackbone Spike. If you run into anyone on the road wearing a Black Hemp Robe with three white bones embroidered on the cuffs, give them a wide berth."

Lu Zhao's gaze chilled slightly. He had heard of the Three Blackbone Owls-ferocious bandits who had entrenched themselves around Rosy Cloud Slope for years.

"The second current," Zhao Quezi tore off a chicken leg, his voice sinking, "is stranger.

"They came from the north. Not many, just two. They keep well hidden, and their accents have a bit of Northern Plains Commandery in them.

"They showed their faces at Old Ghost's tea shop in the Black Market. All they asked was whether there were any fellow Daoists 'proficient in Beast Puppets, especially flying birds.' Generous enough, tossing down a Spirit Stone, but their eyes-tsk, tsk-like knives scraping bone. Not a friendly pair."

"Even Old Ghost couldn't pin down where they're staying. He only knows they're definitely still holed up in the Market District, as though waiting for something. That's all the ripples I could find. Any deeper, and this old cripple can't reach."

Zhao Quezi finished gnawing the chicken leg and casually tossed aside the greasy bone. He clapped his hands and stood, his wooden leg tapping softly against the stone floor. "Fellow Daoist Lu, that's all the information you wanted.

"I've taken the wooden bird puppet. The favor from that Puppet Guard is settled between us."

He walked to the door, then glanced back at Lu Zhao. In the dim yellow fluorite glow, the lines of his old face looked especially deep. "Green Vine Ravine is a long way off. The nights are dark and the winds high. Take care." The stone door opened and closed, and Zhao Quezi vanished beyond it.

Lu Zhao stood where he was. The deep-blue Mystic Water Tortoise-Shell Shield floated silently before him, giving off a cold, faint glow that illuminated his half-lit, half-shadowed face.

"The Three Blackbone Owls... visitors from the Northern Plains..."

He quietly turned those two names over on his tongue. Bandits sought wealth and were still out in the open; he only needed to guard against them carefully. But the Northern Plains... those words were like an icy needle, instantly piercing the barrier of six years and driving deep into his memories.

That bloody night five years ago, the roars of Demonic Beasts, his clansmen's screams, the piercing shriek of the Clan-Protecting Grand Formation shattering, his third uncle's final shout...