Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Ghost Market in the Deep Night

"I didn't expect to gain something extra from this trip," Lu Qian said happily, holding the cloth bag. Behind him, the paper figure was digging a pit and burying the corpse.

This item was called the Cosmic Brocade Pouch; its interior concealed wonders, and though the pouch was small, it could hold a great many things. Experts at the temple crafted such items, with the lowest valued at twenty Dao credits. The larger the space, the greater its worth.

The pouch’s owner was likely an elder from the temple. Judging by the degree of decay, it had probably lain here for a hundred years.

Lu Qian whispered an incantation, and the paper figure slowly became visible. A flash of jet-black smoke, and the paper figure transformed into Lu Qian’s likeness.

He unwrapped his bundle, tossing various talismans, potions, and a few weapons inside. About half of the one-cubic-meter space was filled.

After some thought, Lu Qian chose to hang the hilt of the Five-Kill Yin Talisman Sword at his waist. The pouch’s space was not particularly stable—the older it was, the more unreliable. With a century-old item, any malfunction could mean losing everything inside.

After all, the Five-Kill Yin Talisman Sword was the most valuable thing he owned. Fifteen talismans layered together, blazing with Yin fire, capable of killing invisibly—it was almost a magical artifact. With it in his hand, he could contend with late-stage Qi practitioners. Its black market value was eighty Dao credits.

Having finished his preparations, Lu Qian sat cross-legged in the cave, regulating his breath and guiding his energy. Moonlight poured in, refining true water. Around him lingered a bone-chilling aura.

The paper figure, carrying the pouch, strode out of the cave. A ray of sunlight filtered through the trees, dust motes dancing in the dappled beam. Golden light fell upon ‘Lu Qian’s’ face, its pale, bloodless features gleaming with a wood-like sheen.

Eternal Night Mountain.

The mountain was tall and steep, with jagged peaks and perpetual black clouds. Within its bounds lay a valley, called Nether Valley, where Yin fire was born at the base.

Thanks to its proximity to Eternal Night Mountain, the city of Dark Night was shrouded in clouds year-round, as if always on the verge of a storm.

This city had ordinary folk, and its gates were guarded by martial officers. Seeing someone as strange as Lu Qian, they were unfazed, merely offering a slight bow before waving him through.

"Ghost Market of Dark Night—enter the city, go southeast for one hundred eighty paces, then west for three hundred paces."

Before him stretched a black forest.

Entering, a veil of Yin mist swept toward him. This mist could cloud the mind.

The black fog gathered, forming a huge flesh-colored ear and mouth at its center.

"Who goes there? This place is the Ghost Market jointly managed by the Three Great Houses," the mouth spoke with authority.

"I am a wandering Daoist, seeking to exchange some goods at the market," Lu Qian replied.

"You must pay one magic coin before entering," the mouth opened and closed.

Lu Qian handed over the coin.

Ghost markets run by temples were generally overseen by officials, facilitating transactions and not charging fees. Most ghost markets, however, had managers who profited from management and entry fees. It wasn’t extortion—after all, organizing these markets took considerable effort.

This particular market was fairly large.

There were also personal ghost markets, family ghost markets...

Wang Ming had clearly marked the locations on his ghost market map, but Lu Qian never intended to visit those. Private markets were treacherous, easy to fall victim to deception.

He tossed a yellow magic coin into the black mist.

Before descending the mountain, Lu Qian had spent ten Dao credits to exchange for a hundred coins.

The mist dispersed, and a three-foot-tall, gray-furred, upright weasel greeted Lu Qian with a bow.

"Daoist friend, please follow me!"

Man and weasel wound their way through many twists and turns.

"Here it is—remember, no fighting," the weasel vanished.

Suddenly, the space ahead widened. Upon the stone archway were four large characters: Dark Night Market.

The ghost market thrummed with noise; stalls lined both sides, displaying all manner of wares.

Besides the stalls, there were actual shops.

From potions to everyday goods, everything could be found. While not as high-end as temple items, the sheer abundance was unmatched—most beneficial for prenatal and Qi cultivation, though not for the spirit-nourishing stage.

The crowd was diverse; most were prenatal practitioners, a few Qi cultivators, and Lu Qian even saw ordinary laborers carrying burdens.

"Immortal master, first time here? Would you like me to show you around? Only ten taels of silver," a scrawny, monkey-like mortal sidled up.

"No need," Lu Qian shook his head.

"Very well, immortal master. If you need help moving goods, call on us," the skinny fellow bowed and left with a sycophantic smile.

Bored, Lu Qian began to stroll through the ghost market.

One shop bustled with activity—dozens of shirtless strongmen wielded hammers. Beneath the furnace burned a glowing red flame, heat billowing upward.

Tied beside the furnace were a dozen scrawny, monkey-like, coal-skinned wild men.

When the time was right, someone would throw a wild man into the fire; molten steel emerged amid their screams.

Poured into molds, a sword with blood-red veins was forged.

Blood-veined steel—metal forged with human blood. Weapons crafted thus could harm the soul.

"Daoist friend, care for one?" a shirtless man wiped his brow and smiled.

"How much for crossbows?" Lu Qian asked, his interest piqued.

He just happened to lack a long-range weapon.

Bows and crossbows could be used without true energy.

"Ox-tendon crossbow, twenty coins each; iron-armored ox-tendon crossbow, eighty coins each; crossbow bolts, five coins apiece."

Iron-armored oxen were a rare breed; their tendons were exceptionally tough, capable of five hundred pounds of draw.

"I’ll take one iron-armored crossbow and eight bolts."

Lu Qian produced one hundred twenty magic coins.

He’d been short on funds, but fortunately, the Cosmic Brocade Pouch still held a little.

The strongman handed over a jet-black iron crossbow, its bowstring as sturdy as steel, the crossbow bolts gleaming white, streaked with blood-like veins resembling human capillaries.

Lu Qian stowed the bolts in his pouch and continued browsing.

He hoped to find a detailed map of Nether Valley, lest his journey prove fruitless.

"Come take a look! Top-quality potions, crafted by master alchemists!"

Lu Qian paused at an apothecary’s storefront.

It wasn’t that the medicines were extraordinary; this was, after all, a gathering place for itinerant cultivators.

The potions emphasized a single quality: strangeness.

Owing to temple needs, most of Lu Qian’s own concoctions enhanced cultivation—beneficial, harmless.

Itinerant cultivators, living under harsher conditions, had countless demands.

There were potions as potent as spells—fire and thunder elixirs, iron-corroding agents, even the Ten Thousand Flower Piercing Powder, which caused one’s body to sprout blossoms.

There were also Water-Avoidance Pills to breathe underwater, Tiger-Leopard Transformation Elixirs, and many formulas Lu Qian had never seen.

Perhaps the quality wasn’t too high, but their practicality was undeniable.

"Daoist, what would you like? Our prices are fair—honest business, no tricks," a white-haired old man bowed with a smile.

Lu Qian glanced at the prices—not expensive, five to twenty coins each.

But he didn’t have much money left.

"I’m not buying—do you accept goods?" Lu Qian produced a bundle.

The old man sniffed it, his eyes brightening. He clasped his hands and said, "Please, come inside."

They entered the tea room; a maid poured Lu Qian a cup.

"This is called Snow Milk Tea—fresh tea leaves kept warm atop the bosom of a maiden to preserve their flavor. The taste is delicate, with endless aftertaste, and quite nourishing to the spirit."

Upon hearing this, Lu Qian, who had just raised his cup, set it down again.

"Let’s look at my goods first!"

He had a slight aversion to such things—whether maid or matron, tea leaves like these were not to his taste.

"Ah!"

The old Daoist opened the bundle, his expression one of surprise.