66: Selling spiritual objects

The three of them moved between the stalls, the ground beneath their feet sometimes as hard as stone, sometimes soft as flesh, with a bizarre and chilling sensation.

He passed a medicine stall where the vendor, a hunched old man, had dozens of glass bottles filled with liquids of various colors displayed before him.

Most striking was a bottle of crimson potion, with something seemingly wriggling within the liquid, and a tormented human face occasionally surfacing.

"Young friend, do you want to buy longevity medicine?" The old man grinned, revealing a mouth full of black teeth. "One drop adds one year to your life, only..." His voice suddenly caught, as if an invisible hand had gripped his throat.

Wu Guohua followed his gaze and saw three people wearing bronze masks walking towards them, each with a Xuantian Pavilion token hanging from their waist. The old man immediately fell silent and retreated into the shadows.

The night was as black as ink, thick and unyielding. The Ghost Market's eerie green lanterns swayed in the damp passageways, illuminating the mottled moss on the stone walls like ghostly fires.

Each lantern was cast from bronze into the shape of a beast head, with candlelight flickering from the beast's mouth, casting countless distorted shadows that clawed and gnashed on the uneven cave walls.

Wu Guohua led his grandfather and father through the crowded stalls, their footsteps making a faint, sticky sound on the slippery ground.

The air was filled with a complex scent: fresh blood, pungent medicine, the musty odor of decay, and a certain indescribable sweetness, all mixed together to form a nauseating blend.

The vendors conversed in low, hoarse voices, like ghosts, as if coming from a great distance, yet also whispering close to the ear.

Most of them wore masks or hoods, revealing only pairs of eyes gleaming with greed.

Occasionally, someone would lift the black cloth covering their goods, revealing strange, cold-gleaming weapons, or bizarre organs like beating hearts and eyeballs preserved in amber-colored liquid.

In front of one stall, a merchant wearing a bronze mask was using a bone knife to cut a blue-glowing piece of meat; where the blade passed, the meat actually twitched like a living thing.

Wu Guohua nodded slightly, his gaze sweeping around like a hawk. The silver notes they brought were mostly used up, and the deerskin money pouch was noticeably deflated.

If they wanted to purchase a Secret Manual of the upper three grades of Martial Arts, they would have to sell some spiritual rice and ling potatoes.

Although these spiritual items were only Low Grade Tier 1 and considered insignificant in the cultivation world, they were rare in the mortal world.

He squeezed the bundle on his back, which contained all the spiritual items they had brought this time—fifty jin of spiritual rice and one hundred ling potatoes.

The spiritual rice was in a cloth bag, each grain as clear as shattered jade, emitting a faint milky white glow in the darkness.

These rice grains contained faint Spiritual Qi; long-term consumption could strengthen the body and prolong life, making them prized treasures eagerly sought by major families.

The ling potatoes were stored in another cloth bag, their skins showing faint golden patterns, feeling a slight electric current when touched; eating them could temporarily increase the speed of Qi and blood circulation, greatly benefiting a Martial Artist in Breaking Through Bottlenecks.

Wu Guohua still remembered how these potatoes shimmered under the moonlight when harvested, like a scattering of broken gold.

"First, let's find a buyer," Wu Guohua whispered, his voice so low it was almost just a movement of his lips.

His gaze roamed among the many stalls, finally settling on one with a wooden sign that read "Spiritual Item Acquisition."

The wooden sign was carved from dark wood, its edges heavily worn, indicating it had been hanging for a long time. On the stall was an ancient scale, its copper pans stained with suspicious black smudges.

The vendor was an old man with a face full of wrinkles, the furrows so deep they could trap a mosquito.

His eyes were cloudy like dead fish, with an abnormal grayish-white hue, and his fingernails were long and black, like ten tiny daggers, as he leisurely fiddled with a string of copper coins.

The copper coins were oddly shaped, some with square holes, some with round holes, and even some with triangular holes, making a dull sound when they clinked together, unlike the crisp sound of ordinary copper coins.

"What are you selling?" The old man didn't lift his head, his voice raspy like sandpaper. When he spoke, his throat made gurgling sounds, as if something was stuck there.

Wu Guohua did not answer immediately, but instead cautiously looked around, and only after confirming no suspicious individuals were tailing them, did he take out two small cloth bags from his bundle.

His movements in untying the strings were slow, as if performing a ritual.

The moment the cloth bags opened, a fresh scent immediately dispelled the surrounding stench—the spiritual rice emitted a clean aroma similar to grass after rain, while the ling potatoes carried the fragrance of earth.

The old man's cloudy eyes moved slightly, like ripples suddenly appearing in stagnant water.

He extended his branch-like fingers, his fingernails gleaming with an eerie purplish-black luster in the candlelight, and carefully picked up a single grain of spiritual rice.

The grain of rice rotated between his fingertips, reflecting a pearl-like sheen.

The old man brought the grain of rice to his nose and sniffed, his grayish-white nostrils flaring intensely, then suddenly extended his tongue and licked it, his movement as swift as a snake's tongue.

Next, he used his fingernail to gently scrape open the skin of the Spirit Potato; the sharp nail easily cut through the tough potato skin like cutting tofu, revealing the pale golden flesh inside.

The cut surface of the flesh immediately exuded clear juice, sparkling with tiny golden light under the eerie green lantern light.

"Low Grade Tier 1, ordinary quality." The old man smacked his lips, showing a disappointed expression, but Wu Guohua noticed a hint of greed flash in his grayish-white eyes.

"Spiritual rice for one thousand taels per jin, ling potatoes for five hundred taels each, how about it?" As the old man quoted the price, his fingers unconsciously rubbed the string of strange copper coins.

Wu Wenbin's eyes widened, nearly letting out a gasp—this price was even higher than they had expected!

His rough hands tightly gripped the corner of his clothes, his knuckles turning white from the effort. Wu Jiulong, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes, the sparks in his pipe flickering, the old man keenly sensing that things were not so simple.

Wu Guohua's expression remained unchanged, but his heart rate quickened. He forced himself to remain calm, his voice as flat as if discussing the weather: "Spiritual rice for one thousand two hundred taels, ling potatoes for six hundred taels."

While bargaining, his gaze remained fixed on the old man's fingers, where there was an inconspicuous black iron ring—the mark of a Ghost Market merchant, said to be able to discern the authenticity of goods.

The old man narrowed his eyes, his eyelids creased like dry tree bark.

He stared at Wu Guohua for a long time, then suddenly grinned, revealing a few yellowed teeth, with faint black meat fibers visible between the gaps.

"Kid, bargaining is fine," his voice suddenly turned sinister, "but the Ghost Market's rule is—the highest bidder wins. If you're not willing, you can certainly try elsewhere." Saying this, he made to put away the scale, his movements deliberately slow.

Wu Guohua knew the other party was testing him, but he also understood that spiritual items were indeed sought after in the Ghost Market.

Just in the moment they were conversing, several masked individuals had already stopped nearby to observe, clearly interested in this transaction. He pretended to hesitate and looked at his grandfather; the old man gave an almost imperceptible nod.