"Good. When you depart, steer your carriage north," she said, her voice dropping into a tone of helpful familiarity. "There is an herbalist and a purveyor of beast blood—the finest stock this gathering has to offer."
"Might the Esteemed Immortal elaborate?" Wuji asked, his eyes betraying nothing.
"The plaques will speak for themselves. Look for Lotus Supreme and Heavenly Beast Blood. They are... specialized."
"Grand names," Wuji remarked, a small, knowing smile touching his lips. "The owners must be as ambitious as they are capable. I can only hope they treat a humble servant with the same grace you have shown."
"Haha! Do not fret. The owner is a long acquaintance of mine." She paused, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. "Though, he is prone to talk. Do not let his tongue weary you."
"We shall head there directly. My gratitude, Senior." Wuji bowed and retreated.
As she watched his departing back, her smile vanished. She took out the jade talisman from her spatial pouch and injected her qi again. "They are coming toward you. I couldn't probe for more information, so you need to try harder. Remember, don't mess this up again."
Outside, Wuji climbed onto the driver's bench. Before snapping the reins, he cast one more look at the manual. The characters formed a dense thicket of esoteric breathing cycles and alchemical ratios—knowledge that required focus he couldn't afford in the middle of a market.
He closed it, set it aside, and glanced back at the shop. He took the woman's recommendation for what it was: a kickback scheme between vultures. Whether she was rewarding an ally or baiting a trap mattered little. In this den of vipers, every path was a gamble. If these shops held the resources he required, he would walk into the lion's mouth and count the teeth.
He snapped the reins. The carriage lurched north.
As he neared the coordinates, the atmosphere curdled. Few people walked here. Sounds were muted. But the most notable thing was the assault of scents—herbs mingled with beast blood, dust, food, and more, all crashing into him at once.
He held his nose for a moment while his eyes roamed the two-story buildings lining the street. Eventually, his gaze landed on a plaque: Lotus Supreme. He slowed the horse, then his eyes skimmed to the neighboring building: Heavenly Beast Blood.
Wuji brought the horse to a halt before Lotus Supreme. He dismounted and offered a deep, performative bow to the silent carriage, a reminder to any watching eyes that his "Master" was always present. Only then did he cross the threshold.
Inside, a wave of botanical potency hit him so hard his vision blurred. "Damn. She didn't lie about the quality." His lungs burned with the concentrated essence of a thousand spirit herbs. To a mortal, the air was almost too rich to breathe.
Still standing at the entrance, his eyes darted around. They first landed on a man who rose from behind the counter on the left and smiled toward Wuji, but Wuji could see the man's eyes were already dissecting the old man before him.
Behind the man, rows of closed wooden drawers covered the wall. In front, glass jars displayed herbs on the counter. Every surface held herbs; some even dangled from the ceiling, a preservation method he didn't linger on.
Wuji approached the counter, his gait steady even as his Eye of the End flickered beneath his lids. [Lifespan: 90/200?] The numbers hovering above the man's head confirmed the threat: another Foundation Establishment cultivator. A peer to the woman, and likely just as hungry.
"Esteemed Immortal," Wuji began, inclining his head. "I seek a selection of herbs suitable for body forging."
The man looked at him with a seller's smile. "Are you the one Liu Li sent?" His voice was flat, devoid of the merchant's usual melodic charm.
"Liu Li? If that is the name of the mistress of the manuals, then yes. She spoke highly of your stock."
Internally, Wuji's mind ignited. "News of my arrival travels fast." He felt the familiar, cold prickle of paranoia crawling up his spine. "How many eyes are on the cart? Is this a web of commerce, or a net being drawn tight?" He forced his heart to maintain its slow, rhythmic beat.
"Limit the exposure. Do not let them see the 'Master.' Men do not leap into an abyss they cannot measure—unless they are fools or desperate."
He rattled off the list of herbs with clinical precision, keeping in mind the specific requirements of the Crimson Renewal: Flesh-Forging Art. The man, also realizing this old man was the target, smiled at him as he began to move, his hands blurring toward the rows of drawers, pulling stalks and roots with practiced ease. Yet with every bundle he placed on the counter, he tossed out a hook of casual conversation.
"Too many attempts at small talk." Wuji's suspicion crystallized into certainty. Who among the Immortals seeks the company of a mortal slave unless they are sifting for gold in the silt of his words?
"Ironvine bark," the man remarked with a dry chuckle, sliding a jagged, metallic strip across the wood. "Invaluable for strengthening the blood. Your master clearly knows the value of a sturdy foundation."
Wuji mirrored the chuckle with a hollow, respectful sound. "The Master is indeed... thorough." He offered nothing more, his face as unreadable as weathered stone.
"And here, the Bitter-leaf and Nettle-root," the man continued, his eyes tracing the lines of Wuji's face with unsettling intensity. "One wards off the rot of the flesh, the other ensures the blood flows without obstruction. A potent combination. I guarantee that within months they will reach the early stage of the Body Refinement realm."
"The Esteemed Immortal's guarantee is noted," Wuji replied, his voice cooling. "But these are for my mistress's use, not my own. Surely you do not suggest she is ignorant of the properties of her own medicine?"
Before the man could weave another hook of conversation, the world outside erupted—a sudden, violent crash echoing through the street. Two brawlers, locked in ferocious struggle, slammed into a nearby stall before tumbling toward the right side of the cart.
Within moments, people poured out of shops. Those already outside turned with curious faces, and in an instant, a ring of onlookers formed. One fighter was hurled like a stone, his body colliding with the cart's right side with a sickening thud. The cart shook; the horse reared, its panicked neigh piercing the district's murmuring air.
Wuji bolted for the door, his heart hammering. "Damn. Is it a test? Or a real attack?" His mind raced. It is too convenient for a test and too clumsy for a robbery.
He burst outside, eyes darting. His gaze first landed on the crowd. Following their stares, he spotted two men on the far side of the cart, reaching toward the curtains. He sprinted around just as the shopkeeper behind him stepped out, looked around, and retreated inside with purposeful steps.
Wuji stood at the back of the cart and mentally granted the husk one minute of activation.
A silver flash erupted from the gray curtains—the sword, so swift it seemed to stitch the air. In a singular, fluid arc, the blade whispered past both men. For a heartbeat, silence. Then their hands slid from their wrists like butter from a hot knife.
The two men's screams tore through the market. The sword flicked back toward the cart. On its return, it grazed Wuji's cheek, a thin, stinging line of heat, before vanishing into the silken shadows.
Wuji collapsed instantly into a desperate, trembling bow, his forehead nearly touching the dusty cobbles. "Mercy, Great Master! Spare this useless servant! I did not know the world held such reckless fools! Please, spare my life!"
His frantic pleas rippled through the crowd. Onlookers exchanged grim glances. In their eyes, Wuji was probably dead. To offend a master so cold she would maim two men for a minor disturbance meant the servant's life was surely forfeit.
A moment of intense silence. Wuji straightened slowly, his face pale, eyes wide with feigned terror. "Thank you, Master... thank you for extending my execution. Please... wait but a moment. I will secure the goods."
He scrambled back into the shop, leaving stunned silence. The two wounded men, faces drained and twisted in agony, looked at their severed hands, but eventually fled into the throng. They had come to test the water's depth and found an abyss.
Three buildings away, a middle-aged man lowered his gaze. He stood motionless for a moment, mind churning. Then, with practiced motion, he turned into an alley, pulled a jade talisman from his spatial pouch, and disappeared into it.
Back inside the herb shop, Wuji was greeted by the sight of seven wooden boxes of herbs—premium cedar boxes already stacked before him.
"A small compensation," the man said, his voice now polished to a high, nervous sheen. "For the... unpleasantness... occurring so near our threshold. We have transitioned your order into our most refined packaging."
He extended a clean square of linen. "For your face."
Wuji took the cloth, dabbing at the sting on his cheek. "Your generosity is as unexpected as the disturbance," he murmured, his voice still carrying the tremor of a man who had just looked into his own grave.
"Your mistress is... formidable," the man ventured, his eyes lingering on the boxes. "A sword-path so sharp it draws blood before the eye can track it. I find myself wondering which Dao she walks."
"I am a mere slave, Senior. Such heavenly knowledge is not permitted to touch ears like mine."
"A 'mere slave' of fifty years?" The man's tone turned teasing, though his eyes remained sharp. "Surely a confidant of such standing has overheard something."
Wuji fell silent, a cold realization crystallizing in his mind. That woman. He hadn't uttered a word of his tenure to this man. The web was already woven; he was no longer a customer, but a specimen under a communal microscope.
He forced a weary, bittersweet smile. "Haha... you have me there. Had you been outside to see the silver flash, perhaps you would understand why I prefer my ignorance."
"The sword Dao, then? But the branches of the Sword Dao are numerous, perhaps you can be more specific," the man pressed.
"I fear I lack the spirit roots to discern the difference," Wuji replied, pivoting back to the safety of commerce. "The cost of these five boxes?"
"A hundred spirit stones. But as a gesture of goodwill to a friend of Liu Li... ninety."
"I was told prices were a law of nature in this district," Wuji said, a faint edge to his voice.
"They are. But laws can be... flexible for exceptional guests." The man's smile didn't move an inch.
Wuji matched the expression. "I shall be certain to inform my mistress of your 'flexibility.' Perhaps she will grace your halls during the next session."
With that, Wuji began the arduous task of moving the boxes. It took several minutes of exertion to haul the first heavy cedar crate to the carriage. From the shadows of the gray curtains, a pale, slender hand emerged, snatching the weight with effortless grace.
Inside, the husk placed the boxes near the Heaven Burial Coffin, removed the lid, and grabbed the spatial pouch already resting on the black liquid. It counted out the spirit stones, ninety for the prying herbalist, the rest for the blood merchant next door.
The man eventually sent his workers to assist with the remaining crates, their eyes darting toward the still curtains with ill-concealed dread. Wuji watched them depart, then heaved the last box into the cart himself, the husk placing them into the interment space.
Without hesitation, he moved to the Heavenly Beast Blood shop with the singular focus of a man escaping a burning building. He secured several ceramic pots of beast blood, the clay warm to the touch, sealed with crackling yellow talismans to trap the primal essence within.
This time, he met every probing question with a wall of respectful silence. He was done playing their games. It was time to vanish.
He settled into the driver's bench, his hands steady on the reins despite the cold prickle of eyes on his back. He weighed his options: to stay in the gathering was to invite slow strangulation; to leave was to step onto an open battlefield.
"No rules protect a man in a den of vipers," he mused. And currently, only the fear of the unknown keeps their fangs at bay. Remaining is a death sentence—that much is clear.
Here, even a victory would only draw more scavengers to the scent of blood. Worse, the shadow of the Gathering Leader, a Core Formation monster, loomed over the entire gathering. Should that master turn a spiritual scan toward the cart, the husk's hollow nature would be laid bare like a picked carcass.
With a sharp snap of the reins, Wuji turned the horse toward the western exit, never looking back.
High above, atop the eaves of the herbal shop, three figures stood like gargoyles against the twilight. Liu Li, Konzi, and the middle-aged man watched the gray curtains of the carriage recede into the distance.
"The bird takes flight," Konzi murmured, his eyes narrowed. "But our cage of information is still mostly empty. What have we actually learned?"
"Enough," the middle-aged man replied, his voice a rasp of dry parchment. "Based on the sword's trajectory and the refinement of that strike, the Master sits at the Foundation Establishment stage. Strong, but easy for the three of us."
He turned his cold gaze toward the herbalist. "And the slave? What secrets did you get from him?"
"The old man is a fortress of feigned ignorance," Konzi said, a boastful smirk on his lips. "He claims she follows the Sword Dao, but knows nothing of her natal weapon or her foundational pillar. However... I did more than sell him herbs. When I offered him that cloth, I left a trace of Spectral Pollen on his skin. My Soul-Tracing Bee can track that scent to the very gates of the end of the world."
"Excellent," Liu Li said, her voice dropping into a lethal tone. "Now, we let the distance grow. I have already greased the palms of the gate-watchers; they will signal the moment the carriage crosses the perimeter. We cannot give the gathering leader a reason to seize our assets here. This time, we hunt in the wild, where the only law is the strength of the strike."