The maddening itch boring into his wounds—like countless ants gnawing at his flesh—dragged Lin Mu from shallow sleep.
He pushed himself upright. The layer of red mud and dried blood caked over his body had hardened into a crude suit of armor, binding tight against his skin. The slightest movement tugged painfully at raw flesh.
Through the ventilation crack in the rock crevice, he could see dawn barely breaking outside. By his count, he'd slept less than two hours.
Lin Mu glanced down at his right hand, still trembling faintly. He tried closing it into a fist, and his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly before he relaxed his grip.
"Bones haven't set yet. Internal organs took shock damage too..."
Turning his perception inward to his aperture, he found his dark green Primeval Essence had recovered to about thirty percent—barely enough for one full-power activation of "Earth Ring Body: Speed."
Good enough for escape, but in a high-intensity melee against a Gu Master of equal rank, his odds of victory were less than three in ten.
"In this condition, I need to stay low."
"And there's no more time to waste. I have to offload this cargo as soon as possible."
He glanced at the massive roll of Boar King hide beside him and the two half-meter-long tusks. Far too conspicuous.
Carrying these into the black market would be like a child parading through a crowded street clutching gold bricks—pure suicide.
"I need to stash them."
Dragging his battered body to a dead-end corner deep within the safe house, Lin Mu dug a pit.
He carefully placed the hide and tusks inside, then activated the Red Mud Gu, coaxing it to secrete large quantities of viscous mud. Layer by layer, he poured it over his treasures.
Once the mud dried, it would be hard as stone—and would perfectly seal in any scent.
For extra insurance, he scattered some collected beast urine over the top, then covered everything with a thick layer of dead leaves, disguising it as an ordinary animal den.
With that done, he kept only the troublesome Charcoal Stone Gu hidden against his chest, clutched a few fragments of Primeval Stones, packed some dried rations, and traveled light.
One final step before departure.
He had no intention of showing his true face, but lacking any proper disguise materials, he could only reluctantly rouse the Red Mud Gu from its exhaustion-induced dormancy.
With a faint tremor of resistance, it secreted a small amount of thin red mud.
Lin Mu dabbed his fingertips in the mud and spread a thin layer across his face, then deftly manipulated the contours of his facial muscles.
Moments later, the handsome youth had vanished. In his place stood a hideous wretch covered in red sores, face twisted into something repulsive.
He deliberately hunched his back, suppressed all trace of his vital energy, concealed his clan token, and let his eyes grow clouded and evasive.
"A bottom-rung rogue cultivator, down on his luck, desperate to trade his life for coin."
Along the western edge of Black Wind Ridge lay a ravine perpetually shrouded in grey mist.
To the left stretched the territory of Black Blood Stockade; to the right, the domain of White Bone Stockade.
Where these two powers clashed and interlocked, a vacuum of authority had formed—a breeding ground for crime. They called it Greystone Market.
Lin Mu recalled the intelligence he'd quietly gathered within the clan over the years. Following a half-remembered route, he arrived at the ravine's entrance around noon.
Before he even drew close, a nauseating stench of rotting corpses rolled toward him through the mist.
There were no towering walls at the valley mouth, no stern guards. Only a few blackwood stakes thrust toward the sky, standing alone in the wind.
From those stakes hung three desiccated corpses, suspended by rust-caked iron hooks.
The bodies had long since shriveled to husks, faces twisted as if they'd suffered immense agony before death.
Most horrifying of all, their abdomens—where the aperture would be—each bore a pitch-black hole.
The edges were clean, smooth, as though whatever had been inside had been forcibly "drained" or "carved out" by some vile means.
Not far off, several fresher corpses dangled—unfortunate souls from who knew where.
Beneath these bodies stood a blood-stained stone tablet. Two lines were carved into its surface, each stroke sharp as a blade, radiating cold menace:
"No violence within the market."
"Beyond the fence, your life is your own."
Lin Mu's steps faltered. His pupils contracted slightly.
"They've been drained by some 'Aperture Devouring' technique... The master behind this market cultivates a Demonic Path. And they're utterly ruthless."
Yet he felt no fear. If anything, he relaxed.
The more vicious the master, the more poisonous their methods, the harder the rules here would be enforced. For a trader carrying valuable goods but lacking the strength to protect them, this order built on terror was actually safer than so-called righteous conventions.
He lowered his bamboo hat and walked forward.
The entrance was marked only by a crude wooden fence. A few demonic rogue cultivators with sinister eyes and the reek of blood about them lounged lazily nearby.
"Entry fee. One Primeval Stone." The guard didn't bother looking up.
Lin Mu made a show of pained reluctance, fumbling inside his clothes for a long moment before producing a chipped Primeval Stone and handing it over.
The guard took the payment, snorted with contempt, and waved him through.
Stepping past the fence felt like entering another world.
The silence here was suffocating. None of the noisy hawking of ordinary markets—every stall keeper sat wrapped in heavy black robes, like ghosts lurking in the shadows.
The few people walking the paths maintained absolute distance from one another, eyes wary, hands never straying far from the Gu pouches at their waists.
The air hung thick and stagnant; the occasional whiff of blood that drifted by was old and blackened.
Here, no one asked your name. No one cared where your goods came from.
Lin Mu didn't rush to sell the Charcoal Stone Gu. Like an aimless drifter, he hunched his back and wandered the market twice.
His ears caught fragments: "Rank 1 Strength Path Gu... one hundred twenty Primeval Stones"... "White Bone Stockade side... urgent demand for beast hides."
He appeared to be idling, but in truth he was rapidly cataloging prices, assessing the situation. His gaze swept covertly across shop signs, evaluating which establishments had the deepest backing.
Finally, his attention settled on a nondescript junk shop tucked into a corner.
The place was falling apart—even missing a door panel—but hanging from the sign at the entrance was something dried and... indescribably shaped.
It was a "manhood."
This was the legendary shop of "Gelded Ma."
According to scattered references in *Southern Border Miscellany*, this man had once been a notorious Demonic Gu Master.
Later, hunted by enemies with nowhere left to run, he'd taken a blade to himself, sacrificing his own manhood in some desperate ritual to escape.
Though left permanently maimed—and saddled with that humiliating nickname—his misfortune became fortune when the master of Greystone Market took him in.
Now he specialized in running information networks and handling business that couldn't see the light of day.
A local power. And a man who knew everything.
Lin Mu drew a deep breath and pushed through the door.
Inside, the light was dim, the air thick with the smell of mold. Bundles of blackened beast hides were piled in the corners.
Dried Gu worms, blood-stained bone needles, and several sealed clay jars—faintly reeking of something foul—lay scattered across the counter.
A sleazy old man missing two front teeth and with a hairless chin was hunched over the counter, slowly polishing some unidentifiable beast bone.
The bone's surface bore dark red patterns, as if soaked in refined blood.
Seeing someone enter, the old man raised his rheumy yellow eyes. His gaze swept across Lin Mu's sore-covered face, and a barely perceptible glint flickered in his eyes.
"Heh. A greenhorn."
Gelded Ma saw through Lin Mu at a glance.
The disguise was decent enough, but beneath it, the boy radiated inexperience.
Still, he didn't call it out. In this place, as long as you had coin, anyone could be a customer worth serving.
Lin Mu approached the counter. His fingers unconsciously rubbed the wrapped Charcoal Stone Gu hidden against his chest as he deliberately roughened his voice: "Shopkeeper... buying goods?"
Gelded Ma let out a wheezing chuckle, revealing a mouthful of gap-toothed gums. In the shadows, that smile looked especially unsettling.
His withered fingers continued tapping the counter while his eyes drifted over Lin Mu's tense shoulders and the hand pressed against his lapel.
"Depends on what kind of goods..."
"If there's blood on it, we calculate by 'dead pawn' rates. As for items with obvious clan markings... price gets knocked down. After all, this old man has to spend effort cleaning the trail."
"As for the rest..."
He extended a desiccated finger and rapped the counter. The sound was like two pieces of sandpaper grinding together.
His eyelids lifted halfway, those murky yellow orbs devoid of warmth.
"Long as the goods are quality, there's nothing Gelded Ma doesn't dare buy here on Grey Street."