The stench of Blackwater Alley gradually grew faint behind him.
Another, more complex and sinister scent, like a cold snake, wound its way around him.
Decaying wood, rusted iron, cheap incense, and... a faint, elusive reek of blood.
Qin Lie drifted like a dead leaf blown through by the wind into the true shadows of the Imperial Capital.
The black market.
There were no signboards, no bright lights.
Only flickering, indistinct figures writhing within narrow, twisting alleys that wound like entrails.
On both sides stood crooked, dilapidated shacks, or wretched oilcloth tents hastily pitched in the open air.
Dim oil lamps, no bigger than beans, swayed in the wind.
Faintly illuminating the unspeakable "goods" laid out on the stalls.
Rusted swords and sabers, furs stained with suspicious grime, strange-shaped medicinal herbs soaking in jars, and even vicious-looking juvenile fierce beasts crouching dispiritedly in cages.
The air was so thick it seemed almost tangible.
Greedy, wary, and vicious gazes intersected in the shadows.
Whispers, bargaining, and the occasional brief, explosive dispute.
All kept in suppressed tones.
Like a pack of ghouls dividing up stolen loot in a graveyard.
Qin Lie shrank his neck, wrapping his tattered hemp tunic tightly around his skeletal frame.
His sallow face looked even more lifeless in the dim light.
He dragged his feet, every step hollow and weak.
A cough was suppressed in his throat, turning into a muffled rattle.
Like a consumptive on the verge of collapsing by the roadside.
No one spared him a second glance.
Here, death and rubbish were equally commonplace.
His vacant gaze swept across stall after stall.
Broken porcelain bowls, snapped jade hairpins, corroded copper coins, unidentifiable beast bones...
Most of it was just junk.
Occasionally, there were a few fragments of broken weapons carrying faint fluctuations of Yuan Qi, but their asking prices were absurdly high.
The stall owners' eyes were like poison-tipped hooks.
Qin Lie gripped the bulging, mud-stained coarse cloth money pouch pressed against his chest.
His palms were slick with cold sweat.
He didn't have much money.
The five or six taels of broken silver he had risked his life to get in the gambling den might not even make a ripple here.
He needed to find a bargain.
A real treasure overlooked by others.
He moved slowly, pausing briefly before each stall.
Picking up an item, his lean fingers turning it over clumsily.
His cloudy eyes held only blankness.
Then he would put it down and cough his way to the next.
The stall owners either ignored him coldly or waved him away in disgust.
"Get lost! Don't stand in the way of my business!"
"Consumptive, can you afford to pay if you dirty my goods?"
Cringing, Qin Lie obediently moved aside.
Like a beggar well-used to being scolded.
Only the Ancient Bronze Mirror Fragment pressed tightly against his chest emitted a steady, unyielding chill.
Keeping the boiling hatred and churning blood within him locked beneath a surface of stagnant water.
He walked to the most remote corner.
Even the light of the oil lamps was stingy here.
An old man with white hair and wrinkles as dry as withered tree bark curled up behind a filthy oilcloth.
His stall was the most wretched of all.
A few pitch-black, bizarrely shaped stones.
A few thread-bound books so tattered they were falling apart.
And a pile of metal fragments whose original forms were unrecognizable.
The old stall owner's eyelids drooped, his cloudy eyes half-closed.
Like a dried-up clay figurine.
He showed no reaction whatsoever to Qin Lie's approach.
Qin Lie squatted down.
His movements were slow and clumsy, as if the mere act of squatting had exhausted his remaining strength.
First, he picked up a stone.
It felt cold, rough, and heavy in his hand.
Its surface was pitted and uneven, covered in black, moss-like stains.
There was no fluctuation of Yuan Qi.
He picked up another, and it was the same.
The old stall owner didn't even lift an eyelid.
Qin Lie put down the stones and reached out with his lean fingers toward the tattered books.
His fingers brushed across the covers.
Dust fluttered down.
*Detailed Explanation of Basic Breath Regulation*, *Rough Analysis of Fierce Bull Vigor*, *Insights into Wang Er's Staff Technique*...
The titles were crude, the pages yellowed and brittle, the ink blurred.
All worthless trash.
The kind you could buy three of for ten copper coins at a street stall.
Qin Lie picked up the one at the very bottom.
It was also the most battered.
The cover was completely gone, leaving only half a scorched, yellowish piece of cardboard.
The pages were loose, their edges curled and blackened, as if they had been soaked in water and then scorched by fire.
Faintly visible on the spine were a few blurred remaining characters: *Crag-Shattering... Palm?*
He flipped it open casually.
The text inside was even more blurred, the illustrations crude and distorted.
No value could be discerned at all.
Qin Lie seemed somewhat disappointed and prepared to put it down.
At the exact instant his fingers were about to leave the pages!
The Ancient Bronze Mirror Fragment pressed against his chest gave an unheralded, extremely faint... warmth!
Not the previous chill!
Instead, it was a fleeting warmth, like the embers of a candle!
Qin Lie's fingers instantly stiffened.
His heart felt as if it had been tightly clenched by an invisible hand!
He lowered his head abruptly, staring fixedly at the battered book in his hand.
As if he wanted to burn right through it with his gaze!
The old stall owner's drooping eyelids seemed to lift by an imperceptible sliver.
His cloudy gaze swept across Qin Lie's sallow face, then fell back onto the tattered book.
Still without the slightest ripple.
Qin Lie forcefully suppressed the raging waves in his heart.
He even lightened his breathing.
Feigning casualness, he turned the pages.
His movements remained clumsy, yet a trace of imperceptible trembling lingered at his fingertips.
Swish.
The pages turned, kicking up a stale, moldy odor.
The Ancient Mirror Fragment gave no further reaction.
That trace of warmth just now seemed like nothing more than an illusion.
But Qin Lie knew it wasn't!
Without changing his expression, he set the tattered book aside.
His lean fingers reached out once more toward the pitch-black stones on the stall.
One, two...
Picking up, weighing, putting down.
Still dead and lifeless.
When he picked up the smallest, most inconspicuous stone in the corner.
This stone was only the size of a chicken egg, grayish-black all over, its surface covered in a thick, greasy layer of black grime.
Like a piece of clinker buried in a stove for ten years.
It felt slightly heavy in his hand.
Cold and rough.
Likewise, there was no fluctuation of Yuan Qi.
Just as Qin Lie's fingers rubbed across a particularly thick patch of grime on the stone's surface—
Hum!
The Ancient Bronze Mirror Fragment in his embrace once again transmitted a faint tremor!
This time, it was the familiar chill!
Extremely faint, yet incomparably clear!
Like a cold needle gently pricking his heart!
Qin Lie's fingers paused imperceptibly.
He lowered his head, his cloudy pupils staring fixedly at this piece of "clinker."
As if trying to pierce through that thick layer of grime to see the true essence within.
"Cough... cough cough..." He coughed violently.
His body shook like a withered leaf in the autumn wind.
Using this to mask the turbulent waves within his breast.
There was something here!
This tattered book, this piece of "clinker"!
The Ancient Mirror had reacted!
Though faint, it was unmistakably real!
Slowly, he put the stone down and picked up the tattered book again.
Then, he raised his head.
A humble, ingratiating smile squeezed onto his sallow face.
His voice was hoarse and dry, like sandpaper rubbing together:
"Old... old-timer... how... how much for this... this tattered book... and... and this stone?"
The old stall owner finally lifted his eyelids.
His cloudy eyes were like dust-covered glass marbles.
He looked Qin Lie up and down.
In his gaze was undisguised indifference and a hint of... mocking amusement, as if looking at a fool.
"The book, fifty wen," the old man's voice was dry and hoarse, like snapping dead branches.
"The stone?" He glanced at the pitch-black "clinker," the corners of his mouth seeming to turn down slightly.
"Make weight. Buy the book, and this broken rock is yours for free."
His tone was flat, yet it felt like an invisible whip lashing across Qin Lie's face.
Naked contempt.
The meaning was clear: this thing was trash, fit for nothing more than a free giveaway.
Qin Lie acted as though he hadn't heard the sarcasm.
Instead, he looked as if he had scored a massive bargain.
A mixture of surprise and nervous delight appeared on his sallow face.
"Re... really? For... for free?"
With trembling hands, he fished the filthy coarse cloth money pouch from his bosom.
Untying the drawstring was a clumsy and laborious task.
A few pieces of broken silver and several dozen copper coins were revealed.
Under the dim light, they cast a feeble sheen.
In the old stall owner's cloudy eyes, there was no fluctuation at all.
In his eyes, this paltry sum was probably no different from pebbles by the roadside.
Qin Lie's lean fingers rummaged through the pile of copper coins.
Counting out fifty copper coins with worn, shining edges.
One by one, he placed them carefully onto the greasy stall cloth.
His movements were agonizingly slow.
Like cradling some peerless treasure.
"Fi... fifty wen... please... please count them..." His voice trembled, laced with ingratiating submissiveness.
The old stall owner didn't even look at the pile of copper coins.
With fingers like withered branches, he casually shoved the tattered book and the black stone forward.
"Take them."
His tone was impatient, like shooing away a fly.
Qin Lie acted as if granted a pardon.
Hastily extending both hands, he snatched the broken book and the black stone into his embrace.
His movements were eager, even tinged with greed.
As if he had snatched some great treasure.
"Tha... thank you, old-timer! Thank you, old-timer!"
He nodded and bowed repeatedly.
That pathetic, unworldly demeanor of someone mistaking trash for treasure.
Prompted several nearby stall owners to cast undisguised jeers his way.
"Old Cripple, made a sale today, huh? And to such a 'big patron'!"
A burly stall owner selling beast bones cackled strangely.
"Buying a pile of junk for fifty wen, this consumptive's brain is clearly rotten too!"
Another tall, thin fellow selling old weapons chimed in with a sneer.
"Get lost quickly! Don't go dying here and bringing bad luck!" the beast bone stall owner waved his hand impatiently.
Qin Lie looked startled.
His body shrank back abruptly.
Clutching the "treasure" to his chest, he lowered his head and hurried away with stumbling steps.
His back view was flustered and wretched.
Quickly vanishing into the deeper shadows of the black market.
Unrestrained laughter rang out behind him.
"Damn, bad luck! Does trash like that even come to the black market?"
"Old Cripple's pile of junk has been sitting there for a year, finally bumped into a blind fool!"
"Fifty wen? Enough to buy half a catty of coarse rice to keep breathing, and he bought a pile of waste paper and broken rocks? Heh!"
The laughter was like cold needles pricking Qin Lie's stooped back.
His pace quickened.
Almost running, he dashed into an even narrower, darker dead end.
The stench of rotting garbage hit him full force.
He pressed his back against the cold, slick, moss-covered wall.
His chest heaved violently.
Not from the running.
But because his heart was hammering wildly within his ribcage!
Thump-thump! Thump-thump!
Threatening to shatter his fragile ribs!
He panted heavily, the cold air mixed with stench flooding into his lungs.
Bringing a tearing pain.
Yet it could not suppress the wild joy and... the lingering thrill of a narrow escape that threatened to burst through his throat!
It worked!
Trembling, he slowly loosened his hands tightly pressed over his chest.
Utilizing the extremely faint sliver of daylight filtering down through the gap in the high walls.
He looked at the objects in his embrace.
On the left was the book, so tattered it was practically falling apart.
The cover was entirely gone, leaving only half a scorched, yellowish piece of cardboard.
The pages were loose, their edges curled and blackened, rough to the touch, exuding a heavy moldy smell and... a faint, barely perceptible scorching odor.
As if it had just been hauled out of a fire.
On the right was the chicken-egg-sized, pitch-black stone resembling clinker.
It felt cold and heavy in his hand.
Its surface was coated with a thick, greasy layer of black grime.
Viscous to the touch, it exuded an indescribable, bizarre odor mixing earth and rotting minerals.
First, he picked up the tattered book.
His lean fingers opened the scorched, brittle pages with extreme care, almost with piety.
Swish.
Dust fluttered down.
The text inside was blurred.
The illustrations even more crude and distorted.
No clue could be made out at all.
His brow furrowed tightly.
His consciousness sank inward.
Attempting to communicate with the cold bronze fragment.
"Reflection... show me... what is this..."
He roared silently in his heart.
Hum!
The mirror fragment sent back a faint response.
A cold current of air, like the finest thread, probed outward with difficulty.
Twining around the tattered book in his hand.
No reaction.
The air current flowed between the pages like a clay ox entering the sea.
Qin Lie's heart sank.
Could the warm sensation just now have been a delusion?
He was unwilling to accept this.
His concentration intensified.
Focussing all of the ancient mirror's meager power entirely onto the material of the book itself!
Disregarding the contents entirely!
Hum!
This time, the cold air current fed back by the bronze fragment abruptly mingled with an extremely faint, yet incomparably clear... undulation!
Not the ink on the pages!
Instead, it was a certain ancient and resilient... beast-hide fiber that constituted the pages themselves!
Along with a deeply buried, scorched breath—a trace of some martial arts willpower imprint, almost completely worn away by the passage of years, yet extremely obscure!
Though so weak it was almost negligible!
It undeniably existed!
Far surpassing the value of the superficial fist techniques recorded on the surface of this tattered book!
A brilliant light flashed in Qin Lie's eyes!
He slammed the book shut!
Carefully tucking it away close to his body.
As if concealing a peerless piece of raw jade.
Then, he picked up the pitch-black stone.
Cold and heavy in his hand.
He rubbed hard at the thick, greasy layer of grime on its surface.
The grime was as hard as a shell, not moving a fraction.
Instead, it stained his palm even blacker.
A fierce look flashed in his eyes.
He hesitated no longer.
Mobilizing the sole, meager trace of pale golden airflow within his dantian—feeble as a candle in the wind!
Laboriously gathering it to his fingertips!
Hiss!
The pale golden airflow was exceedingly weak.
Yet it carried a resilience like a monolith and a trace of newborn sharpness!
A layer of extremely faint golden halo instantly bloomed at Qin Lie's fingertips!
Pressing his fingers together like a blade!
He slashed fiercely at a relatively thin depression of grime on the stone's surface!
Rip!
Like a red-hot knife slicing through butter!
That layer of hard grime was actually sliced open by brute force, revealing a shallow gash!
Exposing a hint of an exceedingly dim, yet exceptionally pure... milky-white stone texture beneath!
The exact moment this patch of milky-white stone texture was exposed to the air!
An extremely faint, yet incomparably pure surge of Heaven and Earth Yuan Qi!
Like an elf imprisoned for ten millennia!
Burst forth violently!
Though as faint as a breath, vanishing in a flash!
Yet Qin Lie stood so close!
How sensitive was his body, which had cultivated the *Town Mountain Art*, to Yuan Qi?
Riding his breath, this pure Yuan Qi instantly poured into his lungs!
Like sweet dew falling on a drought-parched desert!
Those parched, torn meridians, that dantian covered in fissures!
Even the deep purple venom spot over his heart!
All seemed to be gently brushed by this wisp of pure Yuan Qi!
Bringing an indescribable sense of... relief and nourishment!
Qin Lie's eyes widened abruptly!
His pupils contracted violently due to extreme shock and wild elation!
Origin Stone!
Though of inferior quality!
Wrapped on the outer layer in an extremely thick special mineral crust capable of blocking Yuan Qi perception!
What lay concealed within was the genuine crystal of Heaven and Earth Yuan Qi!
The foundation of a Martial Artist's cultivation!
Hard currency!
The purity of the Yuan Qi that had escaped in that single instant far surpassed the inferior Origin Stones he had previously obtained from the grotto!
The value of this piece of "clinker"...
"Heh... cough cough..."
Qin Lie clamped his hand tightly over his mouth.
Forcefully choking down the wild laughter rising to his throat into a fit of violent coughing.
His body trembled violently from excitement.
A sickly flush bloomed across his sallow face.
Lowering his head, he stared at the tiny slit sliced open at his fingertips.
The milky-white stone exposed within emitted a restrained, warm luster under the dim light.
Like a dust-covered pearl!
He did not hesitate.
With his grime-stained hand, he gripped the "stubborn stone" tightly!
The rough, cold texture now felt like the warmest treasure in the world!
He had bet correctly!
The guidance of the ancient mirror had not been wrong!
Fifty copper coins!
Traded for a remnant volume potentially concealing an ancient martial arts imprint!
Traded for a real Origin Stone wrapped in a thick crust!
This bargain was monumental!
He leaned his back against the cold wall.
Panting heavily.
Sweat mixed with grime trickled down from his temples.
The venom spot over his heart flared with waves of chilly, stabbing pain as a result of his forced mobilization of airflow just now.
Yet he paid it no mind.
An unprecedented flame burned within his eyes.
Hope!
Hope for revenge!
Hope for the return of his strength!
Carefully, he also tucked the stone away close to his body.
Right beside the tattered book and the cold Ancient Bronze Mirror Fragment.
The three items rested flat against his skin.
Bringing distinct textures: the scorched brittleness of the book, the cold roughness of the stone, and the constant low temperature of the ancient mirror.
Yet they fused into an unprecedented sense of solidity.
Slowly, he straightened his body.
His stooped spine seemed to straighten by an imperceptible fraction.
He cast one last look at the indistinct darkness deep within the black market.
Greed, fraud, and bloodshed still permeated that place.
The old stall owner's cloudy, indifferent gaze and the other stall owners' unbridled mockery seemed to linger in his ears.
The corners of Qin Lie's mouth slowly curved upward.
Forming a curve that was icy to the extreme and mocking to the extreme.
He turned around.
Dragging his still unsteady footsteps.
Like a true specter.
Silently melting into the deeper darkness.
Heading toward the direction of the Prince's Mansion's dilapidated courtyard, which resembled a cage.
Walking alone.
The two "worthless items" in his bosom.
Heavy.
Weighing them down.
Was the churning tempest about to rise.