Chapter 136: The Prelude to the Century, Guangling Night

Suburban chicken farm.

The owner and his wife hadn’t returned home even after dark; they had turned on all the lights, waiting for customers to pick chickens so they could slaughter them immediately.

In the chicken farm, roosters were always fewer than hens.

For meat chickens, the male-to-female ratio was typically above one to eight.

For egg-laying hens, the ratio could be as high as one to twenty.

Today, many people came—some on tricycles, some on motorcycles, even a few in cars—all demanding roosters.

They wanted the oldest roosters, and when slaughtering them, they collected the fresh blood, immediately transferring it into other containers to mix with something unknown.

The farm was small, and the owner and his wife were usually quiet, honest people who didn’t meddle in others’ affairs.

But seeing how strangely the customers behaved, as if sharing a secret, the couple began to feel uneasy.

It didn’t look like these people were gathering for some collective purpose.

They hadn’t arrived together, and they left separately.

The last customer to arrive was a burly man walking on foot.

He had a crew cut, wasn’t young, and had a solid build; even bundled in a down jacket, he didn’t look bulky.

Snowflakes melted on his head the moment they touched it, and he wiped them away casually—he looked full of vital energy.

After asking the price of the roosters, he muttered under his breath before pulling out money.

A handful of old banknotes, including a one-yuan bill.

Beside him, an old man on a tricycle had already mixed the chicken blood, tossed the chicken into the tricycle, put on his helmet, and now lifted his face shield, shouting: “Ma Dengwan?”

“Uncle Nan.”

The big man leaned over curiously, “You buying chickens or blood?”

Uncle Nan chuckled, “Buying cinnabar, medicine powder, blood—all taken care of. I’m taking the chicken home for my daughter-in-law to stew for my grandson.”

Ma Dengwan whispered, “Uncle Nan, are you also looking into the Ghost Market? You’ve got several fruit shops—you’re well-off, living in peace. Why get involved in this mess?”

Uncle Nan grunted, “My mother and I were both saved by Brother Yuan back then. When he called, if I turned him down, would I still be human?”

“Besides, my kids and grandkids are fine. My old bones? I’ll do what I want!”

Ma Dengwan gave a thumbs-up. “Uncle Nan, true man—unfettered.”

Uncle Nan smiled, “Aren’t your wife’s dumpling stall doing well? You’re not exactly short on cash, are you?”

Ma Dengwan shrugged, “Using her money feels wrong. I want to see if I can make some extra cash myself.”

Uncle Nan laughed loudly, waved his hand, turned the tricycle around, and drove off slowly.

Ma Dengwan drifted into thought, his smile fading; snow landed on his head, and he forgot to wipe it off.

He couldn’t quite explain why he’d taken the Gold Knife Martial School job.

It certainly wasn’t just for the extra money.

His salary was modest, but he had few expenses.

His wife was a good woman, no bad habits; his son was grown and didn’t beg him for toys.

And he himself, after spending over a decade in prison, had developed good habits; since his release, he hadn’t smoked once, let alone touched anything else.

His life now was truly good.

It was the kind of life his childhood self would have envied.

Yet he still felt uneasy.

When he was young, his family was poor; strong idle men bullied them, and educated intellectuals looked down on them.

His parents wanted to send him to school but had no connections; when he grew older, he channeled his frustration into fighting, and his older brother noticed him, teaching him martial arts.

Those were the happiest days of his life—he could now beat the idle men.

The intellectuals, though they carried status, crumbled at the slightest threat, revealing their cowardice and weakness.

His brothers were loyal; their elder brother treated them well, so they followed him.

But later, their elder brother went to prison, and they all became convicts.

Ma Dengwan was sentenced to fifteen years; he was released after serving fourteen.

His best brothers were either still inside, or had moved away; one had even become a teacher at a martial arts school.

The old saying goes: things remain, but people change.

But when he came out, he saw that even Guangling itself was different.

Few places looked the same as before.

His wife had aged; his son had grown up.

The very same year he went to prison.

That July 1st, they introduced something called “nine-year compulsory education.”

Even with his wife managing everything alone, their son still went to school.

His sweet little child had become an “old nine”… hey, so scholarly now.

Yet this life still left him feeling something was off, compared to the past.

Ma Dengwan snapped back to reality, took the bowl of chicken blood, pulled out a plastic bag of cinnabar, poured the blood inside, sealed it, and rubbed the bag with his hands.

Looking back toward the city, he felt a small flicker of hope.

Ghost Market! That term felt distant—could he really stumble upon a clue?

Ma Dengwan took the chicken home, then stepped out again, cinnabar in hand.

Recalling places in the city rumored to be quiet, he decided to wander and scout first.

The roads were piled with snow; shops were closed, shuttered; some families lived in their stores, still lit up.

The lights varied, and so did their brightness.

Streetlights were uniform, but several were broken, and no one had come to fix them recently.

Ma Dengwan pondered where the Ghost Market might be connected, glancing around.

The bright streetlight above him suddenly flickered twice.

As he looked up, his nose twitched—he smelled the stench of rotting tree bark soaked in water for years.

HU!

Ma Dengwan rolled forward on the spot, covering over three meters, his right hand slipping into his coat pocket; he knelt half-up and turned—no one there.

Only the streetlight flickered more rapidly.

The stench of rotting bark surged toward his face.

Ma Dengwan’s pupils contracted; his right hand shot out of his pocket and shoved forward.

His knuckles stretched slightly, producing a sharp crack.

Extended strike, long-range—Shaolin Long Fist’s firecracker force.

Especially since his palm was smeared with crimson cinnabar.

“Ahh!!”

A strange scream echoed through the air.

A crimson cinnabar handprint hovered in midair, retreating rapidly.

Ma Dengwan had no ability to create floating handprints.

Clearly, the cinnabar had stuck to something unclean—and it was fleeing.

Sweat beaded on his neck, his face flushed; he took a sharp breath.

Those who trained hard in martial arts had heightened senses; though they couldn’t see the unclean things, they could smell their stench.

The nose is the organ through which humans connect with heaven and earth.

Detecting unclean things through smell was the most common method.

Sensing them through hearing or touch was far less likely.

Ma Dengwan focused his nose—he could still smell the rotting bark odor fading away.

He was just relaxing when he caught several other strange scents.

One smelled like spoiled meat; another like muddy ground after autumn straw fires.

And there was the metallic stench of iron.

That iron smell terrified him—he felt his heart contract, and he bolted.

As he ran, he smeared cinnabar on his forehead, nose, mouth, and the back of his neck.

Mixing the yang energy of chicken blood and cinnabar with the body’s natural yang-leaking points.

They said this made unclean things think the “prey” was foul and poisonous.

Ma Dengwan ran for several blocks, and sure enough, the stench didn’t follow.

“Multiple unclean things, each with different deaths, guarding the area? That’s abnormal—is there a Ghost Market warehouse over there?”

Fear and excitement stirred in Ma Dengwan; he oriented himself and headed toward the martial arts school, already pulling out his phone to call his brother who’d become a teacher.

“Hey, Old Sha, I just…”

He hadn’t finished speaking when he froze, looking up.

The air was thick with the stench of unclean things.

Fresh lacquer, wet cement pillars after rain, vomit mixed with blood from drunkenness…

All the subtle odors invisible to ordinary people nearly choked him in an instant.

But these stenches weren’t aimed at him.

Each followed its own path, mostly just passing by.

Ma Dengwan’s eyeballs turned rigidly in one direction.

The stench of blood mixed with alcohol and stomach acid drifted toward Dongguan Street.

His house is on Dongguan Street—who knows if that thing might land on his roof?

“Wife…”

The giant man’s excitement vanished, replaced by panic and fury; he gripped his phone and sprinted off.

“Hello? Hello?!”

In the martial arts school, Teacher Sha asked several times but received no reply; he hurried toward the cafeteria.

The principal and the others should be eating there.

But as Teacher Sha neared the cafeteria, he noticed many teachers running toward it.

Some teachers still held one phone to their ear while another phone rang.

“Number 29 Beiguan should have a Ghost Market…”

“Futou Village—the one right by Exit 8 of the highway—I ran into something dirty there…”

“Damn, I vaguely saw an old woman.”

“We martial artists find it too exhausting to fight things like this—thankfully, I brought my family’s prayer beads when I left this afternoon.”

“...I’m almost out of cinnabar—hurry and help! This thing seems to be that famous bride who drowned herself nearby…”

“Wasn’t that a 1950s incident? The family that drove her to suicide probably all died by now.”

Teacher Sha slowed his pace.

Why are so many places showing disturbances? What is the Ghost Market trying to do?

In the underground level.

All lights had gone out, yet the entire floor was suffused with an icy blue-white glow.

The Ghost Market’s trusted agents were scattered among hundreds, even thousands, of goods.

The Mo brothers and Du Chen were all on the altar.

The statue before them resembled a monkey.

It bore ice-blue antlers on its head, red eyes, white fur, long limbs, and a circular ice mirror embedded in its chest.

The aura of every item was swallowed whole, draining into the monkey from all around it.

From that circular mirror, one after another malevolent spirit drifted forth.

These spirits, having lingered in the Spirit Realm for decades or even centuries, had long been worn down and transformed—but they deliberately preserved their hatred.

They did not know what had become of their enemies since.

But they knew their hatred still lived—in the human world—in Guangling!

Du Chen stared at the breeding boxes surrounding the altar.

He awaited the descent of divine power to purify those centipede eggs.

Projecting these vengeful spirits was the prerequisite for the Mirror Monkey to unleash its divine force.

Moreover, to promote the White Bone Centipedes, one must consider public acceptance.

Those already cultivated might not need these centipedes—but once the truth behind these extraordinary events was exposed and could no longer be hidden,

enough people would willingly accept centipede implantation, desperate to seize this opportunity.

In Chang’an, the crisis in the Spirit Realm is closing in—how can you afford such indecisiveness?

Du Chen thought silently.

Let Guangling be the beginning of the truth; then we will infiltrate every corner, spreading these superior seeds, giving more people the chance to change their lives!

My research findings are what should shine brightest in this era!

Zzzzzz!!!

The altar floor suddenly hummed, turning pitch black.

In the darkness, a panoramic view of Guangling emerged, looking down.

Du Chen and the others looked down at their feet and saw many icy blue dots halted mid-flight, failing to make sufficient impact.

“What’s going on?”

Du Chen’s whiskers twitched. “How many meddling sorcerers are there?”

Mo Shengyi whispered, “Who said only sorcerers can interfere with these things?”

“Tonight, too many people have been wandering around Guangling—and now it seems they’ve all prepared for something.”

Mo Shengyi tossed aside his fur-lined coat, turned with a smile, and gave orders to the Ghost Market’s followers.

“Then, for our kind, go meet them!”

Jin Dao Martial School.

In the cafeteria.

Chu Tianshu had just been biting into a bun while chatting on his phone.

He saw that Baishui had said most of the Jianghuai Special Captors who could move had already entered Guangling.

【Lin Baishui: You haven’t met many of my colleagues yet—want to get together?】

Before Chu Tianshu could reply, his gaze turned toward the cafeteria entrance.

Many teachers were approaching the cafeteria.

He heard the chaotic chatter and, in his Spirit-Opening state, directed his vision toward the night sky.

In his sight, irregular, translucent shadows flew past the neighborhoods near the martial school.

Chu Tianshu rose, swallowed the meat filling in his mouth with force, his teeth clashing.

“Malevolent spirits!!”

(End of Chapter)