Chapter 682: The Ghost Market of the Capital

"This?"

The young man stared at the black pottery shard, a flicker of confusion in his eyes, but instantly changed his expression, thumb raised, speaking in a hushed, mysterious tone: "Sir, just one look tells me you've got an eye for things."

"This thing isn't ordinary—have you ever heard of Borchi?"

Li Yan frowned slightly. "Who's that?"

"Well, let me tell you, he's got quite the pedigree!"

The young man waved his fan, assuming the posture of a storyteller, swaying his head as he spoke: "Back when the Golden Tent Wolf State seized the capital, he was the general guarding the imperial palace. You know how expensive the capital is—someone's gotta get silver somehow…"

"Stop, stop, stop!"

Before the young man could finish, Li Yan impatiently cut him off with a hand gesture. "Cut the theatrics—no fluff. Speak plainly!"

The young man froze, then spotted the wrapped weapon behind Li Yan. Instantly, cold sweat broke out on his brow. He bowed respectfully. "Forgive my ignorance—may I ask which mountain you bow to, and which incense you burn?"

Li Yan replied coolly: "Three incense sticks! Don't dig too deep—drown in the deep sea, and you'll lose your life."

Seeing Li Yan was a man of the Jianghu, and radiating unmistakable authority, the young man dared not speak carelessly. He lowered his head and whispered: "I'm just a hanger-on of Sixth Master of the Bronze Camel Alliance. If I've offended you, please forgive me."

"To be honest, I can't tell where this thing came from—but it does have some history…"

Mid-sentence, Li Yan raised his hand again, flicked his finger, and half a silver ingot appeared in the young man's arms. "This place is too crowded. Find somewhere quiet to talk. If you deliver, you'll be rewarded."

From the distant street, several Daoists approached, followed by over twenty officers from the Capital Command. All wore grim expressions, heading toward the City God Temple, yet their eyes darted sharply, scanning for something.

Li Yan's sharp ears caught them discussing last night's events.

To avoid trouble, it was best to leave first.

The young man was merely a street thug from the Four-Nine City, selling trinkets at temple fairs and going weeks without a sale. Clutching the silver in his pocket, he had no time for anything else. He bundled his stall in rags, bowed low, and led Li Yan away.

The Capital City God Temple stood in the West City, a wealthy district. Nearby lay the Ministry of Justice Street, where officials of the Six Ministries resided. The temple fair had drawn silk merchants from Suzhou and Hangzhou, and antique dealers from Huizhou, settling along Chengfang Street to form a secondhand clothing market known as "Silk and Brocade Piled High."

Passing through these bustling streets, the two turned deeper into narrow alleys.

Here, the houses grew increasingly dilapidated, mostly humble courtyards for common folk.

The alley held a few small shops, but their goods were clearly much cheaper.

The young man knew the place well. Soon, he arrived at a small brick-and-wood house tucked in a side alley.

The storefront was narrow, with a faded blue cloth banner hanging beneath the eaves, bearing four crooked characters: "Liu's Boiled Offal and Braised Meat."

Before the door stood a large black iron pot, its charcoal fire never extinguished, simmering thick white broth. Scattered on top were slices of scallion, ginger, and two star anise. The steam, heavy with aroma, coated the sign in oily blackness.

Through the open door, inside lay four elmwood square tables, their legs propped up with tiles, their surfaces worn white from years of scrubbing, yet still stained with oil that refused to wash away.

Just an ordinary eatery.

Braised offal and boiled intestines—these were innards. The wealthy looked down on them, so they were extremely cheap. Cooked for hours in big pots with spices, they cost a few coppers a bowl. Common folk could eat their fill with a baked bun.

Thus, such shops were everywhere in the deep alleys of the capital.

"Old Crooked Mouth! I've got a VIP—close the door!"

Before stepping inside, the young man shouted.

"Hey~ you son of a bitch."

Out came a bald, crooked-mouthed old man, cursing at first—but when he saw Li Yan behind him, he fell silent, muttering: "Always loafing around. What the hell are you up to? Your tab's still open…"

"Enough, enough!"

The young man glared. "I'm about to strike it rich. See this?"

He shook the silver in his pocket. "Don't worry—you'll get your share."

The crooked-mouthed old man was startled. He said nothing more, carefully shut the wooden door, but kept glancing back at the two, his worry unmistakable.

Li Yan noticed all of it.

It seemed they bickered constantly, yet their bond was genuine.

The braised offal now was far from clean by Qianshi standards. With Li Yan's sharp sense of smell, the stench nearly knocked him over. Luckily, the shop's backyard was a tidy courtyard with a jujube tree.

The crooked-mouthed old man set a small square table under the tree, brought a pot of wine, and sliced two catties of braised meat.

The young man poured wine for Li Yan, raised his cup, and bowed low. "Sir, the place is humble—please don't mind. I'm Wang. Call me 'son of a bitch.'"

Li Yan blinked. "What does that mean?"

The young man scratched his head. "Don't laugh, sir—I never knew my parents. Left on the outskirts in the graveyard, raised by stray dogs. That's why everyone calls me 'son of a bitch.' They meant it as an insult, but I take it as a reminder of my roots."

Li Yan chuckled. "Names don't matter. I know a young man named Dog Sheng—he's the last disciple of the Sword Immortal of Shu."

The young man froze, lowering his head. "You flatter me. I'm not worthy."

Seeing Li Yan didn't look down on him, the young man shed his frivolous demeanor, pulled out the black pottery shard, and spoke seriously: "I didn't lie earlier. This thing does have history—it came from the Water Monkey's tomb."

"Oh?"

Li Yan's interest stirred. "Tell me more."

The young man took another sip. "Two years ago, Water Monkeys plagued the Wuding River outside the city. Several people died. The City God Temple sent Daoists to subdue them. They say they hauled up dozens of Water Monkey corpses, burned them all, buried them in the graveyard, and hired monks to chant sutras—only then did the trouble end."

"I grew up in that graveyard. Adopted into the city later, but my foster parents died of illness. Left with nothing, I returned to the graveyard and dug graves for a living."

"No master, no clan—I dared not join the old hands. Afraid they'd bury me alive in a tomb. So I worked alone."

"You know—I was raised by dogs. I know them well. I know every dog hole in the graveyard. Thanks to them, I could roam the graveyard at night without stumbling into anything unnatural."

"A few days ago, the dogs accidentally dug open the Water Monkey's tomb. Curious, and since the dogs gave no warning, I crawled inside."

Li Yan asked: "What did you see?"

"Pah. Don't bring it up."

The young man's face twisted in disgust. "Nothing. Just a pile of ash. This black shard was mixed in. There were many others. I thought, 'A thief never leaves empty-handed,' so I took one."

He ventured cautiously: "Sir, is this some rare porcelain?"

"Too much."

Li Yan sneered, formed a hand seal with his left hand, and pointed at the shard.

Visible to the naked eye, frost rapidly formed on the black pottery.

It was a simple technique—using spiritual awareness to trigger the residual yin-evil energy. Nothing sophisticated.

But the young man stared, eyes wide. "You… you're a true cultivator?"

"Do I look fake?"

Li Yan said gravely: "This thing is dangerous. Lucky you've had it only a short time. If you kept it three or five years, you'd suffer nightmares every night, plagued by illness."

He wasn't lying. Though the residual yin-qi was slight, prolonged exposure would damage health.

That's why collectors often hire Daoists to cleanse objects after acquiring them.

He frightened the boy because he sensed he was hiding something.

Sure enough, the young man swallowed hard, murmuring: "That's why the old man told me to throw it away—he said it'd bring bloodshed…" Li Yan's eyes narrowed. "Who told you that?"

The young man dared not conceal it. "After I took it, I didn't know what it was, so I went to Wu the Old Man at the Ghost Market for appraisal. He turned pale, told me to throw it away immediately, and never speak of it."

"Wu the Old Man's always acting strange. I didn't take it seriously. Oh—"

The young man suddenly remembered something, spun around, ran to the woodshed, and dug up a small bundle from a dirt pit.

He looked embarrassed. "Sir, don't misunderstand—I just got greedy. Took a few extra pieces."

Li Yan opened it—and his pupils shrank. He plucked a finger bone from among the black shards.

The young man whispered: "I dug this out of the ash. Thought maybe Water Monkey bones might fetch a price…"

"Can you take me to Wu the Old Man?"

Li Yan's expression turned grim. He asked directly.

There were several kinds of Water Monkeys—he'd seen them before.

This, however, was clearly a child's bone…

…………

Near midnight, lanterns swayed in the dark alleys.

"The Ghost Market, in plain terms, is tacitly permitted by the authorities…"

The young man carried a lantern, walking and whispering: "Some items seized in official confiscations can't be sold openly, so they're put up for sale here. Other things—of unknown origin—are sold too: stolen goods, ancient relics, even dead men's clothes."

Li Yan frowned. "Why buy dead men's clothes?"

"Sir, you don't understand."

The young man grinned. "Living people's clothes are expensive. Dead people's clothes are unlucky—but some are silk and brocade. Cut out the bloodstained parts, bundle them, and sell cheap. Poor families buy them secretly, cut them into new clothes. No one notices. No one mocks."

"The capital's a good place—but living with dignity? Not easy…"

As he spoke, they stepped out of the dark alley.

Outside the Capital City God Temple at night, the scene was entirely different.

Daytime fair booths had been dismantled. In their place, small stalls lined the ground.

Each stall was just a cloth spread on the earth, with goods laid atop, lit by a single dim candle. Stalls were spaced far apart, untouched by one another. Buyers moved silently, bargaining with finger gestures hidden in sleeves. Even speech was hushed.

From afar, the flickering candles looked like ghostly fireflies, shadows gliding—truly, a night procession of a hundred demons.

"Sir, I must explain the rules."

The young man suddenly stopped.

"In this Ghost Market, there are three trades and six markets, each in their place.

"To the east of the temple, the Incense Trade holds sway—selling sandalwood, spirit money, and deity statues. Some come from the City God Temple itself. Prices are high, but authenticity? Only insiders can tell. They pay 'incense tax' to the temple priest. Even if you see something strange, don't ask."

"To the west, ancient relics and tomb artifacts are sold. The Ghost Market's rule: 'Night doesn't cheat the newcomer, day doesn't haggle.' Whether it's 'Suzhou fake' or 'Henan fake,' you must declare it. If you pass off a fake as real, you cut off a finger to apologize. But whether it's valuable? That's up to your eye."

"Bargaining is done by finger signals inside the sleeve—insiders call it 'Sleeve's Universe.'

"Here, real goods are 'hard goods,' fakes are 'soft pieces,' and haggling is called 'scraping the earth.'

"If a vendor suddenly packs up and knocks three times on a copper basin, it means 'Police patrol.' If he knocks two long, one short—it means 'Enemies have come.'"

The young man repeated it all patiently. "Don't think I'm nagging."

【101】 "No. Rules must be followed."

Li Yan shook his head slightly. "What's up with that old Wu?"

"That old Wu is a strange one."

The dog's bastard whispered, "I heard his ancestors served as appraisers for a major pawnshop in the previous dynasty—he could tell the origin of any object at a glance. But his temper was foul; he'd blurt out unlucky words, muttering like a madman. If not for his uncanny eye, no one would bother with him."

Bang~ bang-bang~

At that moment, the sound of a night watchman echoed from the distant street.

"Midnight, Zi Hour—beware of fire!"

As if receiving a signal, everyone halted.

Each vendor pulled out spirit money and burned it before their stall; some hung portraits of Zhong Kui behind them.

Li Yan knew this was the ghost market's taboo, as the dog's bastard had described.

In the ghost market, one observed "silence at midnight."

That meant: after Hai Hour, no loud talk of ghosts or spirits, lest unclean things be drawn. Vendors must hang red cloth to cover mirrors, scissors, and other "defiling" objects. Those selling unearthed grave artifacts must draw a "well" character in cinnabar to suppress the curse. Violators, if caught, would be expelled.

Burning spirit money here was called "Opening the Market to the Ghosts," to prevent ghosts from stealing wealth.

Perhaps these taboos and customs deepened the ghost market's mystery.

Of course, to Li Yan, it appeared differently.

He clearly sensed residual yin-sha qi clinging to many items on the stalls.

Yet beyond, outside the City God Temple, two guardian statues emitted rising incense smoke that directly suppressed these energies.

Even if something sinister lurked, it could hardly stir.

This was one reason the ghost market was held outside the City God Temple.

"Alright, the ghost market's open. Old Wu's down the alley behind."

The dog's bastard gave a signal and led Li Yan carefully through the ghost market.

This place didn't just have stalls along the street—hidden alleys around also held mysterious vendors.

Compared to the outer market, the items in the alleys were clearly of a far higher caliber.

Li Yan had no interest in these burial artifacts; even the incense and ritual tools that had leaked from the City God Temple seemed beneath his notice.

His only target was Old Wu.

Finally, the two reached a dark alley.

There, in a corner of the alley, an old man in tattered clothes sat behind a stall, a curtain hanging above it bearing the words "Discerning Past and Present." His white hair was thin and dry; his head bobbed slightly, as if on the verge of sleep.

"Old Wu, big business has come…"

The dog's bastard smiled and approached.

The old man slowly opened his eyes and muttered, "Huh? You're still alive…?"

Before he finished, he spotted Li Yan behind him—his face turned ashen. He leapt up and ran.

Swish!

Li Yan stepped forward, his body flashing to block the old man's path. He smiled and bowed. "So you're a senior."

He sensed the familiar aura on the old man—it was the Gou Die.

This old man was also a living Yin Officer…

(End of Chapter)