Unintended Immortality

“There aren’t many people right now, so you can find a place to wait or take a stroll. It’s only about three or four li down from here,” Heroine Wu said to him. “While it’s still quiet, I’ll set up my stall to sell these items. I’m worried I might run into someone who recognizes me when it gets busier. Once I sell everything, I’ll split the earnings with you.”

“Then I’ll go for a walk.”

“Alright!”

Heroine Wu casually found an empty spot, took out the swords and knives she had picked up yesterday and set them out on the ground. n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

Beside her stood a tall, thin man who covered his face, and he made a chilling remark, “This isn’t usually your spot, is it, miss…”

“It’s none of your business!” Heroine Wu replied sharply, her cold gaze silencing him.

The Daoist chuckled at this; she was demonstrating the local rules to him.

He exchanged a glance with the girl beside him before stepping forward, while behind him, Heroine Wu's voice rang out, “Rare swords and blades… A top-quality Taoquan Blade… Tanxi Sword…”

Nearby, a man reeking of sweat suddenly struck a match. As the sparks ignited a small flame, he lit an oil lamp. Holding the lamp, he exchanged glances with the Daoist as he passed by. Once the Daoist was out of sight, he settled down, placing the lamp on his own stall.

In the dim light, there were various precious utensils on display, exuding a strong deathly aura. They were likely burial items.

The Daoist averted his gaze and continued forward, while Heroine Wu's calls faded into the distance.

As he walked along, he passed by countless people. In this ghost market, jianghu heroes made up only a small portion; the majority were individuals from all walks of life. Very few, like the Daoist and the girl, openly revealed their faces; most people revealed only their eyes.

Some murmured to themselves, discussing the secrets of the imperial palace and court disputes, speaking of matters that were not easily discussed outside.

The Daoist looked at them, and they glanced back at him. He ignored them, and they did not inquire about him either.

It was still early, and both vendors and customers were few, making it a good time to observe this fissure in the earth.

The stone walls on both sides of the fissure appeared natural, some rough and some smooth, with stone patterns varying from deep to shallow, resembling a natural crack. However, if a great power had truly torn open the earth, the edges of the fissure would likely look similar. So, it was impossible to determine the truth of the rumors.

What truly drew attention were the walls of stone. This fissure lay deep and long outside the city, with countless branches branching off between the main fissure. It was adjacent to the capital, and except at noon, sunlight rarely reached the bottom. Thus, it was a natural hiding place for refugees, beggars, outlaws, and even demons and ghosts.

Everywhere there were traces left by them. Looking at the stone walls on either side, wherever it was possible to carve, there were various scribbles.

There were wall paintings, inscriptions, and chaotic lines.

From the marks, some were left by hard objects like stones, while others were inscribed by sharp items such as swords and daggers.

The Daoist held up the lantern, leaning in to observe closely and reflect deeply.

Some of the wall paintings were quite simple, composed of the most basic lines, exuding pure, primitive emotions. Others were intricate, depicting various plants, animals, and human figures, showcasing the artist's considerable skill in carving and painting; it was a mystery how such talent had ended up here.

Some artworks radiated peace and tranquility, while others twisted and contorted. There were also some that were simply chaotic scribbles.

The carved inscriptions were even more complex. In terms of handwriting, one could find everything from painfully ugly to remarkably elegant strokes right here.

Looking at the content, there were simple, calm narratives detailing names and events—who fell into this place, in what year and month, and under what circumstances the words were written.

There were also curses directed at parents, enemies, and corrupt officials. Corresponding to this were various vile curses and filthy language. Some questioned the heavens, the court, or themselves, wondering how they had come to this point.

There were heartfelt prayers, seeking to escape their predicaments, or those who believed they were beyond salvation due to their deep sins, praying for divine forgiveness and hoping their families would not suffer the consequences.

Some even included poetry and essays, with quite a few being well-written.

Before the ghost market formed, those who ended up here were either destitute and homeless or trying to escape something. In the dim light, the stone walls on either side bore the weight of their thoughts, emotions, and hopes.

The Daoist occasionally lifted the lantern, then lowered it to the ground, examining each piece as if he could glimpse their past selves.

The years and time were all encapsulated within.

Gazing at it all evoked a deep sense of resonance. Was this not also a form of cultivation?

Years from now, if this place still existed, it might become a scenic spot.

Yet, who knew if the wall paintings and inscriptions would still be here, whether they would remain legible, and if future generations would be able to discern their age and gain a glimpse into the lives of those who once inhabited this space.

The little girl beside him didn’t understand what he was looking at; she followed him for a while but quickly lost interest. However, she had her own way of playing—she would wander over to the scattered stalls along the roadside, occasionally finding something that sparked her curiosity. She would crouch down to look and then immediately chase after the Daoist once he moved on.

As time passed, the place grew more lively. All sorts of people gathered here.

The stone caves carved out on either side of the fissure were occupied one after another, with those who had wooden doors all opening up. Some lit lanterns or candles, while others ignited oil lamps. The fissure was suddenly filled with many lights, and these people took up most of the space along the stone walls, making it much harder for the Daoist to get closer to see.

“Lady Calico.” The Daoist turned to look at the little girl.

Lady Calico was squatting in front of a small stall, appearing quite small herself.

Interestingly, despite being just a few years old and her face clearly showing innocence and curiosity, the vendors never chased her away; they merely stared at her, perhaps contemplating something.

However, this time was different.

The vendor in front of Lady Calico was particularly short, with just a piece of cloth laid out for his stall, displaying a few trinkets stolen from graves. Instead of looking at the stall, Lady Calico was fixated on the vendor, who trembled under her gaze as he was too afraid to meet her eyes.

The Daoist approached and called out again, “Lady Calico.”

The little girl looked up at him, then stood up and followed him back, glancing back three times as she walked.

“I encountered a mouse again.”

“I told you, don’t keep staring at people like that.”

“I’m just looking.”

“But Lady Calico, as the Cat God, you possess great divine power. Now that you have learned to read, your might has increased. Mice are naturally timid and inherently afraid of cats; you might frighten them.”

“Is being able to read really that impressive?”

“Of course,” the Daoist replied softly. “Just look at this world; those who are impressive are usually the ones who can read.”

“You’re right!”

Mice were naturally clever and numerous, with many becoming demons; encountering them wasn’t surprising.

But the beings here were not limited to just that.

After walking a few steps, they saw a tall figure approaching, leading a horse and covering their face with cloth.

“How’s your exploration?”

“Pretty interesting.”

“Are you still exploring?”

“Naturally.”

“Then let’s go.”

“Are you selling well?”

“I’m selling at a loss,” Heroine Wu replied, pulling out a few pieces of broken silver from her bosom, which looked to be about ten taels. She called out to Lady Calico, and the little girl turned back, reaching out her hands to receive the money immediately.

“Hehe…” The woman couldn’t help but grin.

The Daoist didn’t say anything.

A fine-quality sword was quite complex in craftsmanship, and without considering additional value, a good one was worth at least several thousand qian. If it was from Taoquan or Tanxi, as Heroine Wu called out, it would be even more expensive. Often, for a jianghu hero, their most valuable possession was their weapon.

However, the weapons in the hands of those jianghu heroes usually showed some signs of use; they were not brand new. Coupled with certain issues and the urgency to sell, they naturally had to be priced lower.

This time, the crowd was much larger.

There were not only people but also demons and ghosts.

The amusing thing was that most of the people coming and going here were unwilling to reveal their true faces. Many wore cloaks with hoods, and the only visible part of their bodies was often obscured by a terrifying ghostly mask, pretending to look fearsome. In contrast, the actual demons and ghosts would try their best to disguise themselves as humans.

How interesting...

The Daoist held a lantern and did not cover his face. He also carried a half-person-long box slung over his shoulder and led an exceptionally beautiful little girl, which drew quite a bit of attention as they walked.

“The things sold here generally fall into a few categories,” Heroine Wu explained as they walked. “One type consists of ill-gotten gains—stolen, robbed, or obtained through deceit. Another type includes items that are prohibited or difficult to sell in the city, such as the blood of executed criminals or banned books from the court, or sensitive information. And then there are items related to demons and spirits. Of course, within each category, there are both genuine and counterfeit items, so one must be discerning.”

The Daoist listened intently and observed carefully.

However, after wandering around, he hadn’t bought much; it felt more like a curious exploration.

If he were to say he bought something, it would be just one item. He purchased two taels of herbs from a medicine seller.

The seller claimed it was “Royal Mangrass,” explaining that it had five leaves, which formed a circle. The patterns on the circle resembled a human face. He said that where the grass grew, no other plants could survive, and if picked, it wouldn’t wither for many days. The seller asserted that this grass absorbed all the spiritual qi of the surrounding environment and the essence of the sun and moon. Using it in alchemy or medicine could make one strong, youthful, and impervious to evil.

In truth, he himself didn’t even recognize it.

Seeing this herb's miraculous properties, he decided to collect some, hoping to sell it to someone knowledgeable. When Song You asked him, he spun a tale.

In reality, this grass was called “Ghostface Grass,” which only grew in places swarming with countless restless souls and wild ghosts. There were no soil for it to grow in a normal human realm.

According to legend, there was once an unparalleled ghost king in the north who turned an entire city into ghosts. At that time, under the influence of ghostly and yin energies, all vegetation within a radius of several dozen li withered, and this grass sprouted everywhere.

In such peaceful Changjing, how could there be any Ghostface Grass?

Song You was only curious about its location, but the medicine seller was unwilling to disclose any information.

In the end, the heroine resorted to threats and persuasion, and the Daoist explained the situation. The seller then finally agreed to tell the Daoist if the grass was bought. The Daoist ended up purchasing it, and the seller only mentioned a rough direction.

It was in the Mount Ye area of Fengzhou, nearly a thousand li south of Changjing.

Fengzhou was known for its ginseng; he had come to collect ginseng before and happened upon this grass.

This did surprise the Daoist a bit.

If it were nearly a thousand li north, it would be more acceptable. That region, though not yet at the border, was considered part of the north. It was said that after the war, most of the homes were deserted, with bandits rampant and demons often appearing.

The south, however, was more peaceful and prosperous.

What secrets could there be...?