Chapter 103: Lingxi Market District

“However, there is one thing I must warn you about,” Qin Xijun said. “Lingxi District is not like the Lingyuanze Night Market. It’s a place where all manner of people mingle—scholars, craftsmen, rogues, and scoundrels alike. It’s far more chaotic than the night market.”

“If you intend to go, you must be careful.”

Song Yan nodded.

The two exchanged a few casual words before talking about the recent trip to Mount Bei’ao. Qin Xijun was full of admiration, especially when mentioning Cong Yu, whom she found particularly remarkable.

“The pupil has surpassed the master...” she mused.

Upon further inquiry, Song Yan learned that Granny Qin and Cong Yu’s master were old acquaintances. It was a marvelous coincidence indeed.

Before long, Song Yan stood to take his leave.

He spent half a day wandering through Lingyuanze Market, purchasing pills for cultivating spiritual power and various other spiritual resources. Then he returned to Qingye Peak to continue his rigorous training.

Gradually, his spiritual power grew purer, his cultivation steadily accumulating in tiny increments. Such uneventful, focused cultivation was the true norm on the path of immortality.

Clouds drifted by like fleeting moments.

A month passed in the blink of an eye.

About thirty or forty miles from the Dongyuan Sect, outside Lingxi District, a cultivator with a stiff expression casually dispersed his wind-control technique and walked forward at a measured pace.

This man, clad in simple cloth robes and appearing as a wandering cultivator, possessed roughly the sixth level of Qi Refining.

It was Song Yan.

Today was the day of the auction in Lingxi District, as Granny Qin had mentioned.

He had prepared thoroughly before coming.

To avoid being targeted, he had changed his appearance.

He had even agonized over whether to wear his Dongyuan Sect disciple robes. Now, having understood the dangers of the world and having read many terrifying cases in the Chronicles of Evil Cultivators, he was cautious.

At the previous auction in Lingyuanze Night Market, he had witnessed two cultivators tailing another one—likely intending to kill and rob him.

The matter was complicated.

Sometimes, wearing the robes of a major sect’s disciple deterred troublemakers, especially those timid or cautious cultivators who feared retaliation from powerful backers.

But sometimes, it was the opposite.

Some ruthless fugitives paid no heed to such risks and, upon seeing sect robes, assumed the wearer was a lucrative target—a fat sheep ripe for the slaughter.

After weighing the factors, Song Yan decided to don the garb of a wandering cultivator.

This was mainly because the status of outer disciples in any sect was clear to all: they had virtually no backing.

That made them attractive targets.

He did not dare to borrow an inner disciple’s robes from Senior Brother Lin Qing.

So he disguised himself as a wandering cultivator.

Upon entering Lingxi District, he found it surprisingly crowded.

Before leaving the sect, Song Yan had naively believed there were few wandering cultivators and that the cultivation world was dominated by disciples of large sects.

Later, he realized that those unable to join sects were the majority.

Lingxi District was such a place—concealed under the Dongyuan Sect’s shadow, it was a market established by numerous wandering cultivators.

Following the address Granny Qin gave him, he arrived at the district’s eastern side.

It appeared to be a tavern.

Before stepping inside, the strong scent of alcohol already filled the air.

Few cultivators passed through here; those who did hurried along without any trace of the smell.

After confirming this several times, Song Yan stepped inside.

“Welcome, honored guest! Please come in!” The waiter, a cultivator at the fourth level of Qi Refining, greeted him warmly. “Are you here to drink or to take away?”

Song Yan thought briefly before replying slowly, “One cup of sixty-year-old Wuyou Liquor.”

The waiter blinked, glanced around nervously, and then whispered, “Sir, the Wuyou Liquor can’t be served through me. Please follow me to the cellar and serve yourself.”

Nodding, Song Yan followed him to the courtyard behind the main hall.

A green pine tree stood there, beside a small door set into the ground.

The waiter approached and slowly pulled open the wooden door.

Below was a narrow passage barely wide enough for one person, leading down a staircase dimly illuminated by faint light.

The waiter said nothing further, merely gesturing for Song Yan to enter.

He glanced at the waiter, then cupped his hands and stepped into the passage, descending slowly.

As the door above closed behind him, countless candles suddenly flickered to life.

They were neatly arranged along the stairs and corridor, lighting up the cramped space.

“This auction in Lingxi District is certainly secretive,” Song Yan thought.

Unlike the Lingyuanze Market auction, which was open to almost anyone, this one was hidden away. Even cultivators who knew about it had to provide a password to gain entry.

Lingyuanze’s auction was practically open-door, but here, secrecy was paramount.

He did not know how long he had walked, but in the narrow corridor, he encountered no other cultivators.

At last, he heard faint, noisy voices.

Quickening his pace, he arrived before a curtain made of silk, blocking the light.

He reached out and lifted the curtain.

Inside was a modest auction hall, nearly full of people.

He was late.

There were no special rules, so he found an empty seat at the edge and sat down.

He began to observe those around him.

Quite a few cultivators attended this underground auction without concealment.

He wondered if, like him, some wore human-skin masks or employed other disguises.

Some cultivators had unique ways of hiding their faces.

For example, the one seated diagonally to his left had his entire head enveloped in a small swirl of mist.

Looking around, Song Yan noted that besides the door he had entered from, there were several others.

He judged that Lingxi District, including the tavern he had just come from, must have at least four entrances connecting to the auction hall.

As he looked, he turned slightly and noticed a very small girl sitting to his right.

She appeared barely over ten years old.

Among the towering cultivators, she seemed extremely delicate and insignificant.

The girl wore an inner robe of a Daoist disciple but no shoes; she treated the large chair as if it were a small bed.

She had apparently been watching Song Yan, staring at him with a mischievous smile.

The smile sent a chill through him.

Adhering to the principle of “if others don’t offend me, I won’t offend them,” Song Yan said nothing, closed his eyes, and quietly began to regulate his breathing.

He waited for the auction to begin.

After an indeterminate interval, sounds reached his ears.

Voices came from ahead; someone was moving onto the stage—likely the auctioneer.

Some faint currents of breath were also present.

A delicate fragrance?

He slowly opened his eyes.

Before him were a pair of clear, pale purple eyes; the girl was almost nose-to-nose with him.

Song Yan frowned. “What are you doing?!”

The girl giggled and returned to her seat, leaning on the left armrest.

“Your face is fake.”

“Ha ha ha... how amusing.”

“When you return to your sect, give me that face, okay?”

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