Chapter 19: Chapter 19: Northern Plains People

Lu Zhao left the Nine Abyss Pavilion. The Marketplace was as bustling as ever, but to Lu Zhao, the clamor of voices seemed to hide invisible needles. He didn’t stop, walking straight toward the Guest House.

This time, he didn’t even glance at the ten-person shared bunks or the windowless single rooms.

"A single room with a Spirit Gathering Array. For three days." His voice was steady. A Spirit Stone and fifty Spiritual Sand already sat on the counter.

The old Shopkeeper’s drooping eyelids lifted a fraction. His murky eyes swept over the Spirit Stone, and without asking any questions, he pulled a smooth, warm Jade Talisman from his waist and handed it over. "Room A-7. Use this talisman to activate the Array. Half a Spirit Stone a day, so this covers three days exactly."

The stone room was slightly more spacious than the windowless single rooms. The four walls were polished smooth, embedded with a few fluorite stones that emitted a soft white glow. A stone couch and a stone table were the only furnishings.

The real value lay in the floor—a Spirit Gathering Array. The Array Hub had a groove where a half-depleted Lower Grade Spirit Stone was embedded. Wisps of Spiritual Qi were seeping from it. While it was a far cry from the Spiritual Spring at Cyan Rattan Stream, it was still vastly superior to the motley qi of the outside world.

In a corner, there was another, even fainter Array Pattern—a basic Sound Insulation Restriction.

Lu Zhao closed the heavy stone door behind him and fitted the Jade Talisman into the slot by the entrance. With a soft hum, the Spirit Gathering Array Pattern lit up with a faint glow, and the Sound Insulation Restriction rippled out like water, completely sealing off the clamor from outside.

He sat cross-legged on the stone couch and reverently took out the deep blue Profound Water Turtle Shell Shield.

The artifact was the size of a palm, cool and smooth to the touch. The deep turtle shell patterns seemed naturally formed, and a watery light swirled within, giving it a dense, heavy feel.

Lu Zhao closed his eyes and focused his mind. He slowly circulated the Little Spirit Rain Technique, and the four streams of pale blue True Qi in his Dantian rushed like torrents, converging at his fingertips.

He held his fingers together like a sword and lightly tapped the center of the Turtle Shell Shield.

HUM!

The small shield trembled, its deep blue glow suddenly flaring. A surge of Water Spirit Power, carrying the chill of the deep sea, rebounded toward him, attempting to resist the intrusion of an outside force.

Lu Zhao’s expression remained unchanged. The Spiritual Power from his fingertips was continuous, like spring water seeping into hard ice. He focused his Divine Sense, carefully guiding his own Water Spirit Power to slowly permeate and communicate with the natural Water Element Spiritual Patterns within the shield.

This wasn’t the earth-shattering process of Refining a High-Tier Treasure, but rather a water-grinding skill, using his own Magical Power as a guide to leave a unique Divine Sense Brand at the core of the Magical Artifact and establish an initial connection.

Time passed in the silence. The Spiritual Qi in the stone room was drawn by the Spirit Gathering Array, trickling into Lu Zhao’s body to replenish his constantly draining Magical Power.

As his Magical Power seeped in, the deep blue glow on the Turtle Shell Shield transformed from strong resistance to something gentle and restrained.

A full four hours passed before Lu Zhao slowly withdrew his power. The small shield hovered above his palm, its glow stable. With a slight thought, the shield began to spin, and a thin but incredibly tough blue Water Curtain instantly spread out before him.

His face was slightly pale, having consumed nearly thirty percent of his Magical Power, but a trace of relief flashed in his eyes. The initial refinement was complete. The shield could now move at his will and exert its basic defensive capabilities. Deeper control would require nurturing it with Spiritual Power over time—a water-grinding skill.

After meditating for a moment to recover some Magical Power, Lu Zhao left again with clear destinations: Fuyang Studio and the Zhang Family’s Alchemy Room.

Inside Fuyang Studio, sandalwood incense curled in the air. The middle-aged Talisman Master behind the counter saw a familiar customer and nodded slightly. Lu Zhao’s gaze swept over the dazzling array of Talismans. "Three Tier One High-Grade Golden Sword Talismans, three Blast Flame Talismans, and three Water Escape Talismans."

The Talisman Master’s eyelids twitched. He quickly took out nine Talismans, each with a rich inner Spirit Light and complex Runes. "Fine-quality Tier One High-Grade attack Talismans go for one Spirit Stone a piece. The Tier One High-Grade Escape Talisman is three Spirit Stones. All nine come to fifteen Spirit Stones."

Lu Zhao nodded. Fuyang Studio’s prices were always fair. He paid the Spirit Stones without hesitation and carefully put away the nine Talismans.

He turned into the Zhang Family’s Alchemy Room, where the scent of medicinal herbs hit him. The clerk behind the counter recognized the regular customer. "Five Tier One Middle-Grade Spirit Recovery Pills and five Tier One Middle-Grade Rejuvenation Pills," Lu Zhao said succinctly.

"Five Spirit Recovery Pills are fifteen Spirit Stones. The Rejuvenation Pills heal injuries, stop bleeding, and dispel low-tier cold toxins; five of them are seven Spirit Stones and fifty Spiritual Sand. That’ll be twenty-two Spirit Stones and fifty Spiritual Sand in total."

The clerk deftly packed two Jade Bottles and handed them over. Lu Zhao took them, his heart sinking slightly. ’Pills are always the biggest drain on Spirit Stones.’

Adding the cost of the Talismans and the Spirit Chamber rental, more than half of the sixty-one Spirit Stones he had just earned at the Nine Abyss Pavilion were already gone. But these were expenses he couldn’t afford to skip.

Dusk fell, and the lamps in the center of the Marketplace were lit one by one, the clamor gradually subsiding.

Lu Zhao, however, turned into an inconspicuous back alley. Two men with grim auras squatted at the alley’s entrance, their hawk-like gazes scanning the few people who occasionally entered or left.

Without looking at them, Lu Zhao flicked a fingernail-sized piece of low-quality Cold Iron Ore—worth about ten Spiritual Sand—into a broken bowl at one of the men’s feet, making a soft DING.

This was the "Gate Tax."

Deeper in the alley, several seemingly abandoned warehouses had been converted. Their doors were ajar, letting out dim yellow light and hushed conversations.

The air was a mix of the faint smell of blood, moldy herbs, and some kind of forbidden incense. This was a corner of the Marketplace’s Black Market, a place where things that couldn’t see the light of day were traded.

Lu Zhao confidently navigated to a stall at the very back, one with a tattered animal hide for a curtain.

The stall owner was a wiry old man who looked to be in his fifties. His left leg had been replaced from the knee down with a crude wooden prosthesis. The wrinkles on his face were as deep as knife cuts, but his eyes shone with a sharp light. His Cultivation was around the Qi Cultivation Fourth Layer.

He was hunched over, using a small file to polish a few blood-stained beast fangs. The stall was cluttered with ores of dubious origin, broken Magical Artifacts, and the desiccated carcasses of several small Demon Beasts.

"Zhao the Lame."

Lu Zhao’s voice was low, just loud enough for the man to hear.

Hearing his name, Zhao the Lame looked up. Seeing Lu Zhao, a sharp glint flashed in his eyes. He then grinned, revealing several yellowed teeth, his smile full of a merchant’s cunning. "Well now, a rare guest. Mr. Lu."

"Selling something or looking for something this time?" He put down the file and patted his wooden leg.

"I’m here to ask about something."

Lu Zhao got straight to the point. His gaze swept left and right to confirm no one was paying them special attention. "Lately, in the Marketplace—especially around the stalls in the West Market and East Market—have there been any new faces asking about Puppet Masters?"

The smile on Zhao the Lame’s face faded slightly. His small eyes narrowed as he sized up Lu Zhao. "Asking about that? Mr. Lu, things are a little tense on that front." He rubbed his rough fingers together meaningfully.

Lu Zhao’s expression was impassive. From his Storage Bag, he took out a small, palm-sized wooden bird-shaped puppet. Its joints were carved with crude warning runes. He tossed it onto the stall. "The usual. This should cover it."

Zhao the Lame snatched the Wooden Bird Puppet. His withered fingers expertly fiddled with its beak and wings, a satisfied look appearing in his eyes.

This was a failed piece Lu Zhao had made for practice in his early years. Its only function was as a small warning trinket for the home; it would emit a faint hum if it sensed an unfamiliar aura nearby. For someone like Zhao the Lame, who spent his years in the Black Market and was extremely vigilant, it was a rather practical little item.

"Heh heh, Mr. Lu knows me best."

Zhao the Lame deftly tucked the wooden bird into his clothes and lowered his voice. "Alright. I, Zhao the Lame, still remember the favor when you sold me that Puppet Guard on the cheap. I’ll keep an eye out for you on this. The Black Market’s got all sorts of news, and I have a few old buddies over in the West Market and East Market too."

"But the waters are a bit murky, like a wind blowing down from the north. One day, a day at most, I’ll get word to you whether I find anything or not. The usual signal?"

"Mn."

Lu Zhao nodded, said no more, and turned to push aside the animal hide curtain. His figure quickly disappeared into the shadows of the alley.

Zhao the Lame watched the swaying curtain, the merchant’s smile completely gone from his face, replaced by a grave expression.

At dusk the next day, a rhythmic knock sounded on the door of Room A-7 in the Guest House: three long, two short. Lu Zhao opened the door.

The wiry figure of Zhao the Lame squeezed in, bringing with him the chill from outside and the smell of the city streets.

THUD.

The stone door closed, and the Sound Insulation Restriction lit up again. Zhao the Lame wasted no time on pleasantries, sitting directly on a cold stone stool. He pulled a greasy paper package from his robes, which contained half a roast chicken, and began to tear at it. "Got news," he said, his voice muffled by food. "Two winds."

He took a swig of cheap wine and wiped his mouth. "The first wind is some old friends from around these parts. The Black Bone Three Owls, those three killers. They’re hard up for cash lately, lying in wait at a few dens where stolen goods are fenced and at the entrance to the West Market. They’re targeting fat sheep, especially lone wolves like you who often sell things at the Nine Abyss Pavilion."

"The word they’re putting out is that they’re looking for an ’Artisan,’ especially a skilled craftsman who can make things that fly."

"Their leader, the Black Bone Owl, is at the Qi Cultivation Eighth Layer. He’s ruthless and vicious, and his signature weapon is a poisoned Black Bone Spike. If you’re on the road and see someone in black linen with three white bones embroidered on their cuffs, walk the other way."

Lu Zhao’s eyes turned cold. He had heard of the Black Bone Three Owls; they were vicious bandits who had been entrenched in the Qixia Slope area for years.

"The second wind is more sinister." Zhao the Lame tore off a chicken leg, his voice growing heavy.

"They’re from the north. Not many, just two of them. They’re keeping a low profile, and their accent has a touch of Northern Plains County to it."

"They showed up at Old Ghost’s teahouse in the Black Market, asking only if there were any fellow cultivators who were experts in Beast Puppets, especially avian ones. They were generous, tossing down a Spirit Stone, but their eyes... TSK TSK... sharp enough to scrape bone. They’re bad news."

"Old Ghost couldn’t figure out where they’re staying, only that they’re still holed up somewhere in the Marketplace, waiting for something. That’s all the splash they’ve made. Any deeper, and even this old cripple can’t probe."

Zhao the Lame finished gnawing on the chicken leg, tossed the greasy bone aside, and clapped his hands to stand up. His wooden leg made a soft tapping sound on the stone floor. "Mr. Lu, that’s all the information I have for you."

He walked to the door, then glanced back at Lu Zhao one last time. In the dim yellow fluorite light, his old face looked unusually grave. "It’s a long way to Cyan Rattan Stream. The nights are dark and the winds are high. Be careful." The stone door opened and closed, and Zhao the Lame’s figure vanished.

Lu Zhao stood silently in place. ’The Black Bone Three Owls... people from the Northern Plains...’

He muttered the two names under his breath. Bandits robbing for money were a known danger, something he could guard against. But "Northern Plains"... that name was like a cold needle, instantly piercing the barrier of six years and plunging deep into his memories.

The bloody night five years ago... the roars of Demon Beasts, the screams of his clan, the piercing shriek of the Clan Protection Array shattering, his third uncle’s final shout...

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