Nestled among encircling mountains, a cluster of brilliantly lit buildings gleamed like a luminous pearl embedded in a sea of verdant forest.
Qingmu Market.
This was the official trading center established by the Azure Cloud Sect's outer gate, and the gilded den of pleasure and ruin for countless rogue cultivators, servants, and low-ranking disciples within a hundred-mile radius.
Compared to the cold, desolate depths of Abandoned Sword Cliff, this was another world entirely.
A burly figure pulled his hat brim low, blending into the stream of people entering the city.
Mo Fan's current appearance was utterly different from that cowering cripple Lu Xiaoqi in the servants' quarter.
His arms were bare, revealing muscle definition like tightly wound steel cables. His skin had taken on a bronze hue, as if tempered through a thousand hammer strikes, even gleaming with a cold metallic sheen under the sunlight—the result of repeated refinement through corpse poison.
He wore the [ Shadow Leopard Cloak ] sewn from a Tier-1 high-grade Spirit Beast's pelt, its massive leopard head serving as a hood that covered most of his face, leaving only a sharply angled jaw and tightly pressed lips visible.
His entire being radiated an aura of ferocity that warned strangers to keep their distance.
"Entry fee. One Spirit Shard."
The Azure Cloud Sect enforcement disciple guarding the market gate lazily extended his hand, not even bothering to raise his eyes.
Mo Fan said nothing. He didn't pull out the identity token marking him as an outer gate servant—that would be too conspicuous and wouldn't fit his current persona as a "wandering body cultivator."
He casually fished out a fingernail-sized fragment of low-grade Spirit Stone from his robe and flicked it onto the tray in the guard's hand.
Clink.
A crisp sound.
The guard glanced at the wild-looking leopard hide cloak, a flash of wariness crossing his eyes, and waved him through.
The moment Mo Fan stepped into the market, a massive wave of noise crashed over him.
"Ancestral flying sword! Antique from a previous dynasty! Only 50 Spirit Stones to take home!"
"Fresh from the furnace Rejuvenation Pills! Life-saving miracle medicine! 3 Spirit Stones per bottle, no bargaining!"
"Buying Spirit Beast materials! Fair prices, honest dealing!"
Shops lined both sides of the street, with stalls even spilling into the middle of the road. Haggling voices filled the air everywhere, mingling with the fragrance of pills, the iron-rust smell of weapons, and the bloody tang of demon beast materials.
Though chaotic, everything maintained an orderly appearance. Blue-robed enforcement squads wove through the crowds, maintaining order.
Mo Fan took a deep breath. Far from feeling uncomfortable, he felt a long-absent excitement.
This was his first real contact with the prosperous side of the cultivation world since transmigrating. There were no man-eating Spirit Beasts here—only man-eating prices.
He didn't rush to sell anything. Instead, like a tourist, he wandered through the entire market.
"A garbage longsword artifact that's been broken and repaired, and they dare ask 50 Spirit Stones?"
Mo Fan stopped at a stall, his [ Death Vision ] sweeping over the so-called "ancestral flying sword." The dense network of cracks was absolutely shocking. "This thing would probably explode after two swings, right?"
"And these Rejuvenation Pills..."
He glanced at the pill shop. Those low-quality, even fire-toxin-tainted low-grade pills were actually selling for 3 Spirit Stones per bottle. Meanwhile, the pile of wild Iron Bone Grass he'd gathered from the cliff bottom—with even better medicinal properties—would probably fetch less than half a Spirit Stone if sold directly to a pharmacy.
"As expected. No matter what world you're in, monopoly and information asymmetry are the most profitable."
Mo Fan had a clear picture now.
He avoided those customer-fleecing open-air stalls and walked straight toward the most imposing three-story pavilion in the market center—the Myriad Treasures Tower.
This was the official trading house operated by the Azure Cloud Sect. Though the prices were steep, it had the advantage of complete inventory and guaranteed credibility.
The first floor was the general merchandise area, dazzlingly varied.
Mo Fan's gaze swept past those exquisite dharma robes and artifacts, finally settling on an inconspicuous corner—the technique section.
Inner gate techniques were never sold externally. What was available here were mostly heterodox methods that had leaked outside, or basic common techniques.
"Body Forging Record..."
Mo Fan picked up a yellowed manual.
This was a complete body cultivation technique, from skin training to bone refining, even including cultivation methods for the Foundation Establishment stage. Compared to his crippling Iron Bone Art, this was practically a textbook-grade orthodox teaching material.
"How much?" Mo Fan asked in a hoarse voice.
The attendant behind the counter glanced at Mo Fan's attire and didn't dare be dismissive. "Good eye, sir. This Body Forging Record may not be some divine art, but it's balanced and moderate. We're asking 50 low-grade Spirit Stones."
50 Spirit Stones.
Mo Fan's mouth twitched.
He'd risked his life killing a Demon-Eye Rabbit, and that pair of eyeballs was only worth 5 or 6 Spirit Stones. One book equaled killing ten elite monsters.
"Can't afford it."
Mo Fan honestly set down the book, but he didn't leave. Instead, he changed the subject. "Do you... buy techniques here?"
"We do. But it depends on quality." The attendant's eyelid twitched.
Mo Fan pulled out the jade slip he'd practically polished smooth from handling—Iron Bone Art (Incomplete Fragment).
"A quick-cultivation body tempering fragment. Though the training process is rather painful, it's fast-acting and doesn't require medicinal supplements to get started." (Even if that's because you do it through self-mutilation.)
The attendant took the jade slip and pressed it to his forehead to sense its contents. His brow furrowed, then relaxed.
"The approach is a bit unorthodox... but it's certainly suitable for broke rogue cultivators who want to risk everything." The attendant gave his professional assessment. "15 low-grade Spirit Stones. Can't go higher—it's only a fragment, after all."
15 stones.
For Mo Fan, this was a piece of trash he'd already practiced to completion, with no remaining value. But for the trading house, reselling it to some desperate fool willing to stake their life, it would be a lifeline.
"Deal."
Mo Fan didn't hesitate for a second.
With the weighty 15 Spirit Stones in hand, Mo Fan didn't rush to buy the Body Forging Record—he still didn't have enough money.
He circled the trading house and was somewhat disappointed to find nothing here that a Necromancer could use. Contraband items like soul-summoning banners or corpse oil were absolutely forbidden in official establishments.
"Looks like I'll have to rely on myself."
Mo Fan walked out of Myriad Treasures Tower, looking at the bustling street outside.
His storage pouch was stuffed with spoils from a month of "sourcing" at the cliff bottom: mountains of poison sacs, beast bones, intact snake skins, and all manner of strange materials.
If he sold to shops, he'd definitely be squeezed to death on price.
"Since you want to profit from the spread, I'll just be my own boss."
Mo Fan tightened the leopard hide cloak around him and turned toward the westernmost area of the market.
That was the "Rogue Cultivator Free Trade Zone." No fancy counters here—just pieces of worn cloth spread on the ground, and wandering cultivators with fierce eyes who'd draw their blades over a few Spirit Stone fragments.
This was his home turf.
Mo Fan found an inconspicuous corner with his back against a wall, a wide field of view, and easy escape routes.
He pulled a tattered cloth he'd picked up at the cliff bottom from his storage pouch and spread it on the ground.
Clatter clatter clatter...
With a teeth-grating sound of bones colliding.
Mo Fan grabbed the bottom of his storage pouch and dumped its contents out like emptying garbage.
Green-glowing Rotbone Ant poison sacs, intact Jungle Pit Viper skins, even several Demon-Eye Rabbit leg bones still streaked with dried blood... instantly piled into a small mountain emanating a faint bloody stench.
Several nearby stall owners who'd been enthusiastically hawking their "family heirlooms" immediately shut up.
Passing rogue cultivators stopped in their tracks, staring in shock at this silent man in the broad-brimmed hat.
In a market where everyone desperately tried to package garbage as divine artifacts, this simple, brutal "wholesale" approach was like a mudslide crashing through.
Mo Fan sat cross-legged behind the worn cloth and drove the dagger—still stained with the Shadow Leopard's dried blood—into the ground before him.
"Clearance sale."
His hoarse voice was cold.
"Don't ask where it came from. Just talk price. Deadly goods. All you can carry."