Chapter Thirty-One: Zhu Yiqun

After leaving the shop, Song Changsheng slipped into a narrow alley. When he emerged, he was wrapped tightly in a cloak, concealing himself completely. He also activated the Breath Concealment Technique, a secret method from the Daoist scriptures. Not only did it hide his aura and cultivation, but it even masked fluctuations of spiritual power. Not to mention cultivators in the Qi Refining stage—even those at the Foundation Building stage would not be able to see through him without special means.

His caution stemmed from self-awareness. In recent days, he had not only severely wounded Chang Tianhua, but had also humiliated the Earthfire Sect during the crafting competition. Song Changsheng could hardly believe Earthfire Sect would not want him dead. Although violence was strictly forbidden in the market, it was wiser to remain vigilant, just in case.

"As expected, there aren’t many people on the streets on regular days. I should head to the central plaza and see if I can find anything worthwhile," he mused.

He had already learned from Song Luyuan that most cultivators in the marketplace conducted their transactions at the central plaza, so the streets were usually deserted. Sure enough, the plaza was bustling; rogue cultivators set up stalls everywhere, selling a dizzying array of goods. Their shouts filled the air, giving Song Changsheng the impression he was at a lively fair.

He wandered with interest among the stalls, discovering several items worth pausing for—such as an unremarkable talisman brush at an elderly cultivator’s stand. Though its spiritual light was faint, Song Changsheng’s expertise in artifact refinement allowed him to recognize its unusual qualities. It would be valuable to a talisman maker, though he himself had no need for it.

After strolling and stopping here and there, he finally halted before a stall selling ores. The proprietor was a sharp-faced, skinny middle-aged man, who greeted him warmly as soon as he stopped. “Fellow Daoist, browse freely! These are rare raw ores—something you won’t see every day.”

Song Changsheng crouched down, his eyes scanning the various stones, asking casually, “Fellow Daoist, how do you price these stones?”

The middle-aged cultivator rubbed his hands and said, “One spirit stone each. Everything’s just one spirit stone.”

“Are you trying to fool simple-minded folks?” Song Changsheng sneered. “These ores are all unrefined raw materials, hardly worth that price.”

“Fellow Daoist, your words are harsh. There are plenty of second-grade ores here. If you pick the right one, you’ll profit!” The middle-aged cultivator smiled innocently, but Song Changsheng didn’t believe a word.

There were indeed some second-grade ores, but all were defective, impossible to refine—no matter how many you bought, you’d lose money. But Song Changsheng’s interest lay elsewhere: a nondescript stone in the corner, which appeared to be ordinary Kongming Iron. Yet he faintly sensed a ripple of water spiritual energy within it—something Kongming Iron should not possess—which piqued his curiosity.

“Three spirit stones. Let me pick five pieces. That’s all your goods are worth,” Song Changsheng said, producing three spirit stones.

“Deal, deal!” The middle-aged cultivator accepted the stones, grinning from ear to ear. The ores were scavenged from abandoned mines, costing him nothing.

Besides the Kongming Iron, Song Changsheng selected four other good-quality metal ores. Even if the Kongming Iron held no surprises, these would still yield him some profit.

After stowing away his purchases, Song Changsheng continued to wander. He made another round, spending ten spirit stones on a broken array base from one stall, and five spirit stones on a damaged jade piece from another.

As he neared the end of the plaza, a gaunt elderly cultivator suddenly blocked his path, speaking mysteriously: “Young friend, I possess a map of an ancient ruin. You seem exceptionally gifted—destined to become a saint or a patriarch. For just one hundred spirit stones, I’ll part with this ancestral treasure map. What do you say?”

As he spoke, he lifted the corner of his Daoist robe, revealing a tattered beast-skin map.

Song Changsheng was dumbfounded—such a crude scam, and he encountered it personally.

He had no intention of engaging, but his curiosity was piqued, wanting to see what the forgery entailed. Feigning interest, he said, “Senior, you speak so eloquently. At least show me the map, or how can I know if your words are true?”

Seeing Song Changsheng hooked, the old cultivator readily handed over the map. “Go ahead, examine it.”

Song Changsheng took it and found the man’s forgery skills were indeed impressive. Regardless of the map’s content, the aging technique could easily pass for genuine. Even with his sharp eye, he could only spot minor flaws. If a naïve young cultivator saw such convincing craftsmanship, he’d believe at least half the tale.

Just as Song Changsheng was about to ask a few more questions, a familiar voice came from behind: “You old trickster! Still swindling here? Fellow Daoist, he sells nothing but fakes—don’t let him deceive you.”

The old cultivator jumped in agitation. “Zhu Fatty, you don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Song Changsheng turned to see a portly man in luxurious robes standing behind him. He remembered this man from his first visit to the marketplace—the fellow had tried to make friends, and his name seemed to be “Pig Yiqun”?

He’d once suspected the man of ill intentions, but now saw hints of chivalry. Many could spot a scam, but only he would step forward for a stranger.

“Fellow Daoist, every word I say is true. Believe it or not, it’s up to you.” Zhu Yiqun ignored the indignant old cultivator, speaking earnestly to Song Changsheng.

Song Changsheng nodded in agreement, “Indeed. Though the aging technique is skillful, the beast-skin lacks the genuine sense of ancient decay.”

Hearing that, the old cultivator’s face changed dramatically. He abandoned his ancestral map and vanished into the crowd.

Song Changsheng had no intention of pursuing him; the man before him, Brother Pig, was far more interesting.

Zhu Yiqun shook his head with a wry smile. “So fellow Daoist saw through it from the start—my meddling was unnecessary.”

Song Changsheng cupped his hands in greeting. “Fellow Daoist Pig, we meet again.”

The fat man was surprised. “You know me?”

“We met briefly outside the marketplace—perhaps you recall?”

Zhu Yiqun instantly realized Song Changsheng’s identity, and laughed. “So it’s you! Should I address you as Daoist Shen or Daoist Song?”

Now it was Song Changsheng’s turn to be bewildered.

“No need for surprise, fellow Daoist. Your fame in this marketplace is unparalleled. Half a year ago, I witnessed your exquisite array-carving technique here. From that moment, I knew Daoist Shen was also Daoist Song. I felt we were destined to meet, and now, seeing you again, I find myself showing off before a master.”

……