Chapter Fifty-Five: The Gu Master

Relying on the concealing qualities of his black robe, Song Changsheng moved freely through the crowd, shaking off all those tailing him as sensed by his spiritual perception. Only after circling the market several times with utmost caution did he finally remove the robe in a secluded corner and return to the Treasure-Seeking Pavilion—his vigilance was evident.

Not long after his return, in a tavern at the northwest corner of the Treasure-Seeking Pavilion, a mysterious figure dressed in a long robe with strange patterns and wearing a silver human-faced mask sat by a second-floor window. Directly across from the window was the Treasure-Seeking Pavilion. The figure rested an arm on the windowsill, his eyes gleaming coldly as he gazed outside, lost in thought.

A waiter approached the mysterious man and greeted him warmly, “Esteemed guest, may I offer you something to drink?” The mysterious man turned his head. Instantly, the waiter’s body stiffened, and a blood-red haze seemed to cloud his eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

“Just bring me a pot of wine,” the mysterious man rasped.

“Right away, please wait,” the waiter replied, apparently oblivious to what had just happened, and hurried downstairs for the wine.

The mysterious man drank alone until sunset before leaving. Yet after he departed, the waiter would occasionally stand by the window, staring out in a daze. If one looked closely, a faint crimson glimmer could still be seen in his pupils—a truly uncanny sight.

Song Changsheng waited three days before receiving word again from Zhu Yiqun, who finally brought a piece of good news: the elder rogue cultivator possessing the Heart-Guarding Pill had agreed to meet him. The meeting place, chosen by the other party for reasons of safety, was inside the market—a bustling spirit herb bazaar.

As usual, Song Changsheng informed Song Luyuan in advance, then, concealing his presence, arrived at the appointed spot—a spirit herb stall tucked in a corner. Unlike the other stalls, which, if not crowded, at least had some customers, this one was deserted for a long time, eerily quiet.

Upon approaching, Song Changsheng immediately understood why: the prices here were outrageously high—no one in their right mind would buy from this stall. But his attention was not on the herbs. Instead, he quietly studied the stall owner sitting cross-legged behind the wares—a middle-aged cultivator of striking bearing, his face deathly pale and utterly devoid of color. He wore a blue Daoist robe, faded from countless washings, and sat with eyes closed in meditation, radiating an unapproachable aura.

Judging by appearance alone, this man certainly did not look like a practitioner of dark arts.

Song Changsheng discreetly held the talisman Song Luhuai had given him and spoke evenly, “Senior, don’t you think choosing such a place makes you rather conspicuous?”

The stall owner slowly opened his eyes. Though his complexion was poor, his eyes were bright as lanterns in the night—clear and penetrating.

“A crowd can be the best cover. The man tracking you is formidable; I can sense his presence on you. He’s already chosen you as his target,” the stall owner said, his tone calm but undeniably weak.

These words startled Song Changsheng. He quickly glanced around with the corner of his eye but found nothing amiss.

“No need to look. With so many people and the interference from all these spirit herbs, those little tricks of his won’t find us so easily,” the stall owner said casually as he toyed with the herbs before him.

“Who is this man?” Song Changsheng pressed.

The stall owner looked up at him. “He is Feng Wuming—a master of gu arts.”

“A gu master?” Song Changsheng’s pupils widened in shock. Gu masters were a rare and reviled profession, feared for their insidious methods. Falling prey to their techniques was all too easy, and no one wished to deal with such dangerous individuals.

“You’d best be careful in the coming days. Avoid strangers. Should you be cursed with gu, you may not die, but you’ll certainly suffer,” the stall owner said lightly.

Song Changsheng frowned slightly but kept his composure and bowed in thanks. “Thank you for the warning, senior.”

“It’s just a friendly reminder,” the stall owner replied with a faint smile, extending his hand. “You’ve managed to meet me as you wished. Now, where is my item?”

Song Changsheng produced the stone, fixing his gaze on the stall owner. “This stone doesn’t seem like a righteous object. Would you mind telling me what it is?”

To question a Foundation Establishment cultivator so directly was almost rude and could be seen as offensive—something he would never dare outside the market.

The stall owner cast him a glance and replied coolly, “It’s a strange stone, infused with Feng Wuming’s blood by secret arts. It attracts gu insects, which I need to draw out the ones within me. In essence, it is indeed an evil item—your suspicion is natural.”

“Did it occur to you that this could be a poisonous bait?” Song Changsheng asked.

The stall owner smiled. “Feng Wuming has been hunting me for years. He knows I’m in Great Qi, but not exactly where, so he uses this item to lure me out. Whenever it’s auctioned, word is spread deliberately. He knows I need it and I won’t let such news slip by. The bait may be poisoned, but I have ways to handle it. There’s no need for you to worry.”

The stall owner’s explanation matched Song Changsheng’s suspicions, only deepening his curiosity about the man’s identity. None of the appraisers at Eight Directions Pavilion could identify the stone, yet this man knew all about it. Could he be of the same ilk as Feng Wuming?

“Here is the Heart-Guarding Pill,” the stall owner said, producing a purple jade bottle and placing it in front of Song Changsheng. “Now, hand over the goods.”

Since the other party had cooperated to this extent, it would be truly presumptuous to push further. Song Changsheng immediately handed over the stone and the remaining spirit stones. Both sides checked their items and, after confirming all was well, the stall owner rose slowly and said, “You have done me a great service. Allow me to offer you this advice: beware the man in the silver mask.”

With that, he packed up his stall and melted into the crowd.

“Let soldiers come to block, water come to cover,” Song Changsheng murmured, gazing at the purple jade bottle in his hand.

In truth, he had just diverted disaster from the man. To be targeted by a gu master was indeed dangerous, but he had no regrets—it was a fair exchange.

He was not particularly afraid of gu masters. The primordial qi he’d cultivated over the years was not for show.

Song Changsheng, too, vanished into the throng.

Some time later, a small, inconspicuous black insect arrived at the spot where they had met. It circled the place where the stall owner had sat, then burrowed down and disappeared.

Feng Wuming strolled over, sensing the lingering aura of both men. Frowning slightly, he muttered, “The connection has been severed. It seems he discovered my backup plan—how unfortunate. Looks like I’ll have to start with the other one instead.”