The spacious room, more like a junk heap than a shop, smelled of dust, old wood, and ink. Behind a counter piled high with strange items and crumbs of food sat a pot-bellied man around fifty years old, with the face of a weary accountant and a thin graying beard. He swept the newcomers with a bored glance and immediately noticed the two boxes on their backs.

  “Are you Lu?” Zhang Ming gestured upward, indicating the sign.

  “No,” the man answered curtly. “The sign is old. Lu’s been dead for a long time. If you’re looking for him, you’re late.” He yawned.

  “We want to sell some goods.”

  “Fine,” he exhaled indifferently and brushed small bits of trash off the counter with his hand. “Let’s see what you brought.”

  Unhurriedly, Zhang Ming began laying out the items he had taken from the bandits’ warehouse. From the spacious box appeared one after another simple ornaments made of wood and bone, carved caskets, pendants resembling jade, a couple of bronze mirrors with dulled surfaces, and other junk of questionable value. All of it looked like personal belongings stolen or seized by force from people of all walks of life.

  “I won’t pay much for this trash,” the fence warned.

  “Look more closely. The goods are of decent quality and not damaged,” Zhang Ming bargained.

  “Hmph. Fine. I’ll tally everything at once then,” the pot-bellied man said businesslike, then added when he noticed one of the short figures reaching toward a fan, “...better not touch that. It’ll cut your finger off.”

  “Oh!” Mingzhu jerked her hand back, then whispered softly, “It’s so pretty…”

  “I’ll need some time to appraise everything,” the shop owner continued, lazily scratching his cheek. “You can look around for now. If something catches your eye, let me know.”

  While the man worked on his calculations, Zhang Ming scanned the shelves. Most of the items weren’t much different from what he had brought, but among them were rather strange things: weapons, pieces of armor, and clothing. From a basket in the corner stuck out the hilts of old swords; shields, flails, and even something resembling a halberd hung on the wall. In a prominent place lay two boxes containing rectangular talismans, priced outrageously high.

  Ordinary items were bizarrely mixed with more expensive or rare ones, yet Zhang Ming couldn’t judge their true usefulness by sight. A scrap of paper with a price was stuck on top of each, but it said nothing about what the item actually did.

  “Do you sell pills for practitioners?” Zhang Ming asked bluntly, finding nothing useful, at least by appearance.

  “For pills, go to an alchemist.”

  “Is there a reliable alchemist on this market? Can you recommend one?”

  “You don’t have enough money,” the man replied indifferently without turning his head. His experienced eye had already gauged the depth of his guests’ pockets.

  “Hmph. Do you have anything useful for defense, escape, or stealth?”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “If you’re looking for cheap artifacts, stroll around the market,” he gestured at the pile of goods before him. “As you can see, I deal in something else entirely.”

  “You have so much stuff and nothing useful?” Zhang Ming said in surprise.

  “Depends on who you ask,” the pot-bellied fence shrugged. “There are shields for protection, swords, over there deer-leather shoes and sturdy cloaks.”

  While they argued, Xue and Mingzhu, completely enchanted, looked around. Their eyes darted from one thing to another among the countless items, many of whose purposes they didn’t understand. Gradually, curiosity drew the girls in different directions.

  Xue found herself beside a stack of books and stared for a long time at the sweeping characters on their covers. They radiated a sense of mystery, learning, and something that existed beyond dirty alleys. Nearly all the books looked alike, two holes along the spine with pages bound by cord, stains and smudges showing in places, but Xue’s hands reached for them on their own. Soon she was flipping through the yellowed pages, studying the illustrations whenever she found them.

  Meanwhile, Mingzhu had nearly pressed her nose to a counter filled with daggers, throwing knives, and needles. In her eyes, they looked magical, mesmerizing, every line, every transition from dark metal to gleaming blade, every pattern added by the weaponsmith felt incredibly beautiful. The handles made of different materials pleased the eye and felt different beneath her fingertips when she brushed them.

  “Oh…” Mingzhu pressed her palms to her cheeks as if trying to contain her emotions and whispered softly, “So beautiful! Why are there threads? Hm?”

  “The threads are for controlling them before you have your own spiritual Qi,” the pot-bellied seller answered, having overheard her.

  “Oh!” was all the girl could say.

  “How much?” Zhang Ming asked with a frown, watching them from the corner of his eye.

  “Ten for the books. Thirty for the set of daggers.”

  “I get the feeling your customers don’t care much for reading. I wouldn’t give more than five for that pile of paper,” Zhang Ming shook his head. “And throwing daggers are expendable, like arrows—use them once and they’re basically gone.”

  “Hm…” the shop owner narrowed his eyes. “Let’s do this. For all your junk, I’ll give you those stacks of paper, the dagger set, and sixty silver coins, plus that egg over there.”

  “Why would I need an egg?”

  “Let’s say it’s either worth a fortune or worth nothing at all. Besides, I want to get rid of it already,” the trader shrugged. “People keep taking it, but they always bring it back. No one knows how to make it hatch.” Nodding toward the short figures, he added, “For some, it’s just a toy.”

  “Seventy-five coins, and we have a deal,” Zhang Ming sighed, realizing there was no outplaying the crafty fence.

  “Just so you know, people tried all kinds of methods to awaken that egg, from bloody rituals to the most ridiculous nonsense,” the man warned, placing an elongated bluish object on the counter. “But who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky.”

  “What kind of beast is it supposed to be? Is it really an egg? It looks more like a cocoon. If I look closer, I can see thin threads…”

  “Maybe an egg, maybe a joke left behind by a powerful cultivator. Now it’s your problem.”

  “Damn it…” Unfortunately, Zhang Ming knew no other place where stolen goods were bought so easily, so he had to accept the pot-bellied man’s terms.

  With the same indifferent expression, the man groaned as he climbed out from behind the counter, shuffled over to the daggers, and under Mingzhu’s trembling gaze tossed the purchase to Zhang Ming. The girl almost leapt after it and in the next moment was already at her father’s side, bouncing impatiently from foot to foot.

  “Brother Zhang, who are they anyway? Why are you buying all this stuff for them?” Lu Piao couldn’t help asking.

  “It’s necessary, Brother Lu. We just need to get them off the market, and you won’t see them again. After that I’ll buy you a jug of wine, like I promised. Got it?”

  “Uh… I think… probably,” Lu Piao scratched his head.

  “You can take the books yourselves,” the fence tossed out.

  Zhang Ming silently wrapped the egg in a piece of cloth and shoved it to the bottom of his hunting box, not worrying about it at all, since it felt more like a chunk of stone, just colder. He stacked the two piles of books there as well, tossed the leather belt with neatly fitted knives on top, then swept seventy-five silver coins from the counter into a pouch and tucked it into his robe.

  “Time to head back,” he said. “We’ve done what we came for.”