The two men exchanged a glance, grabbed their pickaxes, and began to dig. Gravel rained down, the dust choking them. The man with the broken leg huddled in a corner, groaning weaker and weaker.
Lin Feng didn't go to help. He stepped back a few paces, leaned against the rock wall, and closed his eyes.
Not from exhaustion. He was "seeing."
Concentrating, holding his breath—like the state he'd inadvertently experienced when that surge of heat washed over him during the excruciating pain. Darkness enveloped him, but the outlines of several faint veins actually emerged.
Four. And a fifth, so faint it was almost fading away, like a candle flickering in the wind.
The four more visible ones each gleamed with an extremely faint light. The dull gleam of metal, the dark yellow of dried earth, the deep brown of withered wood, the grayish-blue of stagnant water. As for the almost invisible fifth… occasionally a glimmer of warmth flashed, as fleeting as an illusion.
A spiritual root?
Shen Lian had rambled on about it years ago when he was drunk. Heaven and earth possess spiritual energy, and the human body possesses spiritual roots—the bridge between them. The purer the spiritual root, the wider the bridge. Four or five spiritual roots? Those are pseudo-spiritual roots; the bridge is as thin as a hair, and they interfere with each other, essentially severing the path to immortality.
Lin Feng stared at the few dim veins, his heart unmoved.
He had expected it. He was focused on that "energy."
Just as he was staring, a faint, almost illusory "flow of energy" moved forward a short distance along the earth-yellow veins with great difficulty. It wasn't guided by him; it was as if his body was spontaneously absorbing the surrounding, negligible earth-elemental spiritual energy.
Accompanying this flow, the sharp pain in his left leg seemed to ease slightly—not that the pain disappeared, but it became more "real," as if it had been slightly "fixed" by something.
He opened his eyes.
The sound of a mining pick echoed in the cave. After digging for about half an hour, the lower left corner of the landslide indeed loosened, and a section of rubble collapsed, revealing a dark, narrow crevice, barely wide enough for one person to crawl through. Wind, carrying the decaying but flowing air from outside, seeped in.
"It's through!" one man shouted, panting, his voice filled with elation.
The other wiped the dust from his face, looking at Lin Feng with a complex expression. "Kid, how did you know we could dig through here?"
Lin Feng didn't answer. He walked over and squatted down, his fingers tracing the surface of the rubble. A vague intuition made his fingertips pause.
This area… was a little different. Not danger, but some kind of "attraction"? Very faint, emanating from the dull, metallic vein within his body.
He looked up, his gaze sweeping over the pile of rubble. The torchlight was limited, and in the shadows, something seemed to be pressed under several pieces of rubble.
"Wait," he said.
The two men were startled. Lin Feng moved over and cleared away the rubble. Below was a layer of slippery, wet mud. He brushed aside the mud, his fingertips touching something hard.
Cold, heavy.
He dug it out. A fist-sized stone, covered in black mud, but in the torchlight, it was clearly a dark, metallic-looking stone. Several fine, hair-like dark red lines meandered inside, like congealed blood.
It contained iron jade.
Scarface Liu had given him a sample. This was it. Only this one was twice as big, the dark red lines denser and clearer.
The two men's eyes widened. Their breathing became heavy.
"Iron... iron jade?" One swallowed hard. "Such a big piece... how much is it worth?"
"At least twenty low-grade spirit stones!" the other's voice trembled. "Scarface said he'd give fifteen for a fist-sized one... this is almost two fists!" The atmosphere in the cave instantly changed.
The faint bond of shared life and death they had felt moments before was as thin as paper in the face of real profit. The two men exchanged glances, then simultaneously looked at Lin Feng, their eyes now filled with greed, wariness, and a hint of ferocity. The one with the broken leg stared intently at the stone, a hoarse sound coming from his throat.
Lin Feng slowly stood up, wiping the iron jade on his trouser leg. His movements were steady, his face expressionless. His right thumb unconsciously rubbed the old scar on the web of his left hand.
"The path I dug, I pointed it out," he said, his voice low but exceptionally clear in the suddenly silent cave. "The thing, I found it."
One of the men's faces changed, his grip on his pickaxe tightening. "Kid, you can't say that. We came down together, one brother died, two were injured. This thing… whoever finds it gets a share."
"Yes, whoever finds it gets a share!" the other immediately echoed, taking a half-step closer.
Lin Feng didn't move. His gaze swept over the pickaxes in their hands, then over the tension they were trying so hard to conceal. Suddenly, he tucked the iron jade into his robes and turned to walk towards the newly dug crevice.
"What are you doing!" one of the men cried out, grabbing his shoulder.
Lin Feng dodged to the side, his movements hampered by his leg injury, but he didn't stop. He peered half his body into the crevice, glancing back at the two men. The firelight illuminated half his face, his eyes calm as a deep pool, yet something beneath them made their hearts skip a beat.
"The path is narrow, only one person can pass at a time," Lin Feng said. "My leg is injured, I walk slowly. Who wants to go first?"
The two men froze.
Who should go first? What if the person behind them blocked the crevice again? Or…attack them from behind? In this pitch-black cave, dying was too easy. The body of their companion who had just died wasn't even cold yet.
The one with the broken leg screamed, "Take…take me with you! I…I can climb! Just give me some of the stuff…I'll share it with you!"
No one paid him any attention.
Lin Feng stopped speaking and began slowly crawling into the crevice. The loose rocks prickled his wounds, causing sweat to bead on his forehead, but he didn't utter a sound, only moving forward slowly but resolutely.
The two men watched helplessly as he disappeared little by little into the darkness of the crevice. The torchlight flickered on the other side, growing ever more distant. They glared at each other, their pickaxes gripping and loosening, but ultimately neither dared to actually chase after him or seal the crevice again.
Because no one knew how much confidence that usually taciturn young man had held in that single glance. And more importantly, that crevice was the only way out. They couldn't afford to gamble.
"Damn it..." one of the men spat fiercely, turning to drag the man with the broken leg, "He's lucky! Hurry up, I don't want to stay in this hellhole a moment longer!"
* * * Emerging from the crevice, he found himself in another abandoned tunnel. Lin Feng leaned against the rock wall, panting, his left leg throbbing with pain. He pulled out the iron jade and examined it again.
The dark red patterns in his hand seemed slightly... "alive"? No, perhaps it was just an illusion. It was only that the dull, metallic vein within his body did indeed "sense" it more clearly. Very faint, but present.
He stuffed the iron jade into the innermost pocket of his robe, its cold, hard surface digging into his ribs. He tore off a relatively clean piece of his undergarment and hastily wrapped it tightly around the most bleeding wound on his leg. He discerned his direction—relying on a vague sense of airflow and rock structure, he chose a side path that seemed to slope upwards, and limped forward.
He couldn't stop. The other three people in the cave would soon emerge. His legs were weak; he had to keep his distance.
The darkness stretched on. He walked for an unknown amount of time before a hazy, grayish-white light finally appeared ahead—the faint light of daylight filtering through an abandoned exit.
The exit was half-buried by collapsed earth and rocks; he could barely squeeze through. Outside was the familiar, perpetually gray sky of Chen Gu. A cold wind, carrying the smell of mineral dust and rotting plants, assaulted his face.
Lin Feng took a deep breath, glancing back at the dark, gaping mine entrance, like an ugly scar on the earth. Then he turned and began to move slowly towards the market.
Each step aggravated his wounds, causing him to grit his teeth in pain. But within his body, a faint, spontaneously circulating "energy" seemed to be slowly and clumsily trying to soothe some of the pain. The effect was negligible, but like a firefly in the dark.
* * * The market town of Chengu had no walls, only a low-lying area dotted with countless shacks and wooden houses. The roads were muddy, sewage flowed freely, and the air was perpetually thick with the burnt smell of cheap pills, the stench of herbs, sweat, and other foul odors.
When Lin Feng returned, it was completely dark. A few oil lamps or the flickering light of cheap fluorite illuminated the market, like will-o'-the-wisps. His appearance went unnoticed.
He walked straight towards the more "orderly" area at the west end of the market. Scarface Liu was in the backyard of one of the stone houses.
The backyard was lit. The door was ajar, and rough laughter and the smell of alcohol came from inside. Lin Feng stopped at the doorway, catching his breath before raising his hand to knock.
The laughter stopped. A burly figure swayed into the doorway, blocking the light. It was Scarface Liu, the centipede-like scar on his face looking particularly grotesque in the dim light. He squinted at Lin Feng, his gaze sweeping over his mud-stained, blood-stained clothes and bandaged leg before finally settling on his face.
"Oh, you're back?" Scarface Liu grinned, revealing a set of yellow teeth. "Just you? Where are the others?"
"Two are dead," Lin Feng said, his voice hoarse. "One has a broken leg; he's in the back."
Scarface Liu clicked his tongue. "Where's the stuff?"
Lin Feng took out the iron jade and handed it over.
Scarface Liu took the iron jade, weighed it in his hand, and examined it closely under the lamp. He paid particular attention to the dark red patterns, even pinching the edges with his fingernail. After a while, he looked up, his gaze returning to Lin Feng, scanning him up and down several times. His eyes seemed to be appraising a piece of merchandise.
"The quality... is alright," Scarface Liu said slowly, tossing the iron jade in his hand. "However, it was supposed to be the size of a fist, but this one is way over. According to the rules, the excess must be charged separately."
Lin Feng didn't speak, only looked at him.
"How about this," Scarface Liu untied a small cloth bag from his waist and poured ten low-grade spirit stones onto the broken wooden table. The spirit stones were small, with a cloudy luster. "Originally fifteen. Seeing that you've lost someone, it's not easy for you. And since this piece is alright, I'm generous, I'll round it up to ten. Take it."
Five fewer than agreed.
Lin Feng's gaze lingered for a moment on the ten spirit stones. The rough surfaces of the inferior stones gleamed greasy under the oil lamp. He then looked up at Scarface Liu. Scarface Liu stood with his arms crossed, his scarred face contorting with a forced smile, his eyes filled with undisguised anticipation of a show.
Two other men in the room stopped drinking and watched with interest.
Lin Feng gently rubbed the old scar on the web of his left hand with his right thumb. Once, twice. Then he reached out and gathered the ten spirit stones in his hand, holding them tightly. The edges of the stones pressed against the calluses on his palm, a slight coolness seeping through his skin.
"Thanks, Scarface," he said, his voice still flat. He turned and left, his steps dragging due to his leg injury, but he didn't stop.
Scarface Liu watched his retreating figure disappear into the darkness outside the door, the fake smile slowly fading from his face, his eyes turning sinister.
"Master Liu, this kid..." a subordinate approached.
"Interesting." Scarface Liu interrupted him, pinching the iron jade, his fingertips tracing the dark red patterns. "Deep in Cave Number Three... that place is eerie. Of the four, only this one returned, and he brought this thing with him..." He paused, lowering his voice, "Go, follow him, see where he goes. Don't alert him."
"Yes."
* * * Lin Feng turned several corners in the dirty, chaotic alleys of the market before heading towards a low-lying shack area on the very edge, near the garbage dump and sewage ditch.
The shacks were crudely constructed from rotten planks, broken tarpaulins, and salvaged stones, drafty from all sides. Pushing open the door, a strong smell of rotting herbs and blood assaulted his nostrils. In a corner, Shen Lian lay on a broken plank covered with dry grass, his wooden prosthetic leg lying to one side. The strips of cloth wrapped around his right leg stump were soaked with dark red blood, emitting an ominous stench. His cheeks were sunken, his face ashen, and his breathing was so weak it was almost inaudible.
Lin Feng squatted down beside the wooden plank and felt Shen Lian's forehead. It was frighteningly hot.
He took out the ten spirit stones and placed them on the ground. The dim light of the low-quality spirit stones offered no decent reflection in the absolute darkness of the shack. Ten stones. Adding the one returned from the deposit, and the two remaining, that made thirteen. Seven stones short of the twenty needed for the "Rejuvenating Ointment." And Shen Lian might not even last three days.
Lin Feng stared at the thirteen spirit stones for a long time. Then he stood up, limped out of the shack, and headed towards the only relatively "respectable" pharmacy in the market.
The pharmacy had a narrow storefront, with a tiny oil lamp burning on the counter. The shopkeeper was a thin old man, dozing off. Hearing the noise, he lifted his eyelids to glance at Lin Feng, then lowered them again.
"Rejuvenating Ointment," Lin Feng said.
The old man didn't move, mumbling, "Twenty low-grade spirit stones. No credit."
"I only have thirteen," Lin Feng said, placing the spirit stones on the counter.
The old man slowly sat up straight, glanced at the spirit stones, then at Lin Feng's injuries and haggard face, and scoffed, "Thirteen? You want to buy the Broken Heart Ointment? Kid, are you delirious?"
"The worst kind," Lin Feng added, "The less potent one, or the smaller quantity. Just enough to temporarily suppress the suppuration and reduce the fever." The old man squinted at him for a long time before slowly turning around. He rummaged through the filthy medicine cabinet behind him for a while, finally pulling out a small, rough earthenware bottle, about the size of a thumb, so dirty its original color unrecognizable. He uncorked it, smelled it, frowned, and put it back.
"Here, this is it." He tossed the small bottle onto the counter. "It's a defective product, been sitting for who knows how long. Most of its potency has been lost, and it's got some impurities. I was going to throw it away. Thirteen yuan, take it or leave it." Lin Feng picked up the bottle and uncorked it. A pungent smell, a mixture of musty and cheap herbs, wafted out. He poured a little onto his fingertip; it was a dark green, almost dried, viscous paste. He picked up a tiny bit with his fingernail and smelled it. Beneath the pungent musty smell, there was a faint, very faint, bitter elderberry fragrance, and another… rancid odor.
The potency was probably less than thirty percent of the genuine product, and it had many impurities. Using it might not suppress the injury and could cause other problems.
But he had no choice.
He silently pushed the thirteen spirit stones over, put away the rough pottery bottle, and turned to leave.
Back in his shack, he found a broken earthenware pot, scooped some relatively "clean" rainwater from the sewage ditch outside, and heated it over a stone. Then he tore off the filthy old strips of cloth covering Shen Lian's leg.
The wound was horrifying. The flesh at the severed limb was turned inside out, the edges blackened, and the deep center, where bone was visible, was festering. Yellowish-green pus mixed with blood emitted a foul stench. Shen Lian convulsed in pain while unconscious.
Lin Feng soaked the cloth with hot rainwater and carefully cleaned the pus and blood around the wound. His movements were gentle, but each touch caused Shen Lian to groan unconsciously. After cleaning, he opened the small, rough pottery bottle, used a thin wooden sliver to scoop up the dark green ointment, and carefully applied it to the wound.
The ointment felt greasy and had a cool sensation. After applying it, Shen Lian's convulsions seemed to subside slightly.
Lin Feng applied it slowly and carefully. Fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, sliding down his dirty cheeks. Having done all this, he used the last of the clean old cloth strips to re-bandage the wound. Then he sat on the ground beside the wooden plank, leaning against the cold earthen wall, and let out a long breath. Exhausted. His bones felt like they were falling apart, and the injury in his left leg throbbed with pain. The iron jade in his arms pressed against his chest, icy cold. His pockets were empty except for that equally cold, broken ancient jade.
He closed his eyes, trying to enter that "inner vision" state again. This time it was easier. Several dim veins appeared, and the faint current of energy still moved extremely slowly within the earthy yellow veins. Very slow, so slow it was despairing. But it was definitely moving.
Was this hope? As faint as a candle flame in a storm.
He gave a self-deprecating twitch. Just as he was about to exit the inner vision, suddenly, an extremely faint yet exceptionally clear feeling of being "watched" pierced him without warning.
It wasn't an illusion.
Lin Feng abruptly opened his eyes, his body instantly tensing. He didn't immediately turn his head or look around, but simply remained in a reclining position, his right thumb rubbing the scar on his hand again, his ears perking up.
The sound of wind. A distant market, faintly noisy. The gurgling of sewage flowing slowly in the ditch. And… very light, but deliberately heavy footsteps, stopping on the muddy path outside the shack. More than one person.
He slowly, very slowly turned to the side, using the faint glow of a distant lamp filtering through the cracks in the shack's wooden planks, and peered through a slightly wider gap.
The alley entrance was pitch black. But the silhouettes of three people were vaguely visible. The one in the middle was burly, with a face…
A twisted shadow seemed to loom over him—Scarface Liu. Two unfamiliar men stood to his left and right. The three were huddled close together, whispering something, their voices barely audible. But their gazes frequently drifted towards Lin Feng's dilapidated shack.
Scarface Liu pointed towards the shack. One of the men beside him nodded.
Then, they exchanged a few more whispered words before turning and disappearing silently into the darkness of the alleyway.
Inside the shack, Lin Feng slowly sat up, leaning against the cold earthen wall. The iron jade pendant on his chest ached painfully. Deeper still, the dark memories of the mine surged back—before he lost consciousness, he seemed to glimpse, out of the corner of his eye, a decaying corpse half-buried in rubble… Was there a similar, but more complete, jade pendant hanging from his waist?
The light was too dim then, his consciousness blurred; he couldn't remember clearly. But that thing, it seemed, flashed a faint light for an extremely brief moment in the darkness?
He clenched his fist, his nails digging into the calluses on his palms. Outside the shack, the night wind howled through the gaps in the dilapidated planks, carrying the eternal stench of the distant garbage heap.
That tiny spark that had just ignited within him now seemed so faint, yet so scorching, under the boundless darkness and the cold gaze.