The faint fluctuation and the ensuing weariness lingered in the darkness for a long time. Lin Feng sat motionless until a few indistinct crowings came from afar—there were no chickens in Shen Valley; those were strange birds belonging to an old hermit in the east of the market, their calls sounding like chickens being strangled.
Dawn was approaching.
He released his grip; the piece of gravel, stripped of a trace of spiritual energy, became even dimmer, almost indistinguishable from the other pebbles on the ground. He tossed it back into the corner, got up, and stretched his stiff limbs. The weakness remained, not severe, like the limpness after a day's hard work.
To use it or not to use it—there was no choice at the moment. Shen Lian couldn't wait, and neither could he. But how to use it, and how much, needed to be calculated carefully.
He walked to the wooden bed. Shen Lian's breathing was still rapid, his cheeks flushed an unnatural red. Lin Feng lifted the tattered blanket to examine the wound; the pus hadn't healed, and the odor was stronger. He silently closed the lid, turned around, and, with the remaining cold water in the earthenware pot, gnawed off the last half of the hard, coarse bread.
At the beginning of Chen Shi (7-9 AM), a dozen or so people had already gathered under the old locust tree at the east end of the market. The gray fog was thinner than elsewhere, but the rusty smell and stale sweat in the air were even more pungent. Lin Feng squeezed to the edge of the crowd, leaning against the rough tree bark, his gaze sweeping over the faces, some numb, some anxious.
"...The Ironback Crocodile in the Blackwater Ravine to the south has injured someone again. A bounty of five low-grade spirit stones is offered for the complete crocodile skin and gallbladder."
"The miasma in the Ghost Cry Forest of West Gully has thinned. Anyone want to team up to hunt for Yin Soul Grass? We'll split it by the plant, and agree beforehand that if we encounter a Yin Soul, we'll each protect ourselves." The voices rose and fell, mixed with haggling and low curses. Lin Feng's mental calculations raced. Hunting demonic beasts was too risky; his cultivation level was insufficient. Gathering herbs seemed safe, but the ghostly spirits and ever-changing miasma of Ghost Cry Forest had claimed just as many lives as Blackwater Ravine.
Neither was suitable.
He waited patiently. Suddenly, the crowd stirred, parting to make way. A burly man in a gray short-sleeved shirt, an old leather pouch hanging from his waist, approached. He had a square face, thick eyebrows, and a steady gaze. He stood on a protruding root under the old locust tree and scanned the crowd.
"Clearing the Bone-Rotting Vine at the bottom of the valley, need two people," the burly man said, his voice not loud, but it drowned out the surrounding noise. "Qi Refining Level 1 or above, must know how to use weapons, and won't be a burden. Payment is based on effort. Let's go now." The crowd was silent for a moment, then a low murmur arose.
"Bone-Rotting Vine? That stuff is incredibly poisonous..."
"How much?"
"Based on effort, that sounds nice, but in the end it's all about who has the strongest fist." The burly man ignored the murmur, his gaze sweeping across the crowd. Lin Feng's mind raced. He'd heard of the Bone-Rotting Vine, a low-level demonic plant that grew in perpetually waterlogged depressions deep within valleys. Its thorny vines emitted a poisonous miasma that caused dizziness and weakness. It wasn't particularly dangerous, but troublesome to deal with, and the reward was mediocre.
The advantage was that these clearing missions were usually temporary teams, disbanding after the job was done, unlike Scarface Liu's group which was tightly bound. And while the "earning based on effort" was vague, at least there was a stated method.
He needed spirit stones, and he also needed to contact different independent cultivators to figure out what other avenues existed in the market besides Scarface Liu's.
Lin Feng took two steps forward and raised his hand. "Me. Qi Refining Level 1, I know how to use a pickaxe and a machete." The burly man's gaze fell on him, sizing him up. Lin Feng stood straight, his eyes meeting his. After a few breaths, the burly man nodded. "Okay. One more."
After waiting a while longer, a sallow-faced, thin young man huddled in a corner timidly raised his hand. "Me…my sister and I. We're both at the first level of Qi Refining, and we know how to use a short sword." A smaller, thinner girl stood beside him, her head bowed, her fingers twisting the hem of her clothes.
The burly man frowned. "Two first-level cultivators, and siblings…"
"We can work!" the young man cried, his voice trembling. "My sister has sharp eyes; she can spot the vines moving early. We…we only want one payment, two for one, okay?"
Some people around scoffed. The burly man didn't laugh. He looked at the brother and sister, then at Lin Feng, and remained silent for a moment. "Keep up. Let me make this clear: if you slow us down, don't blame me for leaving you there."
The brother and sister nodded quickly, a glimmer of hope in their eyes.
The group now consisted of five people. Besides the burly man, Lin Feng, and the brother and sister, there was a tall, thin man who had been standing beside the burly man for some time. The man, dressed in a worn black cloth shirt, with sunken cheeks and a sinister gaze, leaned against a tree trunk with his arms crossed. He remained silent throughout, only giving Lin Feng and the newly joined siblings a cold glance.
"My name is Wang Meng," the burly man introduced himself simply, pointing to the tall, thin man. "You can just call him Old Wu. Less talk, more staying close." Old Wu snorted and turned to leave. Wang Meng followed, Lin Feng walked in the middle, and the siblings brought up the rear.
The group left the market area and followed a trodden, gleaming stone path downhill into a deeper depression in the valley. The fog thickened, its color changing from grayish-white to a dark, rusty red. The air was damp and cold, slightly irritating to the throat.
After walking for about half an hour, the terrain leveled out, and soft, muddy ground and scattered puddles appeared underfoot. The smell of rotting plants grew stronger, mixed with a faint, sweet, fishy odor. "We're here." Wang Meng stopped, took a few dried leaves from his leather pouch, and distributed them to everyone. "Put them in your mouths; they'll slightly neutralize the poisonous miasma. Don't swallow them." The leaves tasted extremely bitter, with an earthy smell. Lin Feng held them under his tongue; the sweet, earthy taste seemed to have lessened a bit. He gripped the old woodcutter's knife he had brought—the pickaxe was too heavy for this kind of place.
Ahead was a depression shrouded in thick fog, with vaguely visible twisted, grayish-brown shadows, like countless dead snakes intertwined. Those were the Bone-Rotting Vines. The vines near the ground were as thick as an arm, covered in dark brown thorns; higher up, many thinner vines branched off, hanging down and swaying slightly.
"Same as always," Wang Meng said in a low voice. "Old Wu and I will lead the attack and cut the main vines. The three of you will clear away the thinner vines that are close by, making sure they don't get tangled. Watch your step; there are pits in the mud." Old Wu had already drawn a short knife with a blackened, serrated blade. He licked his lips, a bloodthirsty excitement in his eyes. He was the first to crouch and slip into the misty edge of the vines.
Wang Meng followed, carrying a thick-backed machete. Lin Feng took a deep breath, bent down, and stepped into the damp, slippery ground. The brother and sister followed closely behind him, the brother protecting his sister on the inner side.
As soon as they entered the vine area, the sweet, pungent smell intensified several times over. Lin Feng felt his head grow heavy, and his limbs felt slightly weak. He bit down on a leaf, the bitter taste irritating his throat, barely managing to stay awake.
Hiss— A faint friction sound came from the left. Lin Feng whirled around. A grayish-brown vine, about the thickness of a child's wrist, silently emerged from the mist, its tips bristling with sharp thorns like an insect's mouthparts.
He swung his machete, striking the vine in the middle. It felt tough, like cutting through old cowhide. The vine trembled, retracting, and a dark green, sticky sap oozed from the severed end, emitting a pungent stench.
More thinner vines wriggled in from all directions. Lin Feng swung his machete left and right, his steps unwavering, moving closer to Wang Meng and Old Wu. The brother and sister were also fighting back fiercely. The brother's short knife was somewhat clumsy, but he fought desperately, deflecting the vines that approached his sister. The sister, her eyes wide, kept pointing in the direction the vines were attacking from the mist, her voice trembling: "Brother, to the right! There are some behind too!"
Wang Meng and Old Wu were already engaged with several main vines. Their machetes and serrated short knives struck the thicker vines, producing dull thuds. Dark green slime splattered, hissing as it hit the ground, corroding small pits.
The battle wasn't going well. The Corrosive Vine was more troublesome than expected; once the main vine was cut, it would wildly whip around, unleashing a volley of thinner vines that lashed out like whips. The poisonous miasma was also growing thicker; Lin Feng felt a tightness in his chest, and his vision blurred.
"Watch out!" his sister suddenly screamed.
Out of the corner of his eye, Lin Feng saw a main vine, mostly severed by Wang Meng, suddenly whipped around, the broken end sweeping towards the siblings like a giant whip. Without thinking, the brother shoved his sister aside, but was grazed on the shoulder by the vine tip.
"Ugh!" the brother groaned, staggering backward. His clothes were instantly corroded, leaving a hole, and a charred abrasion on his skin that quickly swelled up.
"Brother!" his sister cried, rushing towards him.
Old Wu glanced at it, his hands still moving, and coldly said, "It's ruined. Wang Meng, forget about it, just finish chopping and get out of here." Wang Meng cut down a tangled vine and glanced at the injured young man. The man's face turned pale visibly, his lips purple, clearly severely poisoned. He paused for a moment, then continued hacking at another main vine.
Lin Feng cut through two attacking vines and quickly retreated to the brother and sister's side. The brother was already unsteady on his feet, leaning on his sister for support, breathing rapidly, his eyes beginning to glaze over.
The sister looked up at Lin Feng, her eyes filled with tears and helplessness. "Please... save my brother... we don't need our reward, you can have it all..." Lin Feng looked at the young face twisted with fear and despair, then at the severely poisoned brother. He thought of Shen Lian lying in the dilapidated hut waiting for medicine, and the man with the broken leg being carried out of the mine.
In Shen Gu, compassion is a luxury, often a death sentence.
His right thumb unconsciously rubbed the old scar on the web of his hand. His mind raced: he still had a leftover, low-quality antidote pill in his pocket, given to him by his employer when he was scraping animal hides. It was somewhat effective against common snake and insect bites, but its effect on this kind of demonic plant toxin was unknown. Giving it to him might be a waste, and it would reveal that he had some in reserve. Not giving it to him, however, meant this man might not survive until they reached the market.
His brother's throat made a hoarse sound, and his body began to convulse.
Lin Feng gritted his teeth, took out the small oiled paper packet from his pocket, opened it, and inside was a pill the size of a soybean, mottled in color. He pried open his brother's mouth, stuffed the pill in, and whispered, "Swallow it. Whether you can hold on or not depends on your own fate." The pill dissolved, his brother's Adam's apple bobbed, and he swallowed. The convulsions subsided slightly, but his face remained ashen.
Old Wu scoffed from a distance, "True kindness gone wrong." Lin Feng ignored him and turned to continue hacking at the approaching thin vines. The younger sister desperately supported her brother, moving him towards the relatively safer edge of the battlefield.
After about the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, Wang Meng finally cut down the last thick main vine. The entire patch of rotting bone vines seemed to lose its support, its writhing speed noticeably slowing. Old Wu moved swiftly, prying open the roots of several main vines with his knife, digging out several finger-thick, dark red vine cores, and also casually cutting a few small, dark green grasses with serrated edges growing beside the roots.
"Alright, let's retreat!" Wang Meng called out, clearing a path with his knife.
The five men retreated from the depression in a disheveled state along the way they had come. Only when they reached the relatively dry, gravelly slope again, and the thick fog and sweet, fishy smell dissipated, did they stop, panting heavily.
The older brother, supported by his sister, sat on the ground, still weak, but his eyes were clearer, and the bluish-black color on his face had faded somewhat. The inferior antidote seemed to have had some effect.
Wang Meng tallied the spoils: five sections of rotten bone vine core and seven stalks of bone-corroding grass. The vine core was an auxiliary ingredient in some low-grade pills, and the bone-corroding grass was poisonous, but if processed properly, it could also be used in medicine or to refine poison powder. In total, it was probably worth about a dozen low-grade spirit stones.
"As agreed beforehand, we'll divide it according to our contribution," Wang Meng said, placing the items on a relatively flat rock. "Old Wu and I did the main work, so we'll each take two portions. The three of you who cleaned the thin vines will each take one portion. Any objections?"
Lin Feng didn't speak. This division meant that he and the brother and sister would each receive a section of vine core and a stalk of bone-corroding grass, roughly worth three spirit stones. It was slightly less than he had expected, but still fair.
The brother and sister nodded repeatedly; being alive and receiving a portion was already beyond their expectations.
Old Wu suddenly spoke, his voice sharp: "Wait. Those two," he pointed to the brother and sister, "especially the one who was poisoned, he didn't contribute anything in the second half, and he even distracted us. Why should they get the whole share? They should be lucky to get half. The extra should go to those who actually contributed." The sister's face paled. The brother struggled to speak, but coughed.
Wang Meng frowned: "It was agreed beforehand."
"It wasn't mentioned beforehand that we'd be bringing two burdens," Old Wu said sinisterly, his gaze sweeping over Lin Feng, "And this kid, he ran off to rescue someone, which was also a waste of time. If you ask me, their shares should both be deducted." The atmosphere instantly froze.
Lin Feng gripped the handle of his machete tightly, his thumb pressing hard on the scar on his hand. He looked at Old Wu, then at Wang Meng. "We'll divide it the way we agreed beforehand." His voice was calm but clear. "My share will be exactly what it is. Theirs too." Old Wu narrowed his eyes. "Kid, who do you think you are?"
"I'm nobody," Lin Feng said. "But rules are rules. If you break the rules, no one will team up with you next time."
Old Wu's facial muscles twitched, and a fierce glint flashed in his eyes. Wang Meng stepped forward, his tall figure blocking Lin Feng and the brother and sister. He stared at Old Wu and said in a low voice, "Old Wu, divide it according to contribution. I'll say it again."
The two stared at each other for a few seconds. Old Wu suddenly grinned, a cold smile. "Fine, Wang Meng, you're loyal." He reached out and took two of the best-quality vine cores and three bone-corroding grasses from the spoils—clearly more than two portions worth. "I'll take what I'm entitled to. The rest, you can divide it however you like."
With that, he turned and left, quickly disappearing into the mist.
Wang Meng looked at the remaining three sections of vine core and four stalks of bone-corroding grass, and paused for a moment. He picked up a section of vine core and a stalk of grass and handed them to Lin Feng. He then picked up the same portion and handed it to the brother and sister. He kept the last portion for himself.
"Let's go," Wang Meng said, his voice weary. "Back to the market." The four walked back silently. The brother and sister thanked Wang Meng and Lin Feng profusely; the brother even tried to kneel, but Wang Meng stopped him. Lin Feng simply nodded, carefully wrapped up his share, and tucked it into his pocket. Three spirit stones—nine short of the twelve-stone deposit.
Halfway down the road, as they passed a relatively dry, gravelly slope, Wang Meng suddenly stopped, bent down, and tied his loose shoelaces. After tying them, he seemingly casually kicked aside a flat stone about the size of a palm.
The stone rolled away, revealing something grayish-white underneath.
Wang Meng stood up, as if he hadn't seen anything, and continued walking. After walking a few steps, he turned back to Lin Feng and said, "Kid, don't be too soft-hearted. In Shen Gu, sometimes one moment of weakness can cost you your life."
Lin Feng looked at him and nodded. "Understood." Wang Meng didn't say anything more, quickened his pace, and soon walked ahead. The brother and sister, supporting each other, slowly followed.
Lin Feng lagged behind. He walked to the stone that had been kicked aside and glanced down.
Underneath the stone was something. The size of a fingernail, thin, grayish-white, with irregular edges. The material was neither gold nor jade, and the surface seemed to have some extremely faint engravings, incomplete.
He squatted down, brushed aside the nearby pebbles with his fingers, and picked up the thin piece. It was cold to the touch, hard yet light. The engravings were too shallow to be seen in the dim light.
His heart suddenly skipped a beat. Not because of the thin piece itself, but because of the extremely faint, almost imperceptible throbbing emanating from the ancient jade pressed against his chest. It was brief, fleeting.
Lin Feng stared at the thin slice for two seconds, then quickly stuffed it into his pocket. He stood up, shoved away the traces he had left, kicked a few pebbles to cover the ground, then turned and hurried to catch up with the figure ahead.
The gray mist flowed slowly behind him, swallowing all traces on the gravel slope. The machete in his hand was stained with a dark green slime, and the spot on his shoulder where the vines had whipped him throbbed with a dull ache. The vine core and bone-corroding grass in his pocket emitted a faint, fishy smell, while the cold, thin slice clung tightly to his chest, separated from the ancient jade only by his clothing.
The path ahead was still shrouded in thick fog, obscuring the distance. But the stone steps beneath his feet, trodden by countless people, were smooth, hard, and silently stretched upwards, seemingly without end.