The Black Market

Chen Ping'an knew where the black market was. Back when Old Chen was still around, he had taken him there once. Although the black market was chaotic, with Old Chen present, safety had been guaranteed. The black market sat in a desolate, secluded alley in Nanquan Lane. At the very back of this alley lay a sizable clearing. Through a tacit understanding among the various factions, the surrounding area was virtually uninhabited. Tucking the booklet into his robes and concealing the wood-chopping knife under his clothes, Chen Ping'an walked briskly down the alleyways. Even though night had fallen, night patrol runners from the Suppression Office still prowled the streets and alleys of Nanquan Lane. Compared to daytime, the number of night patrol runners and their shifts were considerably fewer. They usually carried a bronze gong to strike immediately as an alarm if anything occurred. Naturally, Chen Ping'an was well aware of the ins and outs. Even he would be rotated onto night patrol about once a month. Every night patrol consisted of two people per shift, looking out for each other. Wary of being spotted by patrolling runners, Chen Ping'an moved with extreme caution. Having reached qi and blood first layer, perfected, his physical coordination and stamina were both greatly enhanced. Thanks to luck and his conscious vigilance, he did not encounter any night patrol runners along the way. At the entrance of the black market, a powerfully built man stood guard. Seeing Chen Ping'an approach with his face veiled, the man spoke expressionlessly, "Two coins to enter. Fighting is forbidden inside—violate it at your own risk!" Chen Ping'an had come prepared for this. Without a word, he handed over two coins and stepped into the black market. Inside, it was quite bustling, with a fair number of people coming and going. Most of them, however, were masked, hooded, or wearing conical bamboo hats—essentially all clad in disguises. Chen Ping'an consciously kept his distance from these people as he surveyed the surroundings. Stalls were set up at intervals along both sides. Spreading a cloth on the ground and laying out a few items counted as a stall. The black market was not large, and Chen Ping'an quickly made a round. He found that all kinds of goods were being sold. There were antiques and curios, sabers, swords, and spears, soft armor and leather armor, potent medicinal herbs and ginseng... Chen Ping'an even spotted someone selling a miniature crossbow. That was a lethal weapon, a strictly regulated implement! With it, even an ordinary person under the right circumstances could severely injure or even kill someone who had stepped onto the path of martial cultivation. Even though Chen Ping'an had now attained qi and blood first layer, perfected, and his skin was like thin ox hide, it would still be difficult to withstand the force of a crossbow bolt. Formidable as the crossbow was, Chen Ping'an remained calm and composed, harboring no urge to ask around aimlessly. He had come here with only one goal: to sell the Iron Shirt. Finding a relatively open spot, he set down his handwritten copy of the Iron Shirt cultivation method and sat cross-legged. Though he was eager to sell it, he did not intend to run around peddling it to people. Doing so carried significantly higher risks, for one thing. For another, it would needlessly cheapen the perceived value of Iron Shirt. Most who came to the black market were suspicious and calculating. They would already harbor doubts about the authenticity of his manual; if he actively hawked it and appeared overly eager, it would only make them even more skeptical. Rather than that, it was better to wait quietly here. Not long after Chen Ping'an sat down, someone approached his stall. It was a short, tubby figure dressed entirely in black, wearing a conical bamboo hat. "What are you selling here?" "A martial manual—Iron Shirt!" Chen Ping'an looked up, casting him a cool glance, maintaining an aloof demeanor. "Tch, bound so crudely, and you call it a martial manual just like that?" The man scoffed. Even so, he crouched down, intending to flip through the booklet. Smack! Swift as the wind, Chen Ping'an swatted away the outstretched hand. "Don't touch if you're not buying!" Chen Ping'an's swift move gave the short, tubby hat-wearer a start. "Fine, I won't look. What are you hitting me for!" He grumbled under his breath and walked away in annoyance. 'He's at least stepped across the threshold of martial cultivation!' The stall owner looked lean and frail, so he had intended to take advantage and have a peek to see if he could gain something for nothing, never expecting the youth to be a tough nut to crack. After the short, tubby man in the bamboo hat left, people occasionally stopped by to ask what he was selling. Most only inquired, however, without any real intention to buy. After more than half a shichen passed, Chen Ping'an still had not managed to sell Iron Shirt. 'Deals in the black market truly are cautious, especially when martial arts manuals are involved. Am I really going to have to borrow some silver from Monkey and the others tomorrow?' Just as Chen Ping'an was pondering this, a figure came to a halt before his stall. The newcomer was burly, unmasked, with a full beard and bright, piercing eyes—clearly not someone to be trifled with at a glance. "What are you selling?" "Iron Shirt." Chen Ping'an glanced at him, sensing a faint trace of threat. In terms of feel, however, the man did not seem to have attained qi and blood first layer, perfected. Yet with qi and blood surging throughout his frame, he had likely crossed the threshold of martial arts. "With so many fakes in the black market, how can you guarantee this manual is real?!" The bearded man looked down at Chen Ping'an. Sensing that the man genuinely seemed interested in buying, Chen Ping'an focused his gaze on him. "You may inspect and read the first few pages of Iron Shirt to evaluate it yourself. Furthermore, I have cultivated Iron Shirt myself, learning from this very booklet." "Oh?" The bearded man looked Chen Ping'an up and down with keen interest. Although Chen Ping'an was masked, obscuring his facial features, his build could not be hidden. Iron Shirt was an external hard-body art! Its practitioners were burly, thick-framed, with sturdy sinews and bones and overflowing qi and blood. Yet looking at Chen Ping'an, there was not the slightest trace of someone who trained in Iron Shirt. Indeed, whether it was due to the golden finger or not, even though Chen Ping'an had reached lesser mastery in Iron Shirt, his appearance remained the same as before, with no major changes to his physique. "If you don't believe me, you are welcome to test it!" Chen Ping'an looked calmly at the bearded man. "Interesting." The bearded man chuckled. "You claim you cultivate Iron Shirt. How about this: take a punch from me, and if you can remain standing without falling, I'll buy your Iron Shirt manual. How about it?!" "Fighting is forbidden within the black market!" Chen Ping'an said flatly. "Tch, coward! Next time you try to bluff someone, make it sound more plausible. With that scrawny frame of yours, Iron Shirt? You look more like you're practicing child's play!" The bearded man sneered a few mocking remarks and turned to leave. "We can't fight in the black market. If you don't believe me, why don't we test our strength? If I win, you buy this Iron Shirt for ten taels of silver!" Chen Ping'an's voice rang out. The bearded man, who had just stepped away to leave, pulled back his foot upon hearing those words. "And what if you lose?" "If I lose, I'll give you one tael of silver." "Hahaha, a free tael of silver! How do we test our strength?" "Simple: arm wrestling!" Chen Ping'an said calmly. "Fine! Arm wrestling with me—you've got guts!" The bearded man flexed his arm, which was as thick as an ordinary person's thigh. "Let's head over there!" Chen Ping'an pointed toward a boulder not far away. "Alright, let's go!"