Chapter Thirty-Five: The Market at the Foot of the Mountain

Seeing these people, Dao Sansheng immediately understood that this market, though seemingly quiet, was actually rife with hidden currents. Fortunately, he was poor—poverty meant safety.

Upon entering the marketplace, he found himself amidst bustling crowds, people hurrying along the street to make their purchases. Some glanced east and west, wandering about, drawn in to look at the strange treasures being hawked. "Come, take a look! Here are rare wonders. Look, this thousand-year-old ginseng, this ten-thousand-year-old turtle—they’re just complimentary gifts from my stall," cried a vendor.

Dao Sansheng was lured by the seller’s energetic pitch, curiosity piqued. Soon, a crowd gathered at the market entrance. At the small stall, he saw the vendor was a middle-aged man. Dao Sansheng discreetly used his cultivator's detection lens and discovered the man was in the mid-stage of Foundation Establishment—a decent level of cultivation. The man had a bit of beard on his chin, unusually small eyes, was not tall, but possessed a glib tongue.

"This thing isn’t worth much—merely something exchanged after drinking with an immortal. What did I trade after drinking? This very item: immortal wine. Yesterday, in a dream, I drank with an immortal. That immortal, dignified and otherworldly, would make anyone want to apprentice beneath him. Yet I forgot all about him, entranced by the wine. When I awoke, beside me lay a gourd of immortal wine. I tasted it, and it was just as in the dream—my cultivation surged."

As he spoke, the man uncorked the gourd, and its fragrance wafted across the crowd. Everyone inhaled deeply, eager to verify its authenticity, but the man quickly replaced the lid, leaving the crowd disappointed, wishing for another whiff.

Dao Sansheng listened to the man's extravagant claims and knew he was unreliable—a swindler for sure. Yet, this was not his hometown; this was Windwalker Continent, where anyone might cultivate and tales of meeting immortals abounded. Some immortals could even descend in soul form, so such stories were not unheard of.

"This half-gourd of immortal wine—I only offer it because I lack cultivation resources. An honest price: three thousand mid-grade spirit stones. It’s a steal! These two items alone—a thousand-year ginseng and a ten-thousand-year turtle—are worth over two thousand mid-grade spirit stones. I’m selling at a loss—don’t miss your chance!"

Several people in the crowd were tempted. Before long, a young man in a gray robe approached, inspected the ginseng, and tossed a storage pouch onto the stall.

"I’ll take everything. Hand over the immortal wine." The man seized the wine and pushed through the crowd, vanishing from sight.

The middle-aged vendor swiftly packed up his goods into a storage pouch and squeezed his way out. Dao Sansheng, seeing there was no further commotion, prepared to attend to his own affairs.

As noon approached, the street grew increasingly crowded. The marketplace consisted of a single avenue lined with vendors and larger shops on either side, the shops offering superior wares.

Dao Sansheng wandered the street for a long while, inspecting stall after stall, but found nothing especially valuable—just ordinary items. Having lost faith in street vendors, he decided it was time to visit the shops.

From afar, he spotted the tallest building at the center of the street—a four-story pavilion, entirely emerald green, strikingly conspicuous. Dao Sansheng headed toward it; this was the most important purpose of his visit.

Drawing closer, he saw the ground floor was a vast store, the upper levels each smaller than the last, with different signboards hanging from each floor. Outside the shop stood a beautiful attendant, beckoning passersby. As Dao Sansheng reached the entrance, she welcomed him.

"Please, sir, come in! Green Pill Pavilion offers the widest selection in the marketplace. Whatever you seek, just name it—we guarantee quality and quantity."

Dao Sansheng followed her inside and was startled by the lavish decor. Precious pills, which he would have treasured, were neatly arranged on counters—rows of bottles and jars, dazzling to the eye.

If only he possessed so many pills, he could reach Foundation Establishment lying down.

"Sir, is there anything you wish to buy? I can introduce you to our products," the attendant offered.

Dao Sansheng glanced about and saw no area devoted to spiritual herbs. He surveyed the shop, then looked toward the staircase.

"Sir, that leads to the second floor, where we keep Foundation Establishment pills. They’re not suitable for you. Please consider these first," she advised.

"I’d like to buy a spiritual herb that can enhance divine sense—the stronger the effect, the better," Dao Sansheng replied.

"In that case, I recommend the Soul Restoring Pill—ideal for your cultivation level, and quite effective," she said, presenting a bottle and removing the stopper for him to smell.

Dao Sansheng used his detection lens; the pill was decent, but its restorative effects would be slow and likely expensive.

"No, I wish to purchase a spiritual herb. Please recommend some for me," Dao Sansheng insisted.

"Very well, please wait," she said, and ascended the stairs. Dao Sansheng waited below; soon she returned, placing three spiritual herbs before him.

"Sir, these are suitable for you. Please choose," she said, setting them on the counter.

Dao Sansheng was undaunted. He used his detection lens:

The first was Soul-Returning Grass, a first-grade spiritual herb needed to refine soul-type pills—useful for Soul-Returning Pill, Spirit-Gathering Pill, and Qi Refining pills.

The second was Violet Orchid, also first-grade, used in soul-type pills—suitable for Three-Life Pill, Divine-Breaking Pill, and Qi Refining pills.

The third was Orchid Ganoderma, first-grade as well, but could be used to refine Nine-Turn Soul-Returning Pill, a Foundation Establishment-phase pill.

Seeing this, Dao Sansheng immediately chose Orchid Ganoderma. Though only first-grade, it could be used for Foundation Establishment pills—its efficacy should be considerable.

The attendant smiled, clearly delighted with his choice.

"I’ll take this one. How much is it?"

"Sir, no rush. You must be an alchemist, given your thorough knowledge of pharmacology. Here is our membership card. With it, you’ll receive discounts on future purchases, and you can sell your refined pills directly to us."

This young woman could read minds—she knew he was short on funds and might need to sell pills. Since she’d made it clear, Dao Sansheng didn’t hesitate.

He took out a bottle of pills.

"How much can I sell these for?"

The white porcelain bottle rested on the table. The attendant, increasingly certain of her guess, poured out the pills—ten pure white pills rolled into her slightly chubby palm and came to rest.

Ten pills in a bottle—most wouldn’t package them this way. Only those with wealth or alchemists would do so.