Chapter 22: The Crimson Vine

Shen Qinghe strolled out of the Hall of Treasures, wandering idly through the somewhat deserted marketplace. Where once crowds bustled, now more than half the street lay empty; most cultivators had gathered near the Pill Cauldron Pavilion, leaving many stalls abandoned. She had hoped to find a bargain or two, but after a circuit of the market, she saw only a handful of vendors still persisting.

Most of what remained for sale was flashy but useless, and nothing piqued her interest. Just as she was about to leave, her gaze caught on an unremarkable corner. There, a shabby stall was tended by an old man with hair and beard as white as frost. Before him were not the usual spirit plants, but a curious collection—each one of strange and unique appearance.

Drawn closer, Shen Qinghe found herself captivated by a deep green vine. Its surface was covered in dense, dark red thorns that glinted with an eerie luster under the sun. She knelt, delicate fingers reaching out to touch the vine, when a harsh, rasping voice barked, “Don’t touch if you’re not buying!”

Looking up, she met the half-lidded gaze of the old man. His clouded eyes flashed with a sharp, cunning light. “This Bloodjade Vine is thirsty for blood,” he warned. “If you don’t wish to suffer, best keep your hands to yourself.”

At his words, her fingertips paused in the air before she gracefully withdrew them. Interest flickered in her eyes as she asked, “Fellow Daoist, your spirit plants are rather extraordinary. Would you care to tell me about them?”

The old man slowly opened his eyes wide, a sudden clarity piercing through their murk. His gaze swept her from head to toe, hawk-like and keen. Stroking his white beard with deliberate leisure, he said with layered meaning, “These treasures aren’t for the likes of you to handle.”

The implication was clear: he thought her cultivation much too shallow.

“How can you know if I’m capable unless you let me try?” Shen Qinghe arched a brow, her competitive spirit ignited, though a spark of cunning flashed deep in her eyes. Pointing straight at the Bloodjade Vine, she declared, “You underestimate me. I feel a connection with this vine. Name your price.”

The old man let out a rasping, mocking laugh. His withered fingers caressed the vine. “You’re bold, I’ll give you that. But listen well: this piece of Bloodjade Vine was cut from a mother vine capable of strangling Foundation Establishment demonic beasts. Three hundred lower-grade spirit stones—not one less!”

The prices at these outside stalls truly bordered on extortion.

Shen Qinghe’s gaze sharpened. She watched the old man’s hand as he stroked the vine. Though it seemed merely gaunt, its skin bore an unnatural bluish-gray tint, and a faint, chilling aura clung to his fingertips, enough to send a shudder through the unwary.

As for his claims, she did not believe a word.

She could not see through his cultivation, but his aura was no stronger than Wei Rong’s—no more than the fourth or fifth layer of Qi Refinement. For him to have cut a vine from a beast-slaying Bloodjade Vine was utterly absurd.

“Isn’t that a bit much, fellow Daoist?” Shen Qinghe’s lips curled in a faint, ambiguous smile. “If it were truly such a fearsome thing, I doubt you’d even get near it, let alone take a cutting.”

She dangled her slender, fair fingers before him. “If you ask me, this is something you picked up. Ten lower-grade spirit stones is a fair price.”

“Ten spirit stones? Why don’t you just rob me?” The old man’s face twisted with anger, his eyes bulging. He had seen hard bargainers before, but never one so ruthless.

Then, just as quickly, he broke into a sly, sinister grin. “Even if I did pick it up, what of it? You, I see, are only at the second layer of Qi Refinement. Even if you buy this Bloodjade Vine, have you the means to take it away?”

“Don’t be fooled by its size. If you dare touch it, it’ll drain you of every drop of blood in an instant!”

Shen Qinghe smiled with quiet confidence. “And if I do have a way to take it safely, what then?”

The old man snorted inwardly. When he had found this vine, it had nearly drained him dry. If not for his years of practice with the Azure Net Palm technique, just barely able to suppress its hunger, he would have perished. This little girl, barely at the second layer, likely didn’t even know any spells—what could she possibly do to subdue it?

“If you can really take it away unscathed,” he sneered, eyes narrowing, “then I’ll sell it to you for ten spirit stones, just as you offered. Why not?”

“It’s a deal!” Shen Qinghe answered briskly, reaching straight for the vine. “Watch closely, fellow Daoist!”

The old man’s gaze tightened, fixed on her every move. He was curious to see what trick she might have.

But in the next instant, his murky pupils shrank to pinpoints.

Shen Qinghe simply reached out with her bare hand, her porcelain fingers closing directly around the Bloodjade Vine—without any protection whatsoever!

“Stop!” the old man cried, his expression twisting in alarm as he lunged to snatch the vine back.

He was utterly terrified—this girl was a disciple of the Azure Cloud Sect. If she died at his stall, drained by the Bloodjade Vine, how could the sect let him go unpunished? He would surely be branded a murderer and his soul scattered to the winds.

But Shen Qinghe had anticipated this. The moment he lunged, she leapt lightly back, deftly evading his grasp with the vine clutched securely in her hand.

“You—!” The old man’s angry rebuke died in his throat.

He saw the Bloodjade Vine lying quietly in Shen Qinghe’s pale hand, motionless, not a hint of menace about it.

“How... how can this be?” His eyes widened, disbelief scrawled across his face.

“Fellow Daoist, that’s rather ungenerous of you,” Shen Qinghe said lightly, holding up the vine and shaking her head. “Could it be that, seeing I can indeed take it away, you wish to go back on your word?”

Her words snapped the old man from his stupor. His expression flickered, then he gave a cold snort. “I, Luo Yan—known as the Netherhand—have traded in Azure Cloud Market for decades and never broken my word!”

He stretched out a bony hand, voice tinged with pain. “Ten lower-grade spirit stones. Take your vine and go!”

Shen Qinghe calmly put the Bloodjade Vine into her storage pouch, then handed over ten lower-grade spirit stones to the old man—Luo Yan by name—but did not leave at once.

Her gaze wandered over the other strange spirit plants on his stall. “Fellow Daoist Luo, might I ask about the others—”

“No deal!” Luo Yan snapped, eyes flashing with wariness. He saw through her at last—she was clearly hoping to snatch another bargain from him.

Seeing his vigilance, Shen Qinghe let it go.

Her eyes sparkled as she suddenly smiled. “If you’re not interested in further trade, then I’ll set up my own stall right beside yours. Surely you won’t mind?”

Without waiting for a reply, she spread a plain cloth on the ground next to him and began arranging her own items.

Luo Yan snorted but paid her no mind. In Azure Cloud Market, ordinary cultivators had to pay a fee to set up a stall. But disciples of the Azure Cloud Sect were free to trade as they pleased. After all, the market was right under the sect’s nose—who would dare stint them their share of benefits?

Though Luo Yan was displeased, he could not help but steal a glance her way. When he saw that she was only selling ordinary Purplecloud Ginseng, he looked down on her efforts and closed his eyes, resuming his former pose as if nothing had happened.