The village's marketplace wasn't a grand square or paved street. It was just a dirt path widened by years of footsteps, wheel tracks, and dragged carts.
A line of small shops stood on both sides of the path. Most of the shops were built from the same cracked stone and dark wood as the rest of the village. Their thatched roofs were patched with cloth or bamboo tiles and leaned slightly due to age.
The shops stood shoulder to shoulder, forming an uneven row of storefronts. Rough signs hung on their doors. Few people went inside, and some shops didn't have any customers.
To his right was a narrow shop with baskets of vegetables stacked by the entrance. Inside, a middle-aged woman was arranging herbs and chatting with another woman behind the counter.
As he stepped inside. She glanced at him briefly, then continued her conversation as if he weren't there.
Wuji didn't bother greeting her. He walked to the side and scanned the selection. He picked out a bundle of radishes, a few long green stems that looked like wild onions, and two small vegetables he didn't recognize. If they were for sale, then they were probably edible.
After gathering what he needed, he approached the counter.
"Excuse me," he said flatly yet politely.
The shopkeeper finally turned around. "Yes?"
She eyed the items in his hands and said, "Three copper coins."
Wuji nodded and handed them over.
She gave him a faint, disinterested look and said nothing else.
He turned and walked toward the exit.
As he reached the doorway, he heard the woman's companion whisper from behind him, "Is that him? The one who accused our Chen Yi?"
The shopkeeper replied in a low voice, just loud enough for Wuji to hear.
She clicked her tongue then said, "Aye, no spirit root means no future as a cultivator, but still someone dared to stand in the way of a talented seedling."
"How utterly foolish. When fate favors one, the rest should bow. Jealousy only brings ruin," the other woman said, her eyes on Wuji's back.
The shopkeeper lowered her voice, but not enough. "The chief was merciful. He gave him five hundred gold coins to quiet the storm. If it were me, I'd have driven him out."
"Five hundred?" The other woman scoffed softly. "With that much, I could live the rest of my life in the village without worrying about food."
Wuji didn't slow down or look back. He stepped out of the shop and walked away in silence.
Outside, he looked down the path. Further along, there was an herbalist's stall, reeking of dried leaves and bitter roots. Bundles of herbs dangled from strings like warding charms.
Not far away, the blacksmith's shed echoed with the sound of metal on metal. The shed was half open, and smoke curled into the afternoon air. Rusted blades and horseshoes hung like grim relics on rusted hooks.
Wuji slowly made his way through the market, stopping at each shop to pick out what he needed: coarse salt, a new fire starter, and bandages.
The shopkeepers eyed him strangely, their smiles tight and their voices flatter than they had been days ago. No one said anything to his face, but once he turned away, the whispers followed.
Further down, two villagers stood near a stall stacked with rotten oranges and dried roots. One had wild hair and sunken eyes. He wore layered rags that hadn't been washed in days. The other wore an open vest that barely covered his round belly.
The wild-eyed one muttered in a low voice:
"Brother, I swear that Yin brat has been irritating me for years. Chen Yi cleaned him out—shouldn't we pay him a visit tonight?"
The fat one snorted. "What are you talking about? Chen Yi never stole anything. It was that boy's envy that made him talk. He dared point fingers at a seedling blessed by the heavens."
The one-eyed man waved it off. "Fine, fine. I was just saying... Look, I owe the town gangs silver. If I don't pay them soon, they'll take my wife and daughters whom I gave as collateral."
The fat man stared at him for a few seconds.
as if he were looking at someone lower than him. "What? You wagered your family?"
The gambler looked away and lowered his voice. "I didn't think they'd come collecting the debt so soon. I had no other choice. I thought I'd win six hundred gold coins, but I lost the bet and I didn't have enough, so I offered my wife and daughters as collateral."
He paused, then added with bitter resolve,
"If I get my hands on that brat's gold coins, I can pay them back, and you might get enough to stay in the pleasure palace for a week."
The fat man frowned. Although he wasn't above cruelty, he wasn't a fool. His face twisted with disgust.
"You're beyond saving," he muttered. "Still, best we wait. I heard the chief only gave him five gold coins for now. Let's see if he gets the full pouch later."
The gambler grunted. "What if the chief doesn't give it all at once? What if he breaks his promise? I don't think he cares about that little brat."
As they spoke, Wuji stepped into a small clothing shop across the market. The gambler began trailing him. The fat man sighed and followed more slowly and reluctantly.
Inside the shop, Wuji began inspecting the clothes, but he felt someone was watching him.
"Is someone spying on me?" he thought, glancing outside. Outside, the two men stood just beyond the door, pretending to talk to each other.
He looked closely at them, especially their eyes. Their stares weren't curious, but greedy. He could see them looking at his pouch.
"So that's it. They're not after my pouch. They're after the five hundred gold coins."
He didn't flinch; he simply turned back to the counter and started calculating.
"I guess the chief's selfishness in delaying the gold coins worked out for me. If I had that much all at once, half this filthy market would swarm me like flies."
"I won't go to town just yet," he thought, glancing at them. "They might try to cut my throat before I reach the gates."
"Three silver coins for each dress," the shopkeeper said flatly.
Wuji narrowed his eyes. "What? Say that again! Three silver coins for two of them?"
"No. Three each," the man repeated in a dry, almost mocking tone.
Wuji stared at him. "They were two silver coins just last week. Why are they three all of a sudden?"
The shopkeeper didn't blink. "Why are you making a fuss? Can't a spoiled rich kid pay a few extra coins? Would you rather let your sister walk around in torn rags and let every man see what he shouldn't?"
The words hit like ice. Wuji moved without thinking.
His fist slammed into the man's nose once, then again, until blood spattered across the counter.
"How dare you speak of her like that?!" he growled, his chest burning.
Then he froze. "Damn. I didn't mean to. Yin Li's rage took over before I could stop it."
A sharp voice echoed behind him. "You little wretch! How dare you strike an elder!"
The two men who had been watching from outside stormed into the shop. They weren't looking at the bloodied shopkeeper, though; they were looking at Wuji's pouch.
"We'll see to it that justice is served!" the gambler shouted.
Wuji glanced between the men, then at the shop door.
"Too far. Shit. I'm boxed in," he thought.
The shopkeeper pulled himself up; his face was covered in blood. The two men spread out to block his escape, their arms tensed.
Wuji's mind raced. "Three men. No weapons drawn. They corner me. They want the gold. Should I give it to them? But they're still pretending it's about justice."
His fingers twitched near his belt. "Think. Think. What can I do with what's within reach?"
Suddenly, the gambler attacked Wuji. The shopkeeper, who was tending to his bleeding nose, watched.
The gambler threw a straight punch, which Wuji blocked with his right hand. Then, the gambler threw a left punch, a move that Wuji had anticipated, and Wuji defended himself with his left hand. Now, their hands were stuck together.
Seeing that the gambler's head was exposed, Wuji head-butted him, causing him to stumble back.
"Damn, what a thick face!" Wuji thought, feeling pain flare in his forehead.
But before he could follow up, the fat man moved—and fast.
"Thanks to his size, I can dodge his attacks," Wuji thought. But reality hit harder than he expected.
The fat man's punch struck Wuji's left side with unnatural speed. He barely blocked it, but the force sent him staggering to the right.
"Damn! How strong is this fat bastard? How is he so fast? It should be impossible for someone like him," he thought, trying to steady himself as his ribs throbbed.
The gambler laughed and held his bloodied nose with one hand.
"How does my brother's punch feel, you little brat? He's the number one martial artist in the village."
Wuji's thoughts raced. "Can martial arts really make someone this powerful?"
His eyes darted across the shop. "I need something sharp— A blade. Anything."
But there was nothing within reach.
"I should have brought my sword or knife. I didn't think it would come to this," Wuji thought, steadying himself for the man's next attack.
The fat man stepped toward the doorway, blocking the exit.
"Don't flatter me," he said, cracking his knuckles. "Come stand at the door. We can't let him escape justice."
The fat man lunged at Wuji again, this time aiming his fist squarely at his face.
Wuji tried to dodge, but there was barely any room. The shop was crammed with hanging clothes and stacked crates.
He raised his arms to protect his face, but the fat man suddenly shifted his stance, swinging a heavy left toward Wuji's midsection.
Caught off guard, Wuji tried to block, but he was too slow.
Thud!
The blow landed hard. Pain shot through his abdomen, and he collapsed to the ground, gasping.
"Are martial artists really this strong?" he thought, clutching his stomach. It felt twisted, as if something inside had torn or shifted. Two moves. That's all it took to put Wuji down.
The fat man stepped over him, sneering.
"Pathetic," he said, crouching to grab Wuji's pouch. Just then, Wuji struck upward with an uppercut.
Crack!
The punch caught the fat man off guard. He stumbled back, but steadied himself almost immediately. He rubbed his chin, unfazed.
"Not bad. Not bad for a weakling," he said, advancing again.
Wuji pushed himself upright, though he was still hunched over, holding his left side tightly.
"Even my surprise punch barely fazed him," he thought as he studied the large, fast, stone-tough fat man.
"Speed, power, and endurance—is this what martial artists are like? Then what are cultivators—those monsters that even martial artists fear like gods?" He thought as His eyes swept the room.
The shop, once neat, was now a wreck; Clothes were scattered, and baskets were overturned. The shopkeeper crouched behind the counter, reaching under it for something, maybe a club or something worse.
The gambler circled from the side, his stance tense. He saw blood; he smelled weakness. Wuji could tell that the gambler was ready to strike him again.
His own fingers tingled, numb from pain. His blows weren't hard enough to turn the tide.
"I can't win like this. I need—"
A sharp voice cut through the air.
"What's going on here!?" A village elder had arrived, his robe flapping and his face dark with anger.