Fatty Lambu wiped sweat from his forehead as he stared at the long list in his hand — the one Mo Han had given him days ago. The parchment fluttered in the dry market wind, the ink shimmering faintly under sunlight.
He looked up from it, expression twisting between frustration and disbelief. Before him stood a merchant stall piled high with spirit beast parts — fangs, scales, claws, horns, and feathers, all emitting faint spiritual resonance. The air smelled of oil and dried blood.
"How much did you say again?" Fatty asked, forcing a smile that was more like a grimace.
The merchant, a lean old man with sharp eyes and too many rings on his fingers, smiled thinly. "For a man of taste like you? Only three hundred aura stones for one Golden Boar tusk dust jar. Freshly ground. Guaranteed from a fifth-rank beast."
"Three hundred?" Fatty nearly dropped the parchment. "For dust?"
