The confirmation of the Ghost Market's time and location did little to alleviate the tension on Xiao Xiao Peak. If anything, it solidified the grim reality of their next step.
"Blackwind Caverns," Lin Fan murmured, his finger tracing the location on a detailed sect map he had copied from the library. "Outer sect territory, but barely. Known for unstable spatial pockets and Wind Demon infestations. The perfect place for an illicit market – chaotic, dangerous, and difficult for the sect enforcers to monitor effectively."
His attention then shifted to the more immediate problem. "Serpent's Eye token... Old Man Chen didn't elaborate. Is it a literal artifact? A code phrase? A pass issued by the market organizers?"
This ambiguity was precisely the kind of unpredictable variable Lin Fan despised. He couldn't plan around an unknown.
Once again, the vast library of knowledge stored in the hundreds of jade slips became his primary resource. He dismissed Yue Qingqian, instructing her to maintain their usual low profile and continue her 'meditations' – essentially, act as a lookout while reinforcing her established persona.
Lin Fan submerged himself in the sea of information, specifically searching through texts related to underground sects, black markets, smuggler routes, and historical records of rare, symbolic artifacts within the cultivation world. He cross-referenced symbols, keywords, and fragmented descriptions across dozens of ancient scrolls.
For two days, he found nothing concrete. There were countless references to snake or serpent-related items – scales used in armor, venom glands for poisons, soul stones from powerful serpent demons – but nothing specifically called a "Serpent's Eye token" that fit the context of an entry pass to a black market.
He considered the possibility that it was a code known only to regulars, but Old Man Chen providing it suggested it was something attainable, albeit perhaps difficult or expensive.
Frustration began to mount. Time was slipping away. If they couldn't figure out the entry requirement, the lead on the Deep Ocean Black Iron would be useless.
He decided to change his search parameters, focusing less on the name and more on the function. What kind of item would serve as a discreet, verifiable pass for a dangerous, underground gathering? It would need to be something relatively rare, difficult to fake, but not so valuable as to attract unwanted high-level attention. It might also have some symbolic meaning relevant to the market's clandestine nature.
His search led him down a rabbit hole of obscure crafting techniques and minor artifacts. He found mentions of "proof tokens" used by ancient assassin guilds, "shadow badges" employed by smuggling rings, and "whisper coins" used to verify identity in certain hidden communities.
Then, buried deep within a tattered volume titled 'Unofficial Records of the Southern Domain's Undercurrents', he found it. A brief, almost throwaway passage describing a short-lived, notoriously ruthless mercenary group from three centuries ago known as the "Black Viper Tong".
"...the Tong utilized unique identification markers crafted from the fossilized eyes of the extinct Shadowscale Vipers. These 'Viper Eyes', imbued with a faint, chilling aura detectable only by specific techniques, served as proof of membership and granted access to their hidden strongholds..."
The passage went on to describe how the Black Viper Tong was eventually wiped out by a coalition of righteous sects, their strongholds destroyed, and their artifacts scattered or lost.
Lin Fan's eyes narrowed. Fossilized eyes... faint, chilling aura... difficult to fake... rare but not astronomically valuable... used for access to hidden locations. It fit the profile perfectly. The "Serpent's Eye" was likely a relic from this defunct, dangerous organization, repurposed by the Ghost Market organizers as an entry token – a grim nod to the market's own perilous nature.
Now came the next problem: acquiring one. These were relics of a dark, forgotten past. They wouldn't be openly sold.
He scanned further through the library records, searching for any mention of these Viper Eyes appearing in recent decades. He found a single, obscure entry in an appraisal log from Bai Cao Peak's own miscellaneous storage vault, dated fifty years prior:
"Item: Fossilized Serpent Eye (x3). Origin: Confiscated from rogue cultivator cache. Description: Stone-like orb, emits faint yin energy. Appraised Value: Low (Minor research interest, no practical alchemy use). Status: Archived, Deep Storage Sector Gamma-9."
Lin Fan felt a jolt, a mixture of disbelief and dawning realization. Three of the tokens they desperately needed were sitting right here, within the sect, probably gathering dust in a forgotten corner of Bai Cao Peak's vast storage vaults!
The irony was almost painful. The key to accessing the dangerous black market outside the sect was hidden within the very peak they had just finished "harvesting" knowledge from.
But accessing Deep Storage Sector Gamma-9 was likely harder than getting into the core herb vault. It would contain countless miscellaneous, often uncatalogued items confiscated over centuries. Security would be tight, not necessarily because of the value of any single item, but because of the sheer volume and the potential for forgotten dangerous artifacts. Elder Liu's token might grant access to herb vaults and libraries, but a general storage area for confiscated goods? Unlikely.
Lin Fan stared at the record, his mind racing. He couldn't ask Liu Changqing directly – requesting a fifty-year-old, seemingly useless fossilized eye from deep storage would be incredibly suspicious, even for a "Dao Sage." It didn't fit the established narrative at all.
He needed a way to get into that storage sector. He needed a legitimate reason, a perfect excuse. And once again, the burden of the performance fell squarely onto the shoulders of his unwitting star actress.
He formulated a new plan. It was risky, convoluted, and relied heavily on Liu Changqing's infinite capacity for creative interpretation. He needed Yue Qingqian to have another "artistic crisis," one that, by sheer, contrived coincidence, required her to seek inspiration from old, discarded, yin-attributed junk.
He opened the door to his hut, the faint light of dawn filtering in. Yue Qingqian was meditating quietly in the courtyard, sensing his emergence.
"Junior Sister," Lin Fan called out, his voice calm but firm. "It seems your Dao of Harmony requires... a touch of antiquity. And perhaps... a little bit of grave dust."