Chapter 24: A Lamb Wanders Into the Tiger’s Den—But Who’s the Real Tiger?
Four days later.
The escort caravan arrived at the Golden Valley Grain Shop in Anfu County.
Once the grain had been unloaded, Gu Lin cupped his fists toward the caravan guards and laborers.
“You all head back first.”
He needed to spend more time exploring Anfu County, searching for opportunity.
For him, opportunity didn’t mean rare treasures or heavenly materials—it meant men steeped in unforgivable sin.
This was the fundamental drawback of having no backing, no official rank—he could only search aimlessly, waiting for “fate” to deliver someone his way.
If he were a Blade-Bearer, he could simply send dispatches to a handful of county offices, declare his intent to personally cleanse the wicked, and wait for case files on offenders to arrive directly.
And that was merely a Blade-Bearer’s privilege. Someone within a Sacred Ground itself held far greater authority—able to track the movements of demons and monsters.
The legendary demons and monsters!
How many innocent lives had vanished into their gaping, blood-soaked jaws?
The sins carried on their backs would be unimaginable—the merit earned from slaying even one would surely be a staggering sum!
The group cupped their fists in return, speaking with respect:
“Thank you for looking after us the whole way, Young Master Gu.”
Gu Lin nodded and left the grain shop.
He made his way to the Anfu County office.
“Blind luck’s as good as any—give me whatever bounty notices you’ve got,” Gu Lin said, hoping fortune might simply favor him this time.
Unfortunately, the result left him disappointed.
In truth, the escort journey itself had already told him plenty about how well-ordered Chuwei Prefecture’s security generally was—he’d deliberately stuck to remote mountain paths the entire way, and had still only run into a single band of bandits.
Gu Lin had no choice but to turn back.
He never expected to run into two familiar faces along Anfu County’s main street.
At a roadside herbal shop, two women of striking beauty were selecting medicinal herbs, a martial instructor with a dense, powerful presence trailing behind them.
It was none other than Wei Xuan and Lin Yan’er from Shiyang Academy—fellow seeded contestants!
Gu Lin made no move to greet them.
But the martial instructor recognized Gu Lin and quietly alerted the two women.
Wei Xuan and Lin Yan’er turned and called out:
“Gu Lin!”
The two women walked over to him.
Gu Lin nodded in greeting.
“What are you doing in Anfu County?”
Wei Xuan asked, curious, while Lin Yan’er studied this suddenly-famous Young Master Gu with careful attention.
They had, after all, witnessed Li Qingwu’s wretched fate with their own eyes—a shattered knee, her looks utterly ruined. Someone as proud as Li Qingwu, and Gu Lin had crushed her so thoroughly!
“Escorting cargo in my father’s place,” Gu Lin answered honestly, then asked casually:
“And you two?”
Wei Xuan hesitated briefly, then answered without concealment:
“There’s an underground black market here in Anfu County. We’re planning to purchase pills and cultivation manuals, hoping to boost our strength before the trial.”
Gu Lin nodded, his interest genuinely piqued.
He knew both women came from prominent Shiyang families, lacking neither money nor martial arts of their own—they’d have no use for ordinary manuals. They were almost certainly hoping to stumble onto something truly rare.
Should fortune favor them, finding some mysterious fragmentary manual, or an art perfectly suited to their own cultivation, could push their strength up another full level.
Gu Lin asked with a smile:
“Might I tag along?”
Wei Xuan and Lin Yan’er exchanged a glance, then nodded in agreement.
The three of them set off together, first stopping at a restaurant for a meal while they waited for evening—the black market wouldn’t open its doors until dusk.
Through their casual conversation, the two women found themselves increasingly impressed with Gu Lin—his restrained self-discipline, his refined manner of speech, his careful, measured way of choosing his words. Being around him felt effortless, like a gentle spring breeze.
Who would have thought Li Qingwu had once dismissed him as a spineless, groveling maggot? That Li Qingwu had truly been foolish beyond words.
“How confident is Young Master Gu feeling about the selection trial?” Wei Xuan asked with a smile.
“Depends on luck,” Gu Lin said, deflecting the question.
It wasn’t a matter of confidence at all—it was a matter of absolute, unwavering resolve.
Wei Xuan and Lin Yan’er pressed their lips together and said nothing more. In truth, neither of them felt particularly confident either—they’d barely managed to scrape together a seeded spot back at Shiyang Academy. How could they possibly compete against that whole crowd of supremely gifted prodigies from elsewhere?
However much they hated to admit it, their true futures likely lay with some sect.
Who would willingly choose a sect over a place in a Blade-Bearer Bureau, given the choice? Whatever arts and treasures a sect might possess, a Blade-Bearer Bureau’s own holdings piled up like mountains in comparison!
And Blade-Bearers carried authority granted directly by the dynasty itself—even sects had to bow their heads and follow orders when it came to them!
But such was life. One had to learn to accept reality as it was.
Seeing the light dim in both women’s eyes, their spirits visibly sinking, Gu Lin offered no words of comfort.
After the meal, as dusk approached, the group made their way toward the black market.
The black market sat at the foot of Mount Anfu. As night fell and the lanterns lit up one by one, stalls spread out like scattered stars across the ground, the crowd thick and bustling with energy.
Nearby martial factions and sect disciples had all come to set up stalls and sell their wares.
Wei Xuan proposed:
“Let’s split up and browse on our own—we’ll meet back at the exit near the second peak at midnight.”
“Gu Lin, this place draws all sorts, even desperate men with nothing left to lose. Be careful.”
Gu Lin nodded.
Wei Xuan and Lin Yan’er each headed off with their respective martial instructors.
Gu Lin strolled along at an unhurried pace, passing by a weapons stall. He stopped in his tracks, his eyes drawn to a long spear, its entire shaft a deep, otherworldly green. He reached out and gripped the handle—it was cold enough to bite straight to the bone.
The pockmarked shopkeeper introduced it with a smile:
“This spear is called the Frost-Forged Verdant Spear, exceptional quality, one zhang three chi in length, forged from refined steel and frost-iron, unimaginably sharp—wielded properly, it moves like an azure dragon breaking from the sea, capable of piercing flesh and blood with ease.”
Gu Lin ran his fingers along the spearhead, a bone-deep chill spreading through his fingertips.
His father excelled with the spear, but had never once owned a weapon truly suited to his skill.
“Price?” Gu Lin asked.
The shopkeeper held up three fingers.
“Three hundred taels.”
“Three hundred taels?” Gu Lin’s tone sharpened slightly.
The shopkeeper’s expression remained firm, offering not the slightest room to haggle, and he spoke in a low voice:
“Should some Arcane Dao formation master refine it further, this spear could become a low-grade spirit implement—at that point, its value wouldn’t be measured in silver taels at all, but in spirit stones.”
‘Spirit stones?’
Gu Lin had never actually seen one himself, though he’d frequently come across the term in the texts of the academy’s martial pavilion—an object roughly the size of a pigeon’s egg, drawn from the very essence of heaven and earth.
Spirit stones served countless purposes—cultivation, formation arrays, alchemy, artifact refinement, even the cultivation of Witchcraft creatures. They served as a universal currency throughout the entire cultivation world.
“Two hundred taels,” Gu Lin said, his tone decisive.
The pockmarked shopkeeper wrestled visibly with himself, then gritted his teeth.
“Since you’re genuinely interested, Young Master—two hundred eighty taels, and that’s my absolute bottom line!!”
“Two hundred twenty.”
“Two hundred eighty!”
“Two hundred forty!”
“Two hundred eighty!”
Gu Lin studied him for a long moment, his patience clearly wearing thin.
“Final offer, two hundred sixty. Take it or I walk.”
The pockmarked shopkeeper let out a soft sigh and pulled out a long cloth to wrap the Frost-Forged Verdant Spear.
Gu Lin handed over five silver notes worth fifty taels each, plus ten taels in loose silver.
Payment made, goods received, he continued browsing.
Little did he know, someone in the distance had their eyes fixed on Gu Lin’s retreating figure, studying him the way one might study a plump, unsuspecting lamb.
Gu Lin browsed several more stalls selling cultivation arts, but they were all thoroughly ordinary techniques, nothing that could compare to what the academy’s own martial pavilion already held.
He made his way to a pill shop and purchased a box of complexion-nourishing pills for his mother, spending 160 taels—the pills were refined from a mixture of rare and precious herbs, said to give the skin a healthier, more radiant glow.
He’d earned 500 taels in silver notes on his last outing, and now had less than 80 remaining.
Continuing to browse, Gu Lin’s eyes flickered subtly, though his expression betrayed nothing.
He’d noticed he was being followed.
Because he cultivated both Confucian and Martial Dao, his Literary Palace’s Righteous Energy left him exceptionally sensitive—from the weapons stall to the pill shop, despite the thick crowds around him, one particular presence had trailed him without ever fading.
‘Damn, what luck. Let’s hope you’ve earned yourself a mountain of sin.’
Of course, should this follower prove too formidable, he could always reveal his Blade-Bearer token—and if that failed to deter them, he could simply deploy Wave-Treading Steps to escape.
Gu Lin continued browsing, purchasing two books on the Arcane Dao and Witchcraft Dao. Though he hadn’t yet awakened either of these two cultivation paths, it was only a matter of time.
He then deliberately sought out a quieter, less-trafficked path and made his way toward a secluded trail to leave.
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