Chapter Seventeen: Barter

The next morning, Feng Ke’er deliberately rose at dawn. Today, she planned to visit the market and exchange the three wild pheasants she had caught for some daily necessities.

It was not an ideal day to venture out. Even at sunrise, the sun was already blazing white-hot. By noon, its rays would scorch and sear, enough to peel the very skin from one’s body. She needed to move quickly.

After a hasty wash, Feng Ke’er summoned her ice orb technique and, relying on her usual method, lit a fire. She roasted two chicken legs and two wings, ate half, and saved the rest. Apart from the nest of pheasant eggs, which she left in the cave because they were inconvenient to carry, she packed nearly all her belongings. With four wild pheasants in hand, she set out.

At this hour, it was breakfast time; most of the disciples were in the dining hall, so the path was deserted, not a soul in sight. Still, Feng Ke’er worried about being seen by chance and didn’t dare use even the lightest of footwork techniques, instead walking honestly along the dirt road northward.

Even so, the journey of more than fifty li took her less than an hour.

Ahead, a lush grove appeared just as expected.

The early bird catches the worm. Many had already set up their stalls. Judging from their attire, most were outer disciples in the Qi Refining stage, clad in white short robes trimmed with blue. Amusingly, when Feng Ke’er looked at some of them, the words “Early Qi Refining” appeared in her mind, as if each wore a label.

Buyers were arriving in succession, mostly outer disciples as well. There were also a few new initiates in blue robes, some arriving in small groups, others trailing behind the Qi Refining disciples as attendants. In short, it was rare to see someone like Feng Ke’er, who came alone.

Feng Ke’er was, in truth, a solitary figure. Having just arrived, she’d been assigned to live alone in a remote area far from the new disciples’ quarters, with no opportunity to make acquaintances. She could only watch others with envy.

The stall owners spread rectangular reed mats on the ground, displaying their goods on the front half, while they themselves sat cross-legged at the rear. Those with more wares used two or more mats.

Feng Ke’er noticed that the stalls were set up beneath the shade, one per tree.

The girl in the white robe hadn’t exaggerated; the variety here was indeed impressive. From massive bronze cauldrons requiring two people to lift, down to jade pendants barely an inch square, everything could be found.

Before setting out, Feng Ke’er had made a shopping list: first, white cotton cloth and sewing thread; then a pot for boiling water and cooking. As for a rice bowl, she had managed to make one herself—while tidying the only standing house last night, she’d found a broken gourd in the thatch. The base was intact, and after cutting away the damaged part with her dagger, the remainder formed a sturdy bowl. Once cleaned, its pale yellow skin looked rather pretty. All that remained was to buy a pot and sterilize the bowl with boiling water, then it would be ready to use.

If she had anything left over, she planned to buy a lock. As the saying goes, a poor household values every possession. Even losing a bundle of firewood would leave her with nothing to cook. Guarding against theft was as important as preventing fires.

Besides… one mustn’t be too greedy. If four wild pheasants could fetch so much, she would count her blessings.

With that, Feng Ke’er carried the pheasants to a stall selling cloth. The vendor was a young woman in a white short robe trimmed with blue, sitting cross-legged on the reed mat with eyes closed in repose. In front of her were only two bolts of cloth—one white, one blue—each about as thick as a bowl.

Feng Ke’er had her reasons for choosing this stall: first, the vendor was a woman, and her gentle brows and quiet demeanor suggested she wasn’t the scheming sort. With twenty-one years of life experience, Feng Ke’er trusted such girls to be honest. After all, women understood each other and could negotiate amicably.

Second, the vendor had only two bolts of cloth, implying she wasn’t a professional trader, just someone here for a casual exchange. As a first-timer unfamiliar with the market’s tricks, Feng Ke’er was most afraid of falling prey to unscrupulous merchants.

Smiling, she clasped her hands and greeted, “Senior sister, may I ask how you’d like to exchange for this white cloth?”

The vendor opened her eyes to find a young girl in a blue robe, glanced at the pheasants in her hand, and replied curtly, “Both bolts.”

That was hardly professional! Feng Ke’er was taken aback, scratching her head awkwardly. “Senior sister, must I exchange for so much at once? I only need enough for two sets of underclothes, after all.”

The vendor rolled her eyes, inclined to ignore her, but then thought better of it. The newcomer was clearly a fresh disciple, yet spoke fluent common tongue. Was she deliberately dressing down to trick people? Sometimes high-ranking inner disciples played such tricks to tease or even rob lower-ranked outer disciples.

So the vendor restrained her impatience and asked, “How much do you want?”

Unsure if measurements like ‘chi’ or ‘meters’ were used here, Feng Ke’er cautiously used her hands to indicate a length of about one meter. “This much should do.”

The vendor frowned slightly. “Do you want anything else? That bit of cloth isn’t even worth a single low-grade beast.”

“Do you have any thread and needles?” Feng Ke’er was delighted, secretly praising her own judgment. She hadn’t seen any stalls selling sewing supplies, so she tried her luck with the cloth vendor, reasoning that cloth and thread belonged together.

“I do.” The vendor produced a small pink cloth pouch in her palm. “What color thread do you want?” As if performing magic, she drew out white bone needles of various sizes and balls of thread the size of eggs from the pouch, all neatly laid out.

Actually, most cloth sellers gave thread and needles as a bonus, but she’d just realized that in this market, everything was about mutual consent. If someone wasn’t willing, that was that. Besides, for a few needles and a bit of thread, even if the girl was an undercover senior, it wouldn’t be worth making a fuss.

Feng Ke’er slapped her forehead in sudden realization—wasn’t that the legendary storage pouch? How wonderful it would be to have one! Hunting in the mountains would be so much more convenient. Her mind began to wander.

“What color do you want?” The vendor was growing impatient.

“White, white is fine,” Feng Ke’er hurriedly answered.

The vendor formed a sword gesture with her left hand, pointed her right middle finger at the bolt of white cloth, and intoned, “Cut!”

With a flash of white light, a length of white cotton about a meter long detached itself from the roll and floated to her. She caught it, took five bone needles and two balls of white thread from the mat, and handed everything to Feng Ke’er. “One low-grade beast—deal or not?”

“Deal, of course!” The haul was more than she’d hoped for. Feng Ke’er nodded gratefully, handed over the fattest rooster, and asked, “Senior sister, will you trade your storage pouch?”

The vendor looked at her strangely, thinking, She really isn’t an undercover senior, probably from a prestigious family. Deciding to make a friendly connection, she replied more gently, “It would be useless to you. Why trade for it?”

“To carry things, of course. How could it be useless?” Feng Ke’er found her question even stranger.

“You must be a new disciple,” said the vendor, now convinced of her guess. She patiently explained, “Storage pouches are controlled with spiritual sense. Only those at the Qi Refining stage or higher can use them. Besides, this pouch is my personal one. If you want one, there’s a senior sister trading them at a stall to the east. Mine came from her.”

With this, Feng Ke’er understood. “Spiritual sense” must refer to the mental power she used to guide the qi within her body—in other words, she could use a storage pouch.

But then, if she was already at the Qi Refining stage, why did the vendor think she was still at a mundane level? Couldn’t cultivation be seen at a glance?

She clasped her hands in thanks. “Thank you for your guidance. Ah, may I ask, how can you tell someone’s cultivation level?”

“You’re welcome,” the vendor waved her hand. “If your cultivation is higher or equal to someone else’s, you can see their level at a glance.”

Now Feng Ke’er was even more puzzled. She believed the vendor wasn’t lying—this explained why, when looking at some people, the terms ‘Mortal’ or ‘Early Qi Refining’ appeared in her mind.

But the vendor wore the white robe with blue trim of an outer disciple, clearly at least her equal, yet Feng Ke’er hadn’t been able to see her cultivation. How could this be explained?

Thinking further, she recalled that even the man who could fly on his sword hadn’t seen through her cultivation, despite looking her over many times.

How strange!

But, no matter. Better if no one could tell. Otherwise, if word got out that she’d advanced a level after just one night in the sect, how could she keep a low profile?

Feng Ke’er thanked her again, unfastened her blue bundle, and put away the cloth and sewing supplies, resolving to visit the storage pouch vendor after she’d bought a pot.

By now, the sun had climbed high and its rays grew ever fiercer. Fortunately, the dense canopy cast ample shade, letting only scattered golden flecks of light through the leaves.

More and more vendors and buyers arrived, and the grove grew lively.

After wandering about, Feng Ke’er finally stopped at a very large stall. This stall displayed an array of lidded bronze cauldrons, big and small.

It was “very large” for two reasons: first, the sheer size—four reed mats in all. In the entire market, only a handful of stalls matched it. Second, the vendor’s status was significant. Though only in his early twenties, he was the only one among all the vendors and buyers dressed in a long yellow silk robe and green silk shoes—an elite inner disciple at the Foundation Establishment stage, no less!

Moreover, as this senior uncle sat there, his face dark as iron, eyes half-closed, and an air of solemnity about him, he seemed only a white crescent painted on his brow away from becoming a living statue.

Thus, few dared approach him, whether vendor or buyer. All moved with the utmost care, as meek as cats, lest they disturb this dozing senior uncle.

On a certain peak, rolling about, begging for votes, reviews, clicks, and favorites.

The “Celestial Tome,” Chapter Seventeen: Barter, has been updated!