Lu Chen stepped onto the damp, green rust-stained cobblestones of Corpse-Candle Alley.
Green candle smoke hung in thick, oily layers beneath the sixty-foot vaulted ceiling, trapping the smell of rendered animal fat and damp stone.
The emerald flames of the floating jars flickered without wind, bathing the alley in an eerie, sickly jade glow.
Water dripped from rusted iron chimney pipes overhead, landing with rhythmic plink... Plink... echoes in stale drainage channels.
At the entrance to the thoroughfare stood a cracked dark rock stele, five paces tall and scarred by rusted chisels.
Three rules were gouged into the blackened rock in ancient seal script.
Rule One: Never look a merchant in the eye.
Rule Two: Trade only in dead men’s silver or blood-soaked jade.
