Lin Mo and Chu Lingxiao strode out of the Treasure-Sword Pavilion, leaving the crowd of rogue cultivators buzzing behind them.
Tie Niu carried Tang Xiaomi’s bamboo basket with one hand, humming a lively military marching tune. Old Master Mo walked beside them, his newly awakened Heavenly Appraisal Eyes reflecting the flickering blue lanterns.
“Chairman Lin,” Old Master Mo said, pausing near the northern corridor. “Before we leave the ghost market, we should check the rear cargo gate. That is where mountain foragers bring fresh herbs.”
“Fresh herbs are always useful,” Lin Mo said deadpan. “Dr. Gu’s hospital pharmacy has an insatiable appetite for raw ingredients.”
They walked down a wide sloping ramp toward the rear loading docks.
The air grew bitterly cold. A freezing draft blew in from the mountain ventilation shafts, carrying the fresh scent of pine needles, crushed moss, and glacial snow.
Near the heavy iron cargo gates, five burly young men were surrounded by eight Guild security guards in black chainmail.
The five young men wore patched sheepskin coats stiff with frost. Their beards were caked with ice, and their chapped hands were covered in frostbite blisters and rope burns.
