The Fourth Ring commercial boulevard turned dead silent.
The morning wind whistled through the bare willow trees along the sidewalk, carrying the smell of burning coal and cold iron.
Over a thousand waiting loose cultivators, wounded veterans, and mortal herbalists stood pressed against the granite walls, holding their breath in terrified silence.
No one in Yanjing’s cultivation world dared defy the North China Elder Yin of the Hidden Spirit-Merchant Guild.
Elder Yin stood on the snowy asphalt directly in front of Taichu’s revolving doors.
His six-foot heavy meteoric-iron staff was wrapped in barbed steel chains that hissed with dark, corrosive corpse-qi. Behind his bronze wolf mask, twin pupils burned with sickly green corpse-fire.
Beside Elder Yin’s iron boots knelt an elderly, gray-haired herb-transporter named Lao Ma (Goodness: 87/100).
Lao Ma wore a torn burlap coat, his bare knees pressed into the frozen slush. Heavy iron chains were looped around his neck and wrists, cutting into his bleeding skin.
