Chương 30: Black Market

Rowan As long as Rowan's sword remained unforged, there really wasn't much use worrying about Barrett Fross. There was nothing to do but to get stronger. For the next few days, he continued to attend classes and train his Germination art. The mechanics of his spell were becoming smoother, and the need for testing his spell against a real human was growing greater and greater. The worry of his spirit stone situation was also mounting. He only had eight left.

It was a small fortune to the likes of the cultivators at Righteous Mountain Sect. But he had drained twenty-five spirit stones just to break through to the second layer of Qi Condensation, and spent seventeen at the auction house for the Bodhi Leaf. There weren't any pressing items he needed to buy, but he could think of things he would like to have, especially considering the upcoming tournament.

He still didn't have any advanced spellstitching on his robes, just the basics that wouldn't protect him from anything stronger than a mortal's sword strike. He didn't have any artifacts, formations, or talismans - offensive or defensive. Not only that, but in order to reach layer three of Qi Condensation… His heart ached just to imagine the number. If it took seven times the number of spirit stones than usual again, wouldn't he be out almost a hundred spirit stones?

And that wasn't even to mention the higher failure rate of breaking through. He might have to try several times. Rowan had a spark of a foolish idea, penned a letter, and sent it off. Spirit stones can wait a bit, he thought, let's try and find a demonic cultivator to bully. He entered the Lower Library. Scrolls and manuscripts filled the room, properly organized by technique type. He went from category to category, his budding anticipation slowly dissipating.

"What are you looking for, Junior Brother? Your frown is wide enough to split the skies and call the rain." Rowan looked around for a second, only to realize the person speaking to him was several heads shorter than him. He didn't quite recognize the boy- or was he a man? He looked only ten years old, but the shiny eyes behind the small, circular spectacles seemed sharp and perceptive.

"Senior Brother-""Urion. We haven't met, don't worry about it. I'm a budding librarian here, I'm assisting Elder Cloris, hoping that one day the old man might be able to retire. He works far too hard."

"I'm looking for a tracking spell of some sort."

"Oh, is it for a hard to find herb in the Wilds, or perhaps something's gone missing?" Rowan lowered his voice.

"People have gone missing." Senior Brother Urion sighed.

"Ah, the business with the mortals." He paused.

"It is not good to involve yourself with mortals. No matter how kindhearted a cultivator, the troubles of mortals cannot be solved. You must understand this." When it looked like Rowan wouldn't take his advice, the man shrugged awkwardly.

"But if you need something like a tracking spell that would work on…?"

"Pictures, hopefully," said Rowan.

"Drawings of people."

"Are you crazy?" asked the man.

"Think of what that means, philosophically. Do you think we are some world-bending cultivation sect? A drawing of a person, the idea of them viewed from another eye, made concrete and free of errors…" Rowan hadn't considered it like that.

"No, junior brother. The best you can do is divination. A tracking spell which turns uncertainty into certainty is far beyond our power here."

"A divination spell will be fine then," said Rowan. The man blushed.

"Well, personal divinations like this are considered rather sketchy to be honest, and the Lower Library doesn't have any available. Even with a pass from Elder Cloris, I don't think you'd be able to afford the number of merits required to check it out." Rowan's voice was faint.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes," said Urion. He paused for a moment, shifting on his feet.

"You don't seem like a stalker to me, so…" He lowered his voice.

"This is the sort of thing that's often sold at the black market. For just a spirit stone or two, or even a handful of taels, you can get all types of cool stuff."

"Cool stuff?" Rowan asked, raising an eyebrow. This was rapidly starting to sound very, very not good.

"Nothing demonic," assured Urion.

"Usually contraband confiscated from merchant vessels, or bandits. The protocol is to hand these items over to the Dao Court, but the individuals doing the investigations are only human - they want to make a profit too. So they sell them under the table." He shrugged.

"Sometimes if the items are really good, they'll sell them straight to the sect." Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

"I didn't realize divination spells were illegal."

"Mortals can't have cultivation resources or manuals. It's too dangerous for them - they can't tell a proper technique from a demonic one. Everything gets confiscated." Rowan was stunned by this revelation. He hadn't realized it was illegal for mortals to own cultivation techniques. The explanation made sense, but felt incomplete. Even cultivators struggled with identifying if something was demonic or not. Should they also be banned from looking at cultivation techniques?

This law was probably just the justification for taking good things from others.

"So, where is this black market auction?"

"Auction? It's not normally an auction, just a bunch of stalls selling wares. It's the large wharf that's painted blue on North Beach." North Beach was where the river met the city. It was, in times of prosperity, a fairly expensive neighborhood in Righteous Mountain. In times of drought, however, the seafood restaurants shuttered and crime took over the area. In Rowan's lifetime, it had been both a place that his father took him to build sandcastles, and a place that his mother told him to avoid at all costs.

"Doesn't that wharf belong to-""Yes. It does belong to Lady Hema, of Hema's Sailing Goods." Rowan stared.

"As in that gossipy old hag?" Urion shook his head.

"I don't know anything about that." He smiled, ear to ear.

"Don't wear your sect robes when you go, Junior Brother Rowan." Rowan thanked Senior Brother Urion and exited the Lower Library. His first stop was his dormitory, where he changed into the plain black robes he'd gotten from Blackscale Cove, overlaid with a roughspun cloak he fished out from the very bottom of his chest. He drew the hood over his head, obscuring the upper-half of his face in shadow. The wharf stank of fish guts and the earthy, metallic tones of scum murk and river weeds.

Ships creaked up and down Quiet River, docking to offload their cargo, traded or caught. A sandy embankment ran along the northwestern corner of the city, but it gave way to a rocky, muddy set of tidal pools that were easy to drive thick wooden pillars into. Most prominent amongst the three wharves was the one owned by Lady Hema.

Painted blue and flying signs proclaiming Hema's Sailing Goods, it was large enough for a cargo ship to sail into, beach on enormous wooden planks, and have structural repairs done by skilled craftsmen. He had personally met Lady Hema a few days ago at the Lothesby Auction House. She had a loud, if unpleasant, personality. He had initially been surprised she was involved in the Black Market, but after a bit of further thought, it wasn't much of a stretch. Rowan strode into the wharf's Market Room.

It was enormous, and it stank. The floor was wet and littered with fish scales. Most of the wares were fish of various sorts. Fish and fish as far as the eye could see. Live fish in tanks, dead fish preserved on beds of snow kept cold by the thrum of Lesser Yin qi. Fried fish, dunked into boiling oil and sold on skewers. Dozens, if not hundreds, of workers buzzed around the Market Room. They hauled fish from one location to another. Cut them into parts.

"Sardines, sonny?" a toothless old woman had grabbed Rowan by the sleeve.

"Old Mama always has the freshest sardines! I can cook 'em right here, or pack 'em in tins nice and tight so they won't spoil." Was it that obvious that he was an outsider?

"How much?" asked Rowan.

"Three coppers for a dozen, a silver tael for a hundred." Rowan slipped the woman a silver tael.

"One dozen sardines, tinned please. Can you tell me if there are goods that aren't fish sold around here?" The woman grinned at him, pocketing the tael as fast as she could.

"Your lot are usually stingy and look down on us. It's nice to see a polite young man once in a while. I'll have your sardines for you when you're done purchasing other goods. Just come to my stall right here." She pointed toward a simple, discrete door at the far end of the building. Rowan spent a few minutes observing it as he walked around. Every once in a while, someone who was clearly not dressed for fishmongery entered the Market Room only to beeline straight toward the door.

Sometimes, a person emerged from the door. They didn't seem suspicious. No bloodshot eyes, or trembling hands. As far as he could tell, the patrons seemed fairly normal, and they acted like they were conducting normal business. A bell rang, indicating that a portion of workers could take their lunch break. Rowan took advantage of the momentary surge of activity to slip into the door. Darkness. The smell of fish vanished entirely, replaced by the acrid, inky scent of burnt talismans.

Rowan carefully made his way down the steps. His shoulder bumped into someone else's as they crossed paths. Neither of them muttered an apology to each other. He kept going until his feet hit stone. The narrow wooden stairs had given way to dark bedrock. Unlike the market room, which was lit by long, mostly open windows that peeked onto the shoreside, this room was lit with wall sconces that burned long candles. There were stalls in here as well - more stalls than customers.

Rowan drew the top of his hood further down his face, wary.

"Young Master," whispered an old lady from one of the stalls who looked as if she might have been related to Old Mama upstairs.

"What is it you're seeking? I am holding a one time special sale at the moment. I am in possession of several newly tanned Qi Condensation beast hides that I am selling for cheap. Everything must go."

"Do you have any scriptures, sutras, or spells?" The woman scoffed and turned away.

"Come back to me when you're ready to buy some good products and not shams." Rowan tossed her a tael.

"Over there, generous Young Master," she said, all smiles. She pointed several stalls down. He let out a breath. He hoped they would have what he was looking for. As he made his way there, he noticed a familiar, sickly pale figure sitting on a simple stool in the corner, eyes closed and arms crossed as though he were napping. It was Lady Hema's personal aide. Though his lips were together, Rowan knew that beneath them were two rows of sharp silver teeth.

The eyes opened slightly, flat, dark irises watching him like an angler fish mildly curious about something that swam by its light.