The Martial Saint Started from Scavenging

When Ye Kai heard his brother mention the "ship gang," a complex expression appeared on his face.

Having lived in Shuilongdu for so long, he naturally knew the rules of the boatmen's guild.

Three miles south of the ferry crossing, the river narrows, and the cliffs on both sides are as sharp as if cut by a knife.

This place is called "Longmen Gorge", and the boatmen's incense hall is located in a natural cave at the foot of the cliff.

The riverbank in front of the cave is wide, and seven or eight fast boats are moored there all year round. Their masts are lined with black flags with dragons embroidered in gold thread on the flags. These are the "Dragon Gate Flags" of the boatmen, which are more effective than the river patrol flags of the government on this hundred-mile stretch of river.

The leader of the ship guild was surnamed Meng, and his given name was Zheng. He was originally an eighth-rank officer in the Eastern Region Navy, and a martial arts expert in the late stage of the Bone Forging Realm. He had already forged his bones and changed his tendons, and his strength could reach a thousand catties.

Ten years ago, he retired due to injury and returned to his hometown, Shuilongdu.

Although he had left the army, he never changed his military ways. He gathered the scattered boatmen and haulers at the ferry crossing together and established the Dragon Gate Boat Guild.

It is said that when Meng Zheng was in the navy, he practiced the "Jiangmang Strength," and his iron palms could easily cut through thick iron cables.

After retiring, he never stopped practicing his kung fu. On the contrary, his blood and energy became even stronger due to his years of traveling and wading through rivers.

Three years ago, a powerful figure in Blackstone Town, who was at the mid-stage of the Bone Forging Realm, wanted to interfere with the business at the Water Dragon Ferry. He brought more than twenty beginner-level martial artists to "reason" with him, but Meng Zheng blocked him at the pier alone, breaking three of his ribs. The rest of them were thrown into the river to be swam around as a public spectacle.

From then on, the boatmen's guild held absolute power over the three hundred li of waterways upstream and downstream of Shuilongdu.

The seventh day of each month is the day when boatmen collect "ferry fees".

The boatmen didn't call this money "protection money," but rather "charitable donation." In name, it was a contribution voluntarily raised by the migrants along the river to ask the boatmen to maintain peace at the ferry crossing, dredge the waterway, and appease the checkpoints along the way.

After paying the fee, you would receive a small peach wood plaque, about half the size of your palm, with "Dragon Gate Blessing" engraved on the front and the year's sexagenary cycle engraved on the back. It was tied with a red string and hung under the eaves of your own shed.

The standard fare for crossing the river was 500 cash per year. Although expensive, it was worth it.

The sheds with peach wood plaques were not disturbed by local thugs, and patrolmen would knock on the door and ask questions before checking records. Even a scoundrel like Wang Laizi would take a detour when he saw the wooden plaques of the boatmen.

It is said that three years ago, a rogue from out of town got drunk and took the nameplate of the boatmen's shelter to burn as firewood. The next day, he was found tied to a reef and was only taken down when the tide rose to his chest. He almost drowned.

From then on, no one dared to touch the peach wood plaque that supposedly brought "peace and safety".

The boatmen's gangs followed a code of honor: they didn't force or pressure customers to pay. They would pay if they wanted, and wouldn't make things difficult if they didn't.

However, if a boatman who doesn't have a license plate gets into trouble or is bullied on the river, the boatmen will simply pretend they didn't see it.

At this ferry crossing, countless hidden currents and treacherous shoals occur daily, and countless eyes that prey on the weak and fear the strong. Without that peach wood plaque, the migrants live like shell-less clams, vulnerable to being pinched by anyone.

Ye Kai remembered that in early winter last year, there was an old migrant worker at the west end of the ferry who hadn't paid his bill. In the twelfth lunar month, someone broke into his house at night and took all the dried fish he had saved up for half a year. The old man was so angry that he fell ill and coughed up blood for half a month. He didn't make it to spring and died.

The boatmen later investigated and simply shook their heads: "Since there's no peach wood plaque, it's not our responsibility."

From then on, most of the seventeen households of refugees at the ferry crossing gritted their teeth and scraped together the five hundred coins to pay the "ferry fee," except for Ye Sheng and a few other widowed and orphaned families.

At that time, Ye Kai was seriously ill and couldn't even afford the medicine. The medicine pot had been kept warm from autumn to winter, so he had no extra money to give as a "charitable donation".

At this moment, upon hearing his elder brother mention the boatmen's gang, Ye Kai was quite puzzled: how could Wang Laizi's three hundred coins be related to the boatmen's gang?

Seeing his younger brother's confused expression, Ye Sheng smiled slightly and slowly said, "Brother, if we get the protection of the boatmen, Wang Laizi will not dare to come to our door to ask for money again."

"But the fare to cross the river is five hundred coins!" Ye Kai said anxiously, "We can't even scrape together ten coins right now."

Upon hearing this, Ye Sheng turned around and looked out the window at the river. He remembered what Manager Hu had said last night.

It seems I have to go to the Ghost Market. Only by selling that gray stone imbued with spiritual energy can I perhaps raise five hundred coins to borrow the boatmen's peach wood token and ward off Wang Laizi's troubles in three days.

He preferred to pay 500 coins to seek protection from the boatmen rather than give Wang Laizi 300 coins. He understood that if he gave those 300 coins, it would be a bottomless pit.

But the boat guilds were different. Although they were江湖 (jianghu, a term referring to the martial arts world) gangs, they valued morality and integrity. Once they took the money, they would actually do the job.

Just then, a gust of river wind, carrying water vapor, hit Ye Sheng's face, chilling him to the bone.

In the distance, from the direction of Longmen Gorge, the faint sound of boatmen chanting could be heard. It was the boatmen practicing their strength; the voices were very uniform, deep, and powerful.

Ye Sheng clenched his fist, his nails digging into the wound on his palm, the pain bringing him back to his senses.

He turned to Ye Kai and said, "I'll figure out the money. You just rest and recover. I'm going out for a bit."

"Brother, where are you going?"

"Looking for Master Liu."

After Ye Sheng finished speaking, he walked out of the shed.

"Brother...be careful!"

Ye Guan's thoughtful reminder came from inside the house.

Ye Sheng paused, feeling a warmth in his heart, and then walked straight towards the east end of the ferry, the wooden planks of the pier creaking under his feet.

He walked steadily, his back straight, like an unyielding javelin.

……

At the eastern end of the ferry crossing, the sun had already dipped below the mountainside, and the door to Grandpa Liu's wooden house was ajar.

Ye Sheng stopped at the door, took a deep breath, and raised his hand to knock.

"Master Liu, this is Ye Sheng. I have something to trouble you with."

"Come in!"

A detached voice came from inside the room.

Immediately afterward, Ye Sheng pushed open the door and entered.

Inside the wooden house, the oil lamp cast a dim yellow light, and Grandpa Liu was wiping a wooden plaque with a coarse cloth.

When Ye Sheng entered the room, Master Liu didn't even look up, as if he had been waiting for him all along.

"Did Old Man Hu send you?" Liu asked in a hoarse voice.

"Yes, I'd like to ask about the Ghost Market." Ye Sheng stopped.

"Hmph, that old man, he certainly knows how to push things around."

Master Liu twitched the corner of his mouth before raising his eyes, his turbid and indifferent eyes lingering on Ye Sheng's face for a moment.

Then, he turned the wooden plaque over. The plaque was carved with a hideous ghost face, with sunken eyes and a mouth that stretched to the ears, giving a strange smile.

"Kid, do you know how the Ghost Market came about?" Master Liu asked rhetorically.

Ye Sheng shook his head.

"It is said that thousands of years ago, a great battle took place in this region."

Master Liu slowly wiped the cards with a cloth, his tone calm, as if telling a distant story, "Immortals, martial artists, mortals, and demons were all involved. The fighting was fierce and chaotic, with corpses piling up like mountains, and the smell of blood lingering for months."

"The Duanlong River of today is said to have been carved out by a powerful immortal with a single sword stroke. The river water flowed in, and that's how it became what it is today."

He paused, then continued, "After the great battle, many things were left behind on the battlefield—broken magical artifacts, bloodstained cultivation techniques, and items and treasures from the dead. Thus, the profession of 'bone collectors' came about, who specialize in scavenging valuables from the ruins and piles of corpses."

"Later, as time went by, living people started selling their stolen goods there... and gradually a market formed. Later still, some 'non-human' things also started trading there."

These words were spoken casually, yet Ye Sheng felt a chill run down his spine. It turned out that Manager Hu's words last night, "No one goes there," were not unfounded.

"Is the ghost market still open?" Ye Sheng asked.

"Keep it open." Old Liu pushed the wooden sign over. "Every day at midnight, at the mass grave five miles west of Blackstone Town, under the largest old locust tree, hold the sign and wait. Someone will guide you."

As he spoke, he pulled out another rough wooden mask from under the table and placed it on top of the table. The mask was carved with the same ghostly face, but only had two eye holes.

"Ten coins for the token, five coins for the mask," said Master Liu. "You can pay on credit first. We'll deduct the money after you sell your goods from the ghost market. I'll take 30% commission; that's my rule for guiding people."

Ye Sheng quickly calculated in his mind. If the stone could sell for one hundred coins, after deducting fifteen coins as the cost and taking a 30% cut, he would receive about sixty coins. Although it wasn't much, with good luck, he might be able to sell it for more.

"What if they can't be sold?" he asked.

"If you can't sell them, use the things in your shack as collateral." Old Liu glanced at him. "I've seen the box of books your father left you. They're not worth much, but they're better than nothing. I never do business at a loss."

These words have blocked any way out.

Ye Sheng was silent for a moment, then agreed. He then carefully put away the wooden plaque and the mask.

"Master Liu, you used to work in the shipyard, so you still have some influence. There's something else I need to ask you."

He looked up and lowered his voice, "If the stones don't sell in the next two days, I'd like to ask Master Liu to pass on a message to the boatmen."

The room fell silent. Old Liu picked up his pipe and tapped it on the edge of the table.

"I'm retired," he said, his voice softening. "My leg's lame, so I don't speak with the same force as before. But could you tell me what message you want me to pass on?"

"I'd like to make a donation, so could we ask them to put the money on their tab first, and give us a peach wood plaque? We can pay the rest once we've raised the money."

Upon hearing this, Master Liu stared at Ye Sheng for a long time before suddenly laughing, his laughter dry and hoarse.

He didn't ask Ye Sheng why he suddenly wanted to make a donation, because it was none of his business.

"Ha! You really think I'm still that lowly gang leader I used to be?"

He tapped his lame leg, paused, and then said, "However... if you really haven't sold any stones, I can take you to see Old Chen, the accountant. He's an old acquaintance of mine, and maybe he can do you a favor and let you hang the sign for three months. As for the rest, you'll have to figure out how to make up the difference yourself."

Upon hearing this, Ye Sheng thought to himself: Three months. If he could put up the sign first, it would at least hold off Wang Laizi for a while.

"Kid, I can't guarantee it'll work out," Liu suddenly added. "Old Chen is a man who values ​​money and rules. Besides, interest has to be paid for these three months!"

"Of course, thank you, Master Liu." Ye Sheng bowed.

"Don't thank me yet." Old Liu waved his hand. "Your father once..." he suddenly began, his voice lowering, "saved me in the Ghost Market. Helping you this time is just to repay that favor."

Ye Sheng's heart skipped a beat: "Manager Hu also said last night that my father saved him."

Thinking of this, Ye Sheng became even more certain that his father's identity was far more than just that of a scholar.

He immediately pressed, "How were you saved?"

Old Liu stopped talking, instead pulling a small cloth bag from his pocket and tossing it over: "There are twenty coins in here, consider it a loan. You can't be penniless in a place like the Ghost Market."

Ye Sheng caught the cloth bag, and the copper coins jingled softly.

"Remember, every day at midnight," Master Liu reminded him again. "Arrive a quarter of an hour early, or there will be no one to guide you."

"Once inside, put on the mask, don't take it off, keep your eyes bright, keep your mouth shut, and only talk about buying and selling, don't ask about its origin. If your stone is really worth something, it might be enough to make enough for your charity donation."

"Furthermore, the ghost market only recognizes goods, not people. Once you've bought something, you're on your own. So, leave immediately after the transaction; don't linger, and definitely don't be curious."

That's all I have to say.

Ye Sheng asked no further questions and bowed as he withdrew.

The river wind was cold at night. He walked towards the shed, the wooden plaque with the ghost face and the mask in his arms feeling heavy.

But his mood was even heavier. Wang Laizi would be coming to his door in three days. And he could go to the Ghost Market tonight at midnight; time was pressing as fast as an arrow on a bowstring.

But whether this trip to the ghost market would bring misfortune or good fortune was unknown. What shocked him most was the past that his father had never spoken of.

What exactly is the father's identity?

This question, like a fog, shrouded Ye Sheng's mind. And what secrets lay hidden on the other side of that fog?