Yellow Springs Ghost Market, bustling with spirits and ghosts.

Chen Xu mused over the path to immortality, showing no trace on his face, yet waves surged within his heart.

His eye was on that piece of withered branch-like remnant of the [Innate Spirit Root]. The old man at the stall did not recognize this object, and the surrounding ghosts only regarded it as deadwood and rotten branches.

Chen Xu wanted to obtain it, but the more he desired it at times like this, the more he needed to keep his cool.

The ghosts pushed and shoved, watching the spectacle and commotion from not far away.

The world of ghosts can sometimes be lonely too. In the city of unjust deaths, there are no markets, no sunrise, only endless eerie winds and howling cries night after night.

Finally, the first of the month arrived, allowing many ghosts to leave the city of unjust deaths for the large gathering in Yellow Springs, and naturally, they couldn't help but release emotions and reveal their ghostly nature.

They wouldn't dare to cause trouble, but they would jeer, scream, and laugh mockingly.

In high spirits, some ghosts even twisted their necks like a pretzel.

"Look, that Hanged Ghost is setting up a stove and placing a pottery jar. Is he trying to cook ghost food on the street for the old man at the stall to eat?"

"What kind of ghost food could prevent the old man's mouth from leaking? Even the famous Netherworld Noodles in our market can't do that. This Hanged Ghost is so skinny, clearly not cut out to be a cook in life.

When the ghost food spills out from the old man's chin, he's bound to seize him and take away a hundred years of his ghostly life!"

"Hehehe, take away ghost life..."

"Foolish ghosts courting death, hahaha!"

...

Ghostly cries and wails, a mist of melancholy, the celestial light dim.

The old man at the stall's eyes were as large as saucers, grinning with sharp teeth flashing cold light.

"Little ghost, did you hear that?" he grinned, "They're not wrong. If you want to use ghost food to buy something from my stall, I'm willing.

But if your ghost food fails to give me a tongue, I'll take a hundred years of your ghost life... If there's not enough, you'll die!

A ghost dies and becomes nonexistence, their true spirit extinguished.

You'll have nothing once dead."

All around, ghostly cries echoed: "Nothing at all, hehehe..."

The Tray Ghost spun anxiously. It didn't care much if Chen Xu died, but it feared getting implicated by him, also dreading never tasting Red Vermilion Robe again.

Even as Chen Xu set up the stove and put a wisp of spring water into the pottery jar before the crowd of ghosts, he still tightly restrained the Tray Ghost with his Spirit Manipulation Technique.

Not letting it leave in the slightest.

The Tray Ghost could do nothing but be both anxious and annoyed.

In the nearby streets, some ghosts stretched their necks to watch.

There were also ghosts lying down, and some simply took out their pair of eyeballs and threw them on the ground.

The eyeballs hopped over to Chen Xu's side, and in the crowd of ghosts, a curious ghost danced and described:

"Hey, he's boiling water."

"Is this going to be soup? Clear broth and weak water, what could possibly taste good?"

"Oh my, he's really making porridge—what did he put in? Oh, it's Spirit Rice from the Mortal World, not our Myriad Desolate Ghost Evil Rice. Alas, we usually can't handle that."

"Why is he cooking the porridge so fast? The flame in that stove is so hot, so scorching... Ah, I need to move away!"

The eyeballs bounced back, and the curious ghost screeched.

All the ghosts chatted noisily.

"Do you think he'll succeed?"

"Such fanfare, he surely won't. Anyone who achieves great things, like us, is extremely low-key, hahaha..."

Amid the chatter, the once-laughing ghost is being jeered and mocked by others.

"Is that low-key? That's lacking the capital to be high-key, how shameless... Wow, what a fragrance!"

Unexpectedly, a faintly indescribable fragrance started wafting subtly from that Red Mud Small Stove in front.

At first, the fragrance was faint and indistinct, and some ghosts with lower cultivation couldn't detect it, seemingly unaware.

For some reason, that fragrance stealthily spread, infiltrating the desolate mist that pervaded the entire Yellow Springs Ghost Market.

When it suddenly erupted, more and more spirits could smell this strand of fragrance.

Some ghosts were stunned the moment they smelled it.

What kind of fragrance was this?

In the center of the ghost market, a swordsman ghost, full-bodied with indigo skin and a menacing face, with a Yanling Saber hanging at its waist, suddenly opened its eyes.

This swordsman ghost, being able to set up a stall within three circles of the market, naturally had extraordinary cultivation, far from ordinary.

He sat cross-legged at his stall, originally resting with eyes closed, indifferent to outside disturbances.

Though not far away, there seemed to be bursts of clamorous noise, seemingly lively, yet what part of the ghost market was not lively?

Though now a ghost, the swordsman's heart for the saber never changed.

He disdained associating with the unambitious and was reluctant to waste time on foolish trivialities.

Until now, he smelled that wisp of lingering fragrance.

What exactly was this fragrance?

The swordsman opened his eyes, his nostrils twitching slightly.

In that instant, there was a hint of trance in his gaze.

Because he seemed to feel, in a haze, that he smelled, unknowingly how many years ago, a bowl of rice porridge brought by his wife the morning he left home—

Simple rice porridge, carrying the aroma of mortal grains.

On that morning of departure, it was the last pure scent of food the swordsman smelled in his life.

Yellow rice grains, flowing porridge water, hazy morning light, and that soft call.

The swordsman abruptly stood, leaving his stall unattended, hastily following the fragrance.

Surrounded by a cacophony of discussions: "So fragrant! Why is it so fragrant? The aroma even makes me think of my beloved departed ghost."

"Boohoo... It's the Zhai Mansion feast! The best banquet I've ever tasted in my life was the Zhai Mansion feast. Sadly, only that once, never to be smelled again."

"Wasn't this the banquet that the Myriad Desolate Ghost King hosted in Wanhua City that year? Is this really porridge? Why does it remind me of that ghostly feast?"

"Nonsense, this is clearly mortal food, like the porridge my mother made for me, exactly this taste!

Boohoo, Mother, I'm sorry I died young, you, a white-haired person, sent a black-haired person. I'll never see you again..."

Whether crying or clamoring, the swordsman ghost paid no attention.

He merely carried his saber at his waist, swept through the crowd of ghosts like a whirlwind.

Amidst it all, a ghost excitedly shouted, "I've never smelled such fragrance before. Could this be the legendary food of immortals? So fragrant, I feel like I'm ascending..."

Finally, he emerged from the crowded ghostly throng.

Beheld at the front of a stall, sat two uniquely featured ghosts.

One was the famous old man at the stall, and the other was the extremely thin and tall Hanged Ghost.

The Hanged Ghost wore a suit of white clothes, as gaunt as a bamboo pole.

In front of him was a Red Mud Small Stove. At this moment, one hand held a bowl, the other holding a long-handled wooden ladle, scooping porridge from the pottery jar.

The white rice grains seemed to blossom in the porridge, adorned with a few fresh red Red Vermilion Robes.

The Hanged Ghost's ladling lacked the typical cook's movements, instead carrying an expressive grace akin to ink wash painting.

The porridge flowed forth, the fragrance growing more overpowering.

Just as the Hanged Ghost was about to hand the bowl of porridge to the old man at the stall, the swordsman's mind went blank, and he instinctively shouted, "Wait!"

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