Eternal Life: I Can Sell Everything

[You have sold a Village-Level Mysterious Ghost Spirit—Hate, Hate, Hate, one jin and seven taels—and received seventeen years of Cultivation in return.]

In the instant she pushed away from the table, Song Ciwan successfully used the Heaven and Earth Scale to complete a trade.

The next moment, the mist shrouding Song Ciwan’s Dantian shattered as if struck by a heavy hammer, and a crack opened in it at once.

Surging like a misty vapor, her True Qi burst free from its seal. It rushed back into her Dantian, then flowed through her limbs and throughout her body, falling under her control once more.

Although Song Ciwan had recovered her memories before this, her full reserves of True Qi and Cultivation had been invisibly and completely suppressed by the strange rules of this place.

She couldn’t connect with her Dantian or mobilize her True Qi. Her body felt as empty as a mortal’s, as if she had never practiced Cultivation at all.

The weakness had been terrifying, but now, with her True Qi returning, Song Ciwan felt a surge of confidence.

It was only seventeen years’ worth of Cultivation—not even a tenth of what she possessed at her peak—but it was a good start.

After that one trade with the Heaven and Earth Scale, the way Song Ciwan looked at the villagers of Wealth Village changed entirely.

The green-clothed female villager was still watching her with a sinister gaze. Song Ciwan took another step away.

A moment after taking that step, Song Ciwan suddenly spun around. She grabbed Aunt Zhou, who was still hunched over and pretending to eat. "There’s not enough food for the feast!" she said quickly. "I know how to cook, and Aunt Zhou can tend the fire. We’ll go and contribute to the village together!"

Aunt Zhou immediately threw down her chopsticks and scrambled to her feet beside Song Ciwan, picking up the thread. "Yes, I’m an excellent fire tender! I’ll go with Miss Xiaosong and contribute to the village."

As soon as she said the words, her feet were free to move.

Without a moment’s delay, Song Ciwan pulled her along and started to walk away. The green-clothed villager beside them, her eyes seeming to split with rage, finally reacted. In a flash, she lunged forward and grabbed Aunt Zhou’s hand. "You’re leaving too?" she hissed.

She glared at Aunt Zhou with a sinister look, blood vessels crawling across the whites of her eyes.

It was clear that each villager of Wealth Village was allotted exactly three "taming" spots. The green-clothed villager was about to lose not only Song Ciwan but Aunt Zhou as well—two out of her three. How could she tolerate such a loss?

She grew frantic, her composure shattering.

She tightened her grip on Aunt Zhou. On the back of her hand, fine hairs began to sprout, slowly stiffening like steel needles.

A wave of terror washed over Aunt Zhou, and her knees buckled instinctively.

Song Ciwan, right beside her, held her steady. "Aunt Zhou," she whispered in her ear, "think of Lady Zhen. Aren’t you looking for her?"

Lady Zhen was the name of Aunt Zhou’s daughter. Song Ciwan had overheard it once before and had committed it to memory.

Aunt Zhou herself, however, had forgotten her own daughter’s existence. Her memories had been invisibly suppressed upon entering this bizarre world.

But a mother’s instinct remained. The moment Lady Zhen’s name was mentioned, something stirred in her heart. Her legs firmed up, and she began to struggle, yanking her hand back with all her might.

"I’m not trying to leave!" Aunt Zhou’s voice rose in protest. "I’m going to contribute to the village!"

She struggled as she spoke.

Her struggles clearly enraged the green-clothed villager. The hairs on the back of her hand grew faster, and her nails shot out, sharp and long. Suddenly, she dug them deep into Aunt Zhou’s flesh!

Just then, a shrill, agonizing scream pierced the air.

"AHHH—!"

But the scream hadn’t come from Aunt Zhou. Incredibly, it was the green-clothed villager—the one whose nails were digging into Aunt Zhou—who was screaming!

It wasn’t Song Ciwan who had attacked her. It was a mysterious force, one that had come from nowhere.

The very instant the villager’s nails broke the skin on Aunt Zhou’s wrist, a bolt of lightning materialized from thin air. CRACKLE! It struck the green-clothed villager.

SIZZLE! SIZZLE!

The green-clothed villager instantly convulsed, black smoke pouring from her mouth.

Aunt Zhou was stunned. Song Ciwan seized the chance to pull her away, her own heart pounding in silent shock.

But Song Ciwan quickly realized what had happened. ’This must be the fourth rule of the current Deceitful Realm: so long as a guest has not broken any rules, the villagers of Wealth Village cannot initiate an attack or cause them physical harm!’

Look at what happened to this green-clothed villager—

She wasn’t dead, just frozen in place. When she opened her mouth, not only did black smoke billow out, but tiny sparks of lightning crackled and danced within.

"You... you—" Amid the smoke and sparks, the green-clothed villager glared furiously at Song Ciwan and Aunt Zhou. Her pitch-black eyeballs looked as if they were about to fall from their sockets.

The Heaven and Earth Scale appeared again, having collected a ball of energy from her: [Village-Level Mysterious Ghost Spirit—Hate, Hate, Hate, two jin and three taels. Available for trade.]

’Two jin and three taels,’ she thought. ’Her hatred must be incredibly strong!’

Suppressing her elation, Song Ciwan didn’t linger. She quickly pulled Aunt Zhou toward the row of stoves at the edge of the clearing.

As they passed the numerous tables, the refugees were still bent over their food, eating with vacant expressions. The villagers of Wealth Village continued to watch them with doting smiles. Occasionally, a villager’s gaze would sweep over Song Ciwan and Aunt Zhou, but their faces would instantly become blank and utterly cold.

Terrified, Aunt Zhou huddled close to Song Ciwan, seeking a sense of security.

It felt as though they had walked an eternity before they finally made it through the maze of tables to the stoves at the edge of the area.

The area around the stoves was bustling. Most of the people doing chores were young women and wives. The cooks were a mix of bare-chested, burly men and women in headscarves. Many children were also running about, laughing and playing. Every so often, one would sneak up to a pot, grinning and begging for a bite of meat.

As Song Ciwan and Aunt Zhou approached, the people working at the stoves smiled at them. They greeted them warmly, as if completely unaware that they were "newcomers."

"Ah, you’re here! I hear you’re a good cook, Miss Song? Come on, this pot is for you. You’ll be the chef, Miss Song, and you, Aunt Zhou, will tend the fire. Better be quick about it. We have to turn out a new pot of food every fifteen minutes. If you’re slow, there’s punishment."

The speaker was a villager who looked like a foreman. He was a burly man, with broad shoulders and a thick waist. Though his face was all smiles and his tone was friendly, a black iron whip was tucked into his belt.

It wasn’t hard to imagine the kind of power that iron whip would wield when he carried out his so-called "punishment."

’Out of the frying pan and into the fire?’

’No, we’ve been in the wolf’s den this whole time. We were never out of danger to begin with!’

Without another word, Song Ciwan lowered her head and got to work.

Aunt Zhou was diligent as well. She gathered the nearby kindling and quickly got the fire roaring.

On another chopping block, a designated butcher was mincing meat. Song Ciwan was given a large portion of the ground meat to boil water and roll into meatballs.

As they cooked, their stomachs rumbled with hunger. The aroma of the food was so tantalizing it made their insides churn.

Aunt Zhou couldn’t help but whisper to Song Ciwan, "Young Miss Song... about the food on the tables... we certainly can’t eat it for free. But we’re working now, aren’t we? What if we trade our work... for a bite to eat? Do you think that would be alright?"

Song Ciwan had considered the same question, but she didn’t have an answer either.

’Based on the rules, Aunt Zhou’s idea should be correct,’ Song Ciwan mused. ’But the biggest problem right now is... can the food in these pots actually be eaten?’

For now, they were just being pushed from one small crisis to the next. But to truly escape this Deceitful Realm, what they were doing was far from enough.

’We need to do more. We need to find the real way to break this curse!’