Madame Mute shook her head and gently withdrew her needle. She waved her hand, drawing two massive characters in the air:
"Selling Clothes!"
The moment they formed, the chi condensed into crystal, dropping to the ground and exploding into a massive cloud of dust.
Lạc Trần coughed violently, eyes tearing up as he strained to see through the haze. The translucent words "Selling Clothes" had smashed into the stone path like a divine proclamation - brilliant, unavoidable.
When chi crystallizes, it becomes unimaginably heavy.
A piece the size of a fingertip could crush an elephant.
These two characters, conjured by the old mute woman, stood ten meters tall and twenty-two wide - like a crane standing amidst a flock of chickens in this rundown, low-arched market.
Yet despite their immense weight, they left not a single crack on the old, yellowed stones beneath them.
Madame Mute, finished with her task, leapt effortlessly onto the giant characters and sat cross-legged on the top stroke, resuming her embroidery as if nothing had happened. Lạc Trần clicked his tongue, took down the laundry basket, and raised his voice:
"Clothes for sale! Clothes from the village of Sickos! Sturdy stitching, fair trade!"
"No tricks for the old, no lies for the young—everyone gets the same price!"
…
The more Lạc Trần cried out, the more natural it became. His initial awkwardness faded.
In the Dry Sea, villages were scattered and currency wasn't popular. People bartered instead.
One traded two goats, another five chickens. Some brought iron ore or fine wood - every kind of item imaginable.
Lạc Trần never hesitated. He agreed to every trade. With the massive chi characters glowing behind him, few dared to haggle.
Strangely enough, the old woman's haphazardly stitched and wildly embroidered garments sold like hotcakes.
Before long, behind Lạc Trần stood a chaotic cluster of goats, cattle, chickens, and ducks - like he was hauling around a small farm. The pungent mix of animals stung his nose, sometimes making his head spin. Even the iron heart in his chest seemed to skip its rhythm.
Soon, the basket was nearly empty.
Then someone pushed through the crowd and strode toward him.
The man was tall and thickset, with pale, grayish green skin and long silver hair. His chest bore savage knife scars woven into a strange tattoo - part arcane symbol, part ancient script.
He held a golden chain, which he yanked hard.
A dozen people stumbled forward, dragged behind him.
They were gaunt, eyes bulging, skin sickly pale. Their breaths were faint, barely alive. Wounds crisscrossed their bodies, dried blood caking in layers. Flies buzzed around open sores, their eggs squirming, hatching, crawling.
The green-skinned man bared his tusks in a grin, voice low and coarse.
"I want a shirt. How many of these do I need to trade?"
"You're bartering people for a shirt?"
Lạc Trần frowned.
He was an orphan, born with nothing - but even in Aparagodānī, the concept of "slavery" did not exist. The righteous sects preached "all men are dragons, all homes divine" - that birth and status meant nothing, and that anyone willing to strive could earn the right to cultivate.
Even those made to test poisons or mine deep quarries had a path to becoming disciples.
So when he saw this man treating people like livestock, Lạc Trần was stunned.
The green-skinned man misunderstood his silence, thinking Lạc Trần doubted the quality of his "goods."
"No need to worry if they'll die early or work poorly," he said proudly. "I've been doing this for twenty years. Many sects from Aparagodānī and the immortal kingdoms of Jambudvīpa buy livestock from me. I guarantee quality. If one dies in three months, I'll replace them one-for-one."
The more the man spoke, the more Lạc Trần's face darkened. He barked:
"Aren't you afraid the righteous alliance will charge you for this?"
The words echoed.
The market fell into dead silence.
The haggling, shouting, and bartering vanished like mist.
Then.
Laughter.
Shrill, mocking, cruel laughter rippled across the crowd.
It tore like cloth and buzzed with scorn. Whispers followed in disbelief and ridicule:
"Which noble brat wandered into the Dry Sea?"
"From the village of Sickos? Don't tell me that's Madame Mute's kid?"
"Help, I'm choking. Are people still this naive in this world?"
"Motherf... I want to beat this naïve little shit. Why do we have to grovel for scraps while he gets to be a hothouse flower?"
…
Lạc Trần felt it too. Something was off in what he'd said.
Was it that laughable? That childish?
The green-skinned man didn't laugh. His work demanded ties with sects and kingdoms - who knew if this naïve little lordling might rise in a few years?
He lowered his head respectfully.
"May I ask which sect's sent you, good sire, to the Dry Sea for training? I might even know someone from your sect…"
Lạc Trần's voice dropped, hoarse with growing tension:
"You've sold people to which sects?"
"Cloudspike Sect. Floral Valley. Skeletal Mountain. White Elephant kingdom."
The man raised a hand, counting them off.
At the mention of Cloudspike Sect, something shattered inside Lạc Trần.
A sound like glass cracking in his chest. His breath caught, hissing between his teeth. His iron heart pounded behind his ribs, the blood in his veins burning with fury.
His heart wasn't the Heart of Saint - it couldn't echo emotion through rhythm.
But it still hurt.
Madame Mute leapt from the glowing "Selling Clothes," her needle flying as she wrote:
"No trade."
"Why?" the green-skinned man growled, tusks trembling. They seemed longer than before - was that an illusion?
Lạc Trần shook his head, steadying himself.
"She's right," he said flatly. "We're not trading."
"Why not? Others traded sheeps, oxen, chickens for clothes. Why not me?"
"Because they're human!"
The roar erupted from deep within, raw and fierce.
The green-skinned man still didn't understand.
"What difference does it make? Didn't your elders teach you? These are the Penitents. Two-legged cattles. Their lives aren't worth more than a chicken or a dog."
Lạc Trần froze.
He stared at the man, eyes hollow.
Then his gaze shifted - slow, stiff- to the chained people behind him.
One whimpered.
Another lowered their head.
One silently wept.
Another leaned against their companion, as if for warmth.
Not a single one spoke up. Not one dared deny it.
As if...
As if they believed it too.
That they were less than people.
Madame Mute stepped forward, narrowed her eyes, and slashed her needle through the air with force. Her script carved the air like blades.
"Everyone in the Dry Sea lives under the same sky. Who isn't a Penitent?"
The green-skinned man laughed.
"Madame, surely you jest. Someone like you? Of course I wouldn't dare call you cattle. But these things…"
He kicked one of the chained, smiling:
"Why not look again? Sure, the batch is weak. But they can still breed. If that's not enough, I'll throw in a bottle of Lustflower Dew."
To him, they were breeding pigs.
Lạc Trần's face turned deathly pale.
"What crime did they commit?" he choked. "Why are they called Penitents?"
"Are you serious? Did your sect really shelter you that much?"
The green-skinned man blinked like he'd found a mythical beast.
Sighing, he continued:
"Let me educate you. The Dry Sea is a forsaken land - cursed by the gods. Everyone here is a descendant of criminals, tainted from birth. Unless the gods pardon them, the sins of their ancestors chain them forever. Born to be cattle. Born to serve."
"Says who? Who decides that?!"
Lạc Trần's legs trembled. Only pride kept him from collapsing in front of this beast.
The green-skinned man replied like it was fact:
"The divine decree was clear. All four continents accepted it. If you didn't know, it just means your masters kept you hidden too long."
Lạc Trần turned to look at Madame Mute.
He thought of the village of Sickos - kind, gentle, warm people.
What sin had they committed?
Why did others get to shame them, chain them, own them?
Was it all because their ancestors were once exiled to the Dry Sea?