Central Earth, Stone Country, Spring Water Market.
Under the scorching sun, people come and go. At the end of this week, amidst the locals' accustomed bustling market, the scene is lively and noisy everywhere.
Vegetables, meats, spices, tobacco, general merchandise... Under the sheds, many chaotic stalls squeeze against each other. The roads between them narrow to the point that two people cannot walk side by side, and one must be careful in places not to step on the goods crammed underfoot.
In the swirling dust, locals wrapped in headscarves weave through the market, haggling voices never ceasing. Occasionally, through the crowd, one can see outside the market where several soldiers armed with guns ride on armored jeeps, swaggering through the streets.
And right in the Spring Water Market, a middle-aged man with a scruffy beard reeks of drunkenness, stumbling forward, occasionally bumping into people, eliciting some reprimands, and even getting a punch from someone.
