The Rust Market wasn't so much a market as it was a sprawling, chaotic shantytown built amidst the skeletal remains of the pre-invasion Dong Xuan district.
It thrived in the shadows, a festering wound in the city's underbelly, yet also a vital, unregulated hub of commerce where anything, legal or otherwise, could be found for the right price.
Flickering oil lamps and makeshift braziers cast dancing, distorted shadows on the corrugated iron shacks and tarpaulin-covered stalls.
The air was thick with the smells of unidentifiable fried foods, cheap alcohol, unwashed bodies, and a faint, underlying metallic tang that spoke of desperation and illicit dealings.
Lâm Minh, clutching Old Feng's metallic token, moved through the throng with a cautious confidence.
His Qi Sense was on high alert, cataloging the myriad life-auras around him – some weak and flickering like dying embers, others burning with a predatory intensity.
Thugs, merchants, scavengers, information brokers, and worse, all mingled here. Uniformed ASEAN patrols rarely ventured this deep, and when they did, it was usually in force and with a specific, high-value target in mind.
The Rust Market had its own brutal form of order, enforced by unspoken rules and the ever-present threat of violence.
The token got him past the first few checkpoints manned by heavily armed, grim-faced individuals who looked like they gargled with gravel.
They barely glanced at him, their attention caught by the sigil on the token.
Old Feng clearly commanded a certain level of respect, or fear, in this place.
Finding the "Sleeping Dragon" stall took some doing.
The Rust Market was a labyrinth of narrow, winding alleyways.
Lâm Minh relied on his sharpened senses and a few curt inquiries, careful to avoid appearing too lost or too inquisitive.
Finally, tucked away in a less crowded, more ominous-looking section, he found it.
It wasn't much of a stall, more like a reinforced alcove built into the side of a crumbling brick wall.
A faded, crudely painted sign depicted a coiled, slumbering dragon, its eyes closed.
There was no visible merchandise, just a heavy curtain drawn across the entrance.
Two bored-looking guards, armed with sawed-off shotguns, flanked the curtain.
They looked even more dangerous than the checkpoint guards.
Lâm Minh approached. "I'm looking for Yan," he said, his voice calm.
"Old Feng sent me." He held up the token.
One of the guards, a man with a jagged scar running from his temple to his jawline, grunted and jerked his head towards the curtain.
"He's expecting you. Go in. Don't touch anything unless you're told."
Lâm Minh pushed aside the heavy curtain and stepped into a surprisingly well-lit, though still cramped, space.
The air here was different, tinged with the scent of strange herbs and a faint, distinct aroma he immediately recognized – the clean, potent smell of refined Spirit Stones.
His heart quickened.
Behind a sturdy wooden counter sat a man who could only be Yan.
He was surprisingly young, perhaps in his late twenties, with a lean, almost scholarly appearance.
He wore simple, dark clothes, and his long black hair was tied back neatly.
His eyes, however, were ancient, holding a depth of shrewdness and calculation that belied his years.
He was meticulously polishing a small, intricately carved jade figurine, his movements precise and unhurried.
"Old Feng's new runner, I presume?" Yan said without looking up, his voice soft but carrying an undeniable authority.
"You're younger than his usual. And less… overtly thuggish."
"Lâm Minh," he introduced himself.
Yan finally looked up, his gaze sharp and appraising.
It lingered on Lâm Minh for a moment, much like Old Feng's had, as if searching for something beyond the surface.
"Indeed. Feng mentioned you handled some unpleasantness with commendable efficiency. He rarely praises. Sit." He gestured towards a rickety stool in front of the counter.
Lâm Minh sat, his senses still active.
He could feel faint, contained energy signatures from several locked chests and cabinets behind the counter.
This was where Yan kept his valuable stock.
"Old Feng said you might have… items useful for cultivators," Lâm Minh stated, getting straight to the point.
Yan smiled faintly, a brief, knowing quirk of his lips. "Feng is a man of few words, but he is direct. Yes, I occasionally procure items that those who walk the path of power find… beneficial."
He placed the jade figurine down carefully. "What is it you seek, Lâm Minh? And more importantly, what do you offer in return? My wares are not cheap, and I do not deal in sentiment."
Lâm Minh had anticipated this.
He had the five hundred credits from Old Feng, a significant sum for a sixteen-year-old, but likely pocket change for a merchant like Yan dealing in cultivator resources.
"I seek Spirit Stones," Lâm Minh said.
"Low-Grade, for now. As many as I can afford."
Yan leaned back, steepling his fingers. "Low-Grade Spirit Stones. The bread and butter of the Qi Refining aspirant. I have them, of course. The current market rate, due to… recent disruptions in certain supply lines… is one hundred and fifty credits per stone. For good quality, mind you. Not the chipped, energy-leached refuse some peddle."
One hundred and fifty credits per stone.
His five hundred credits would only buy him three, with a little left over.
It was highway robbery compared to what the System might value them at, but this was the Rust Market.
Supply and demand, and a hefty risk premium.
"That's steep," Lâm Minh commented, keeping his tone even.
"The price of power rarely comes cheap, young one," Yan replied smoothly. "Especially in these times.
Perhaps you have something else to offer? Information? Rare salvage? Services?" His eyes glinted.
Lâm Minh considered.
He had the small stash of raw condensate he'd collected, but it was unrefined and likely not worth much to Yan.
His knowledge of the future was his most valuable asset, but he couldn't just reveal that.
"I have some raw, unrefined condensate," Lâm Minh offered, testing the waters.
"Collected from Zone 7-Delta. Quite a bit of it, though the concentration is variable." This was an exaggeration, but he needed to gauge Yan's interest.
Yan raised an eyebrow, a flicker of interest in his eyes. "Unrefined, you say? From Delta? That area is usually picked clean. How did you come by it?"
"I have a knack for finding things others overlook," Lâm Minh said vaguely.
"And I'm not afraid of getting my hands dirty."
"Indeed." Yan stroked his chin.
"Raw condensate is… problematic. It requires careful refinement, a process not many possess the skill or equipment for. And the yield is often unpredictable. However…" He paused.
"Bring me a sample. A significant sample. If the quality is acceptable, I might consider a trade. Perhaps a discount on refined stones, or a direct exchange."
This was better than expected. If Yan could refine it, it saved Lâm Minh the trouble and the unknown cost in System Points.
"I can do that," Lâm Minh said.
"But I also need stones now. I can pay for three." He laid out four hundred and fifty credits on the counter.
Yan counted the credits with practiced fingers.
"Three it is." He reached under the counter and produced a small, silk-lined pouch. From it, he carefully selected three Low-Grade Spirit Stones.
They were indeed of good quality, black and lustrous, pulsing with a clean, dense energy, noticeably superior to the ones from the System's Novice Package.
Lâm Minh accepted the pouch, the weight of the three stones a small comfort.
It wasn't much, but it was a start.
"About the raw condensate," Yan continued, "if you can provide a steady supply, of decent quality… we might be able to establish a more regular arrangement. I am always in need of raw materials."
"I'll see what I can do," Lâm Minh said.
As he was about to leave, Yan spoke again. "One more thing, Lâm Minh."
Lâm Minh turned.
"Old Feng values discretion and competence. So do I. The Rust Market has many ears, and not all of them are friendly. Be careful who you talk to, what you reveal. Power attracts attention, and not always the kind you want."
"I understand," Lâm Minh replied. It was a warning he took to heart.
He left the Sleeping Dragon's den, the three Spirit Stones a precious weight in his pocket.
His visit had been fruitful: he'd acquired stones, established a potential supply line for raw materials, and made a valuable, if dangerous, new contact. Yan was clearly more than just a simple merchant.
He was a player in the city's cultivation underground.
Walking back through the chaotic alleys of the Rust Market, Lâm Minh felt a renewed sense of purpose.
The path was becoming clearer, albeit more treacherous.
He needed to get back to Zone 7-Delta, collect as much condensate as possible, and solidify his arrangement with Yan.
He also needed to continue his own cultivation relentlessly.
The Minor Completion of Qi Refining was just the first step.
Foundation Establishment, Golden Core… those realms seemed impossibly distant, but now, he had a tangible means to progress.
His thoughts also drifted to Tố Quyên.
He hadn't seen her since that day at school.
Their worlds were still miles apart.
He was delving into the city's shadows, bartering for the means to power, while she likely moved in circles of privilege and academic excellence.
But the image of her face, the memory of her unconscious grace, served as a distant, guiding star, a reminder of what he was ultimately fighting for – a future where people like her wouldn't have to suffer the horrors he'd witnessed.
But first, he had to survive. He had to grow stronger.
As he exited the Rust Market, blending back into the slightly less oppressive gloom of the outer city, he felt the weight of Old Feng's token in his other pocket.
It wasn't just an entry pass anymore.
It was a symbol of his tentative entry into a new, dangerous world.
A world where power was the ultimate currency, and he was determined to become one of its wealthiest citizens.
The night was still young, and the hunt for power had only just begun.