Chapter 119 Ping'an Ward
The place where the two set up their stalls was in the western corner of the city, yet surrounded by merchants and shops, far from remote.
At the entrance of the main street stood a grand archway inscribed with the name "Ping'an Ward," one of many wards and markets within Immortal Spirit City.
When the city was first founded, the city lord Ji Lingxiu borrowed from the urban planning of the Great Zhou capital and implemented a strict ward-and-market system. The city was divided into clearly defined districts to better manage commerce, residence, and security.
A ward was a residential area, enclosed with walls and gates, locked at night and overseen by a ward chief.
A market was a place specifically for trade, divided into various markets according to the type of goods.
Ping'an Ward was a hybrid district, combining both functions. It allowed street stalls while also housing fixed residents. Because it was far from the city lord's mansion, its security was comparatively lax. This in turn reduced the flow of merchants, creating closer ties between neighbors.
By mid-morning, the area around their stalls was growing lively.
A middle-aged woman in a coarse apron passed by carrying a basket of fresh scallions.
She stopped with a cheerful smile. "Miss Ah Li, Mister Chen, business is good today!"
Ah Li kept her head lowered, merely nodding with cool indifference without even lifting her eyelids. Chen Chang'an, on the other hand, responded warmly. "Good morning, Auntie Zhao. I'm sure the noodle shop is bustling as always today."
Auntie Zhao was the proprietress of the neighboring Zhao Family Noodle Shop. Years ago, she and her husband had moved to Immortal Spirit City from the countryside. The couple were industrious and straightforward, handling dough, pulling noodles, and cooking all in one flow. Over the years, their small shop had thrived.
Ping'an Ward itself had seen little change these past two years, so the neighbors had long grown familiar with one another. Auntie Zhao was accustomed to Ah Li's coldness, but she was especially warm toward Chen Chang'an, chatting away endlessly.
"By the way," she suddenly lowered her voice, "Old Lu the fishmonger hasn't opened his shop for three days now. I wonder what happened."
Chen Chang'an frowned. "Really? Isn't he always there, rain or shine?"
Auntie Zhao shook her head. "Who knows, maybe it's a family matter."
Before leaving, she suddenly leaned close, speaking so only the two could hear. "So when will the good news between you and Miss Ah Li come true? Everyone in the ward is waiting for the wedding feast!"
Chen Chang'an froze, quickly waving his hands and lowering his voice. "Auntie Zhao, food may be eaten carelessly, but words cannot. Miss Ah Li and I are merely neighbors."
Auntie Zhao clicked her tongue with a knowing look. "Oh, come now. Miss Ah Li is cold to everyone, yet you're the only one she talks to. And you still deny it?" She patted his shoulder with a serious tone. "Mister Chen, you're not young anymore. You need to work harder, make money. Running a little stall like this won't last. Buy a house in Immortal Spirit City, settle down and build a family, isn't that right?"
Chen Chang'an: "…"
To think he had transmigrated only to still be urged to marry and buy property.
Helplessly, he watched Auntie Zhao stride off. Turning his head, he met Ah Li's thoughtful gaze.
He quickly looked away, but for some reason, Auntie Zhao's words kept echoing in his mind.
He cursed inwardly and forced his attention elsewhere.
Unconsciously, his eyes fell on the tightly closed fish shop at the street corner.
In past days, Old Lu's shop was always the first to open. Even before dawn, the sound of chopping fish rang out, while live fish splashed in the wooden tubs, attracting early-rising women to compete for the freshest pick. But now, the greasy wooden doors were sealed shut, with even a thin layer of spiderweb clinging to the ring handle.
It truly had been three days…
Rubbing the copper coin in his hand, he suddenly realized Auntie Zhao's words had reminded him of something—over the past half month, three shops in Ping'an Ward had silently closed their doors.
First was Liu's blacksmith shop at the alley entrance, then Wang's cloth shop across the street, and now Old Lu's fish shop.
Something was wrong…
Immortal Spirit City was at its peak. Shop prices in the wards had been climbing steadily, and even the most remote corners could sell for a high price. Countless merchants fought desperately for a stall in the city. How could anyone willingly abandon such a lucrative livelihood?
Chen Chang'an narrowed his eyes, sweeping his gaze across the bustling street. Old Zhang, the candy seller, was bargaining with a buyer, while a teahouse servant weaved between tables with a copper kettle. Everything appeared so ordinary.
Beneath the surface of this seemingly ordinary scene, something subtle was shifting.
He instinctively glanced at Ah Li's stall and noticed she too was staring at Old Lu's closed shop.
As if sensing his gaze, she began to turn her head, and Chen Chang'an hurriedly shifted his eyes away, feigning nonchalance.
Auntie Zhao's words—"you're not young anymore"—echoed once again in his ears…
He quickly shook his head, driving away that lingering distraction.
Forget it. Matters like this should be left to Lingxiu.
But through whom should he send word to the city lord's mansion…?
He thought and thought…
Yet even as the afternoon sun lazily poured over the bluestone streets of Ping'an Ward, he still had no answer.
…
By afternoon, the ward gradually quieted down.
Chen Chang'an was dozing, chin propped on his hand, when the sound of a wooden fish suddenly startled him awake.
Looking up, he saw a gray-robed monk strolling in.
He carried a begging bowl, straw sandals on his feet, his bald head glinting faintly blue under the sun.
Chen Chang'an withdrew his gaze without interest—he knew this monk. Every few days the man wandered the ward, never buying goods nor preaching doctrine, merely going door to door begging for alms.
Last time, Old Lu the fishmonger had cursed him harshly, saying he brought misfortune…
Wait!
Chen Chang'an sat bolt upright.
Old Lu disappeared, and now the monk appeared—could this bald donkey have secretly acted against him? But then again, it seemed absurd. Monks were supposed to embody compassion. Could he really harm someone over a few angry words?
As his thoughts tangled, a shadow fell over the fortune-telling stall. The monk stood before him, his worn kasaya carrying a faint scent of sandalwood.
"Amitabha." The monk pressed his palms together. "Greetings, benefactor."
Chen Chang'an put on his professional smile. "Master, I only offer fortune-telling here. There's nothing for alms."
To his surprise, the monk shook his head. "This poor monk does not beg today."
He gazed straight at Chen Chang'an.
"This poor monk has come… for a fortune reading."
…
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