Rebirth in a Courtyard: I Am a Little Hunter

Leaving Batu's warm and simple yurt, Wei Chen stepped back into the vast snowfield. But unlike when he first arrived, he now had a deeper understanding of the dangers and opportunities of this land, and he also carried a map to the "Ghost Market"—the path and intricacies to the "Huitengliang" black market, as described by Batu.

"Huitengliang" is located in the hilly area further north, a secluded mountain valley surrounded by weathered rock mountains. According to Batu, the terrain there is complicated with many forks in the road, making it difficult for herders who are not familiar with the area to find. It was precisely because of this that it became a no-man's-land, and gradually a customary private trading point was formed.

Wei Chen did not ride a horse, but trekked across the snow-covered wasteland on foot. He used his movement techniques, his steps were light and swift, several times faster than ordinary people, but it still took him most of the day to find the depression hidden behind several gray-brown rocky mountains before dusk.

Before even getting close, he slowed his pace, concealed his aura, and cautiously extended his spiritual perception.

The valley was more lively than I had imagined. There were about twenty or thirty people scattered around, under some sheltered rocks or beside simple shacks. These people were wearing thick fur robes or cotton-padded coats, and most of them wore hats or scarves to cover their faces, revealing only a pair of wary eyes.

On the ground in front of them were various items: bundles of wool, folded hides (mostly sheepskin and cowhide), dried mushrooms and herbs, milk curd and milk skin in sacks or wooden buckets, and even some antique copper pots, silver bowls, old saddle accessories inlaid with coral or turquoise, and old objects such as Buddha statues and scriptures whose age was indiscernible.

The exchange methods were also very primitive, mostly bartering. Occasionally, you could see someone pull out crumpled banknotes or national food coupons, but they would quickly take them back. Clearly, goods were more popular than money here.

The air was thick with the mingled smells of livestock, furs, dairy products, and tobacco. People spoke in hushed tones, mostly in Mongolian, occasionally interspersed with broken Mandarin. The atmosphere was far from friendly, but it maintained a fragile calm. Everyone warily surveyed their surroundings, especially the newcomers.

Wei Chen's appearance caused a small commotion. Many eyes instantly focused on him, filled with scrutiny, curiosity, and a hint of barely perceptible assessment. He was too young, his face was unfamiliar, and his clothes were ordinary, but his appearance alone in this place was unusual in itself.

Wei Chen remained calm, seemingly oblivious to the stares, and walked straight to a less crowded stall with a few hides and burlap sacks on display. The stall owner was a middle-aged man with a scar on his cheek and shrewd eyes, who was squatting on the ground smoking a pipe.

"Friend, take a look at the leather? Top-quality lambskin, warm." The scarred man exhaled a puff of smoke and spoke in heavily accented Mandarin, his eyes scanning Wei Chen's empty hands and the backpack on his back.

Wei Chen squatted down and casually flipped through the few pieces of leather; their quality was indeed quite good.

"How do I exchange it?" "It depends on what you want. I also have dried mutton and milk tofu here." The scarred man pointed to the sack next to him. "If you want refined grains, white flour is best, or... cooking oil?" He lowered his voice when he said the last two words, and a hint of expectation flashed in his eyes.

Wei Chen understood immediately; just as Batu had said, grain and oil were the hard currency here. Without a word, he took a small cloth bag from his robes (actually a spatial storage space), untied it, and revealed snow-white, fine flour inside. "How do I exchange this flour?"

The scarred man's eyes lit up. He picked up a bit of flour, smelled it, and rubbed it between his fingers. An incredulous look of surprise crossed his face: "This...this is refined white flour? Not a single bran!" He glanced around warily and lowered his voice: "Friend, how much flour do you have left? What do you want in exchange?"

"There's still some," Wei Chen said vaguely. "I'd like to trade it for some good furs, preferably wolf or fox pelts. High-quality dried beef or mutton would also be fine, and some dairy products too. Also," he glanced at the few unassuming old silver bowls and a Mongolian knife inlaid with faded gemstones on the stall, "what's the deal with these old items?"

Seeing that Wei Chen seemed knowledgeable, the scarred man became even more eager: "We have wolf pelts! I just acquired two a few days ago, though the fur isn't the best quality. Fox pelts... I have one that's bright red, but it has a few tears. Jerky and tofu are plentiful! As for these..."

He picked up the old silver bowl. "These are all old stuff I collected before, found in a herder's house. They're not for eating or drinking, but if you like them, I'll give them to you for free. But this knife..."

He picked up the Mongolian knife, drew a section out, and the blade gleamed with a faint blue light. Although the decorations were old, the edge was still sharp. "It's an old item. It's said to have been used by a Taiji (Mongolian nobleman) before. It needs to be re-examined."

Next came the haggling. The scarred man was clearly an expert, but Wei Chen was no less skilled; he possessed knowledge far beyond his time and a precise judgment of the value of goods.

In the end, Wei Chen traded ten catties of refined white flour (which he retrieved from his spatial storage in a secluded place) for two wolf pelts, a fire fox pelt with a tear but excellent fur color, fifty catties of top-quality dried beef, thirty catties of milk tofu and milk skin, as well as the old Mongolian knife and two silver bowls as extras.

The scarred man was captivated by the ten pounds of snow-white, pure flour, repeatedly saying that if he had any more of this good stuff, he should come back to him, as he had "even better stuff."

With the success of his first transaction, Wei Chen became more adventurous. Like a true merchant, he wandered through this small, primitive "black market," exchanging the "inexhaustible" supply of refined white flour and fragrant sesame oil (taking out only small amounts at a time, stored in different small containers) for various grassland specialties.

He traded for pure-colored, thick, and soft purple lambskin; he traded for grassland medicinal herbs such as astragalus, licorice, and cistanche that still exude a pleasant fragrance after being dried; and he traded for large chunks of high-quality milk chew (a type of concentrated dairy product) that are crystallized like snow and have a mellow taste.

He even traded two kilograms of sesame oil and a bag of fruit candy from a man with shifty eyes who didn't look like an ordinary herdsman for a small bag of unpolished but warm-colored, subtly oily-looking Gobi agate stones and a few pieces of petrified wood with natural patterns.

The man mysteriously said that he had dug it up in the Gobi Desert further north, but Wei Chen knew that these things would be very valuable decades later.

Just as Wei Chen thought he had made a fruitful day and was preparing to leave, a deep voice sounded beside him, speaking in fluent Chinese: "Friend, are you interested in real old things?"

Wei Chen turned his head and saw an old man with a hunched back, wrapped in a dirty sheepskin coat, squatting in an inconspicuous corner. In front of him was only a tattered felt, on which a few things were scattered: a rusty bronze tripod, a few ancient coins with illegible inscriptions, a leather scroll box with a broken edge, and... a small, irregularly shaped, yellowish, heavy piece of metal.

Wei Chen's gaze lingered on the metal block for a moment, his pupils contracting slightly. The color, the texture… it was gold! Although it wasn't large, and the purity might be questionable, the fact that something like this appeared in a place like this was unusual in itself.

The old man looked at Wei Chen with cloudy eyes, his face expressionless: "These are all junk left by our ancestors, just to exchange for some food."

Wei Chen squatted down, picked up the gold ingot, and weighed it in his hand. It was about two or three ounces, quite heavy. The surface was somewhat oxidized and darkened, but if you scratched it open a little, the inside was a bright gold. "How do I exchange this?" he asked casually.

The old man held up three withered fingers: "Thirty catties of wheat flour, or... five catties of cooking oil." He quoted an exorbitant price, enough to buy several good fat sheep in this black market.

Wei Chen didn't immediately haggle over the price, but instead picked up the leather scroll box. The box was old, with severely worn edges, but the leather was tough. Some blurry religious patterns were embroidered on it with colored thread. When he opened it, it was empty, with only a faint, musty sandalwood scent.

"This box..." "It was used to hold scriptures, but it's empty," the old man said calmly. "It's included with that gold nugget as a bonus. You can exchange it for some fine tea if you have any."

Wei Chen's mind raced. Gold was always a hard currency, and although this piece wasn't large, its value was undeniable. The scroll box looked dilapidated, but its craftsmanship and materials suggested it was quite old and might have some value. As for the small bronze tripod and ancient coins, their authenticity was hard to determine.

He pondered for a moment and said, "Ten catties of top-quality white flour, plus half a catty of sesame oil. I'll take the gold and this box; you can keep the rest."

A glint flashed in the old man's eyes, as if he were somewhat tempted, but he still said, "Twenty catties of flour and half a catty of oil, that's the least I can give. My gold is of good quality."

Wei Chen shook his head and made a move to get up: "Never mind then, there aren't many noodles left."

"Wait!" the old man called out to him, a hint of helplessness on his face. "Fifteen catties of flour and half a catty of oil! That's the most I can give! This is a real gold nugget!"

Wei Chen pretended to hesitate for a moment before nodding, "Alright. But I need to check it out first." He took the gold nugget, bent it forcefully, and carefully examined its color and cut. He wasn't an expert in gold appraisal, but he had basic knowledge. The purity of this gold nugget should be quite high, at least 70-80%.

The deal was struck. Wei Chen took out the required flour and sesame oil from his spatial storage and handed them to the old man. The old man carefully examined the flour and sesame oil, especially when he smelled the pure aroma of the sesame oil; his throat visibly bobbed. Then, he carefully handed the gold nugget and the scripture box to Wei Chen, quickly hid the flour and oil in the tattered bag he had brought, and hurriedly left, as if afraid that Wei Chen would change his mind.