Rebirth in a Courtyard: I Am a Little Hunter

The tranquility of the hunter's cabin was frozen in place by the ever-present warm view outside the window. Wei Chen planned to explore the ghost market in Beijing tonight.

I've been to the ghost market in Changping twice before, but I haven't been to the one in Beijing. I've been asking my colleagues about it these past few days. There are several large ghost markets in Beijing, located in all four directions. The one in Nanluoguxiang is closer to the one in the north of the city, so more people from this area go there.

Wei Chen rested in the bedroom for a while. Seeing that it was getting late, he sat cross-legged on the soft carpet, focusing his mind on his dantian and circulating the profound cultivation technique. With each thought, his muscles, bones, and skin emitted a subtle yet dense crackling sound, like silkworms eating leaves. He could clearly feel his muscle fibers stretching, expanding, and reshaping under the pull of some invisible force.

His once well-proportioned physique swelled up as if inflated, with the deltoid and trapezius muscles in his shoulders and back bulging rapidly, outlining clear lines; his pectoral muscles became thick and full, and the biceps and triceps in his arms resembled knotted steel cables; the muscle groups in his waist and abdomen were clearly defined, exuding an explosive sense of power. His skin also seemed to have become rougher, with pores slightly open, revealing a ruggedness born from years of hard work and exposure to the elements.

He walked to the full-length mirror in the bathroom. The person reflected in the mirror was a completely different stranger: he seemed to have grown a few centimeters taller, with a thick frame and a burly build, like an iron tower.

His face also underwent subtle changes. His cheekbones became slightly more prominent, his jawline became more square and strong, and a few shallow lines appeared at the corners of his eyes, giving him an air of a man in his thirties who was experienced and powerful.

His eyes, however, remained sharp and deep, creating a strange contrast with his rugged appearance. He nodded in satisfaction. Using the true energy within his body, the "Shape-Changing Technique" he had developed was quite miraculous. It could not only change his physical appearance, but also alter his deliberate performance and demeanor.

Time flowed in sync with the outside world within this space, around midnight. Wei Chen changed into a pair of unremarkable, faded dark blue coarse cloth work pants and a matching undershirt—a style utterly inconspicuous in this era. The undershirt clung tightly to his newly sculpted muscles, making them appear even more muscular. He picked up a thick, dusty piece of cloth that had fallen from some monster and casually wrapped it around his face as a makeshift cover. He wasn't worried about his appearance now; it would be strange not to cover himself in the ghost market.

With a slight thought, his figure vanished from the comfortable hunter's cabin like ripples on water.

In the summer night of Beijing, the daytime hustle and bustle subsided, leaving only a sticky, sultry heat and the persistent chirping of cicadas. Wei Chen (a muscular, unfamiliar, and burly man) appeared deep within that abandoned dead-end alley, like a ghost conjured from the darkness. The humid air instantly enveloped him, creating a stark contrast with the dry, cool atmosphere of the surrounding space.

He took a deep breath, focused his mind, and pushed his cultivation technique to its limit. In an instant, the sounds of the entire world flooded into his ears like a tidal wave, amplified and analyzed infinitely.

The soft rustling of a night shift worker's bicycle wheels on the main road a hundred meters away; the hushed argument between a couple in a large courtyard two streets away; the faint rustling of a cricket's wings rubbing together in the cracks of a wall; even the trails of dust particles drifting in the air seemed to have a sound...

Amidst the cacophony of sounds, Wei Chen swiftly made his way towards the ghost market. Occasionally, he could pinpoint the footsteps and whispers of the patrol team.

"Over here... at the entrance of Taiping Hutong... for a smoke..." "Damn it, this weather's so awful, still so stuffy late at night..." "Be careful, I heard... things aren't very peaceful over there in the north of the city lately..."

The footsteps were steady and powerful, spaced out regularly, belonging to well-trained community security team members. They were patrolling from west to east along a fixed route, two alleys away from the dead-end alley where Wei Chen was.

Wei Chen moved like a cheetah blending into the night, his steps light and silent. He didn't choose the rooftop, but instead moved along the deepest shadows at the base of the walls. Each step landed precisely on the cracks between the bricks or on the soft, quiet ground, his control of his center of gravity exquisite.

His hearing was like an invisible radar network, covering an area of ​​hundreds of meters. Every breath the patrol team took, every rustle of their clothing, even their heartbeats were under his surveillance.

He skillfully used the terrain to climb over a low, weed-covered broken wall; he passed through a small courtyard piled with broken baskets and rotten wood, startling a few sparrows that were roosting at night, but the sound of their wings flapping was instantly suppressed by his breath, and they disappeared into the night sky with only a few faint chirps.

At the T-junction of a narrow alley, the footsteps of the patrol team were about to turn in from the left. Wei Chen suddenly ducked down, clinging to the narrow shadow of the eaves above a house like a gecko, holding his breath, his muscles tense as stone.

Two patrolmen, dressed in white T-shirts and carrying rifles, yawned and walked past him less than a meter below. Their flashlight beams swept aimlessly across the opposite wall, completely unaware of the strangeness above them.

Once the footsteps faded into the distance, Wei Chen drifted down silently like a falling leaf, continuing his stealthy northward journey. This feeling of dancing on the edge of a knife was both tense and strangely exhilarating, a sense of complete control.

About half an hour later, he finally arrived at his destination—the northern suburbs of Beijing, a huge and chaotic shadowy area formed by the base of the abandoned ancient city wall.

The air was thick with an indescribable mixture of smells: damp earth, old bricks and stones, cheap tobacco, sweat, the stench of food scraps, and a faint hint of rust and animal odor. This was Beishi, one of the largest underground ghost markets around Beijing.

Unlike the shabby, rural ghost market in Changping, Beishi was several times larger. It stretched out along the collapsed ancient city wall, forming a vast, irregularly shaped area of ​​shadow. At the entrance, a makeshift doorway was constructed from broken planks and tattered canvas, with a dimly lit kerosene lamp hanging above it, its light barely illuminating the small area. The flickering lamplight distorted the gatekeeper's shadow.

Two men dressed in black cloth jackets, their open robes revealing their muscular chests, squatted on tattered burlap sacks on either side of the doorway, cigarettes dangling from their mouths, their eyes warily scanning every figure entering and leaving in the dim light. Their waists were bulging, clearly concealing weapons.

Wei Chen's tall figure appeared silently at the edge of the lamplight, like a moving iron tower. He deliberately did not conceal the oppressive aura naturally emanating from his powerful physique.

The two gatekeepers looked up almost simultaneously. The dim light outlined the bulging muscles of Wei Chen's body, which seemed about to burst through his undershirt. His face was blurred in the shadows, but his eyes shone brightly in the darkness.

The two men visibly tensed, instinctively gripping the hard objects at their waists. The square-faced man stood up, his voice wary: "A new face? Which gang are you from? Show me your true colors." His gaze swept over Wei Chen's empty hands, then settled on the dirty, tattered canvas draped over his shoulder.

Wei Chen didn't speak, but simply stretched out his hand, palm open, revealing a crumpled one-cent banknote. His movements were steady and powerful, carrying an unquestionable air.

The square-faced man stared at the money, then at Wei Chen's face, which appeared particularly rugged in the shadows, his eyes flickering a few times. Clearly, Wei Chen's imposing physique and the oppressive feeling emanating from his silence had worked.

He didn't ask any more questions. He took the penny, twirled it between his fingers, stuffed it into his pocket, turned to the side, waved his hand, and said in a muffled voice, "You know the rules, right? Behave yourself inside and don't cause trouble."

Wei Chen nodded, his tall figure bowing slightly as he passed through the low doorway and officially stepped into the bustling shadows of the North City Ghost Market.

The view suddenly opened up, yet it felt like plunging into a deeper chaos. At the foot of the city wall, a massive shadow loomed like the jaws of a giant beast. Countless lamps of various shapes and sizes dotted the space: dim lanterns hanging from wooden poles, kerosene lamps placed on the ground for protection, small lanterns carried on shoulder poles, and even the extremely rare flashlights powered by dry cell batteries, sparingly illuminating a small area. The light was compressed and fragmented by the dense darkness, forming a series of flickering, bizarre stages.

The crowd was dense and jostling. Most of them, like Wei Chen, covered their faces with cloths, hats, or even tattered cardboard, revealing only a pair of wary or greedy eyes.

The conversation was hushed, like the chirping of countless insects, a muffled background noise. The transaction took place in this dim light and suppressed whispers, filled with mystery and primal trading impulses.

Wei Chen's tall figure moved through the crowd like a giant ship cutting through the undercurrents. His sharp eyes swept over the "stalls" on both sides. This place was far more abundant than the Changping Ghost Market; it was practically a small, shady trade fair.

Several tattered straw mats were spread out, upon which lay piled yellowed thread-bound books, a porcelain jar with a missing lid, an incense burner covered in verdigris, a roughly carved wooden Buddha statue, an old pipa with a broken string, and even a dusty Western clock and a rusty pocket watch. An old man wearing a melon-shaped hat huddled in the shadows, his eyes cloudy, guarding these "Four Olds" abandoned by the times, waiting for a discerning customer.

In front of several middle-aged men, dressed reasonably well but with anxious expressions, were brand-new enamel basins and tin thermos flasks printed with peony flowers—clearly sought-after items "snatched" from factories or warehouses. Every now and then, someone would squat down, fiddling with the fabric, tapping the thermos flask liner, and haggling in hushed tones.

The food and groceries section is where the atmosphere is most lively. One vendor had a bag in front of him containing snow-white rice and half a bag of fine flour, with a sign next to him that read "Exchange for Overseas Chinese Remittance Certificates".

In a corner, someone even covered several pieces of fresh pork with a damp cloth, and a group of people gathered around, asking about the price and haggling. Wei Chen paid special attention and found that the pork price was basically the same as what he remembered from the ghost market in Changping and the state-run vegetable market in the city during the day: 1.6 yuan without a ration coupon.

The supply of goods has not yet collapsed, and prices remain relatively stable without significant changes.

Several shrewd-eyed, relatively neatly dressed people were gesturing with their fingers as they bought and sold coupons. Wei Chen saw someone exchange a few kilograms of rice for several oil coupons, while someone else exchanged a roll of brand-new cotton cloth for a stack of national grain coupons.

Wei Chen strolled leisurely through the crowded streets, his tall stature and silent aura automatically creating some space around him. He observed the prices while rapidly calculating in his mind.

While selling wild boar meat directly is profitable, it's inefficient and carries concentrated risk. To quickly and safely monetize the meat, it's essential to find stable and reputable buyers. The North City Ghost Market clearly possesses this potential.