Luo Chen chose a secluded corner and quietly took a seat. Not far from him, Wang Yuan sat as well. Noticing the taut muscles beneath Wang Yuan’s hemp robe, Luo Chen was certain his decision had been the right one.0

Times had changed.0

With the destruction of many inner-city shops, the outer city’s black market had become more bustling than ever. What once attracted only a few dozen participants had now surged three to fourfold, with over three hundred cultivators in attendance.1

The Precious Dragon Hall, which once felt spacious, now seemed almost cramped with the sheer number of people. Most notably, seven Foundation Establishment cultivators sat on either side, their overwhelming presence pressing down on the crowd.0

Luo Chen’s gaze swept over them one by one, and the figure wearing a golden flood dragon mask could be none other...0