15: Chapter 15 is in hand.

He deliberately made his voice sound husky and aged, as if he were an old man with one foot in the grave, desperate to live a few years longer.

This was the most logical disguise he could think of.

After calling out his bid, he lowered his head and tucked his hands into his sleeves. His body trembled slightly, appearing both excited and nervous, perfectly portraying a "rookie" bidding at the Ghost Market for the first time.

He could feel gazes coming from all directions, filled with scrutiny, disdain, and a sort of pity one might show a fool.

"Pfft..."

Someone couldn't help themselves and let out a snicker.

Immediately after, unrestrained laughter spread like a plague.

"Did I hear that right? One hundred and five taels? Just to buy a longevity art?"

"Where did this sucker come from? Is he some landlord's idiot son from the city who stole money to squander it?"

"Over a hundred taels of silver is enough to book the top courtesan at Spring Breeze Pavilion for a year! Spending it on this thing? It's truly... mind-boggling!"

"Don't say that. What if he just wants to live a few years longer? Hahaha..."

The harsh laughter echoed through the hall, but as these sounds reached Chen Mo's ears, they made him feel more at ease than any praise could.

The louder they laughed, the safer the Turtle Breathing Longevity Art was in his eyes.

On the stage, the expression of the host with the brocade robe and goatee was quite a sight to behold.

He was stunned at first, seemingly unable to believe his ears. Then, once he confirmed that the figure in the corner was indeed bidding, his face was instantly overtaken by ecstasy!

God knows how long this Turtle Breathing Longevity Art had been gathering dust in his hands!

This thing was recovered from the body of a destitute old Daoist who died in a ruined temple three years ago. The manager of the Ghost Market thought it was an Internal Skill Mind-Cultivation Technique after all, so he took it in.

As a result, it appeared as an add-on after the finale in three consecutive secret auctions, and each time no one was interested, eventually resulting in a failed auction.

The first time the starting price was fifty taels, and no one wanted it.

The second time it was lowered to thirty taels, and still no one wanted it.

This time, the manager had spoken: if it still didn't sell, it would simply be thrown into a corner of the warehouse to gather dust, rather than being brought out again to make them a laughingstock.

The host had also adopted the mindset of treating a dead horse as if it were alive, calling out a "sky-high price" of one hundred taels purely to play up its title as an "Internal Skill Mind-Cultivation Technique." He himself was prepared for the embarrassment of having no bidders.

But he never expected that a "fool" would actually take the bait! And as soon as he spoke, he directly added five taels!

"One hundred and five taels! This friend wearing the wooden mask bids one hundred and five taels!" The host's voice cracked with excitement. He looked around and used all his strength to incite the crowd: "Are there any higher bids? This is an Internal Skill Mind-Cultivation Technique! Although... although the results are slow, the benefits of longevity are real! Only by living long can you enjoy life for long! Is anyone bidding one hundred and ten taels?"

His voice echoed in the empty hall, but the only response was an even louder burst of laughter.

Everyone looked at him as if he were an idiot, and then looked at Chen Mo as if he were the world's biggest fool.

Spending over a hundred taels on a promise of "longevity" that might not even come true? They would rather use that money for pleasure and enjoyment, even if it meant living ten years less.

Chen Mo's heart was thumping wildly. He kept his head down, appearing calm, but his fists inside his sleeves were already slick with sweat.

Hurry! Drop the gavel already!

Let there be no one else, please let there be no one else!

The host shouted at the top of his lungs twice. Seeing that indeed no one else was interested, he didn't delay any further, fearing this sole buyer might change his mind.

"One hundred and five taels once!"

"One hundred and five taels twice!"

"One hundred and five taels... thrice!"

*Clang—!*

He picked up the small wooden mallet and struck the gong with unprecedented force!

"Sold!"

Those words were like heavenly music, exploding in Chen Mo's mind.

It's done!

It's done!

This supreme technique, tailor-made for him, was his!

A massive wave of ecstasy rushed over him, nearly drowning his reason. He forcibly suppressed the urge to stand up and shout, maintaining his disguise of being "elderly and excited" as he slowly stood up.

Escorted by the gazes of those "watching a fool" and "watching the fun," he walked step by step toward the transaction room on the side of the platform.

In the transaction room, an Accountant and two guards were already waiting.

Chen Mo said nothing. He pulled out the hundred-tael silver note from his robe, along with a handful of broken silver, carefully counting out five taels and placing them on the table.

The Accountant took the silver note, checked it carefully against the light, then weighed the silver. Confirming everything was correct, he showed a professional smile: "Guest, please take your item."

He handed the scroll, tied with thin hemp rope, to Chen Mo.

Chen Mo reached out. The moment his fingertips touched the scroll, they trembled slightly.

He took it; it felt slightly heavy in his hand, with the characteristic dry texture of paper.

This was his hope, the key to changing his fate against the heavens!

He carefully tucked the scroll into his robe, pressing it tightly against his chest, as if what lay there was not a Cultivation Technique, but his very heart.

Then, without a word, he turned and left the transaction room.

Stepping out of the main hall, the night breeze outside was exceptionally chilly. It blew against him, clearing his head which had been feverish with excitement.

He didn't go home immediately. Instead, he cautiously circled around the labyrinthine alleys.

Although he was ninety-nine percent certain that no one would be interested in this Turtle Breathing Longevity Art, his experience at the Ghost Market taught him that being careful was never a mistake. He had to ensure that no one was following him.

He alternated between walking quickly and pausing, listening for movement behind him at dark corners.

Fifteen minutes later, after confirming there were indeed no tails behind him and that it was all just his own excessive nervousness, he quickened his pace toward his small courtyard on the edge of the slums.

*Creak—*

He pushed open the familiar courtyard gate and then slid the bolt firmly into place.

Returning to his small room, he closed all the doors and windows before letting out a long, long sigh of relief.

Leaning his whole body against the cold door panel, his back was drenched in a cold sweat.

Only at this moment did his heart, which had been hanging in suspense, truly settle back into his chest.

Safe.

He walked to the table and, with trembling hands, lit the dim oil lamp. The pea-sized flame barely dispelled the darkness in the room, also reflecting his face which was slightly flushed with excitement.

He solemnly took the scroll out from his robe.

There was no ornate mounting or precious material; it was just the most ordinary yellowed paper, tied with a piece of rough hemp rope.

Chen Mo took a deep breath, carefully untied the hemp rope, and slowly unfurled the scroll on the tabletop.

A faint scent of ink and the aged smell of paper wafted toward him.