74: oil lamp

The forty-nine-day period had arrived. Every pulse of the earth vein felt like the heavy, weak gasp of a dying giant beast.

The Cultivators from various major Schools entrenched at the foot of the mountain finally lost their patience. The greed in their eyes almost manifested into substance as they stared fixedly at that seemingly precarious market.

In their eyes, this lawless land supported by an unknown kid was like a ripe fruit, just waiting for the Old Earth Vein Turtle to take its last breath before crashing down for them to divide.

The Elder of the Sword Qi Sect stroked his long beard, his voice carrying a condescending pity: "The Dragon Qi at the mountain's root is about to break, and the spiritual mechanism of this place no longer exists; the market's collapse is imminent. Our Sects should take over this place, soothe the Mortals, and reshape order." Beside him, the manager of the Cauldron Pill School let out a cold sneer, his gaze already locked onto several spiritual plants emitting a strange fragrance deep within the market.

The so-called "soothing" was merely a flowery euphemism for "plundering."

In this tense, oppressive atmosphere where a storm was brewing, Zhang Xuanyi's lazy voice, not loud but clear, reached everyone's ears.

"The Old Turtle is going to sleep; it's been hard on the old senior guarding for so many years." He stood up slowly from his bamboo chair, patted the dust off his clothes, and announced to the bewildered stall owners throughout the market: "Tonight, we're holding a 'Xie Long Banquet'."

As soon as these words were spoken, the entire field was shocked.

Xie Long Banquet?

Thanking what dragon?

That earth vein about to be severed?

The Cultivators of the major Sects looked at each other, then burst into uncontrollable, suppressed sneers.

With death at the door, he actually has the mind to hold a banquet?

Has this kid gone mad?

Zhang Xuanyi acted as if he didn't see their mocking gazes and continued: "No burning incense, no kowtowing, none of those empty formalities. We are stall-keepers, so we'll thank it in a stall-keeper's way. Every stall, produce one of your best 'firework' dishes, and light an oil lamp in front of your stall. Consider it a sacrifice for its grace in protecting the mountain, and also a send-off for the old senior."

Everyone was completely dazed.

Using grilled skewers and wontons to sacrifice to the earth vein Dragon Qi?

Using mundane oil lamps to bid farewell to the mountain-guarding divine turtle?

This was simply the height of absurdity!

This was a desecration of a spiritual being of heaven and earth!

"Absurd!" the Sword Qi Sect Elder barked, his voice like a great bell. "Ignorant brat, to desecrate Dragon Qi with filthy Mortal food! Do you know this act will accelerate the earth vein's collapse and invite heavenly punishment!"

However, his angry shout was interrupted by a crisp female voice.

Su Qingzhu had set up her livestream Magical Artifact at some point, the lens precisely aimed at Zhang Xuanyi and this market that had begun to stir but was not in chaos.

She faced the light screen, her expression more serious and solemn than ever before: "Viewers, what you are seeing now is a unique ritual of the Kunlun Ruins Market—the Xie Long Banquet. Today, we do not worship gods; we only thank people—thanking everyone who has contributed to this land, and thanking this land itself."

Nightfall arrived as scheduled.

The Sect Cultivators at the foot of the mountain watched coldly, waiting to see how this farce would end.

However, they soon found themselves unable to laugh.

The first oil lamp was lit, its dim yellow flame like a faint star in the night.

Immediately followed by the second, the third, the hundredth... the sparks quickly became a prairie fire.

Thousands of oil lamps converged on the winding market paths, actually forming a brilliant river of stars that stretched from the foot of the mountain to the mountainside, warm and steady.

Following that was the aroma of food.

It wasn't the strange fragrance of Spirit Pills, but the purest, most soul-soothing 'firework' air of the mundane world.

Sizzling grilled chive pockets with golden crusts, the filling's chive mixed with the aroma of eggs, carrying an unyielding vitality; Qi Soup Wontons made with the purest mountain spring water mixed with spiritual grain flour, stuffed with meat containing a faint trace of Qi energy—the soup was clear and delicious, warming the internal organs; and then there were the Will-Power Candied Haws condensed from countless thoughts of Power Of Will, each hawthorn fruit crystal clear, as if carrying tiny dreams.

This aroma, this light, lacked even a shred of magical fluctuation, yet it formed an invisible field that gently enveloped the entire mountain, actually causing the tremors of the dying earth vein to smooth out significantly.

Upon the high platform, Cui Wujiu watched all this silently.

He took out the "Record of Will-Power" from his robe, which recorded all transactions, sins, and redemptions of the market over the past three years. Without the slightest hesitation, he threw it into the furnace before him.

The pages caught fire instantly. In the blazing flames, what rose was not black smoke, but wisps of grey-white embers.

The embers swirled upward with the wind, not dissipating in mid-air but instead condensing into thousands of flickering talisman shadows.

Every talisman shadow was a frozen moment in time—the ecstasy of a man with a broken leg standing up again after using all his belongings to exchange for a "Vigorous Step Talisman"; the lingering fear of a hunted woman who escaped a disaster after trading a secret for a "Concealment Talisman"; the filial piety of a child using a skewer of candied haws to exchange for a "Safety Talisman" for his traveling father... These images were silent, yet they contained a power more profound and majestic than any scriptures or classics.

Cui Wujiu looked at the sky full of talisman shadows and whispered, as if speaking to heaven and earth, or perhaps to himself: "The orthodoxy is not in scriptures, but within these chopsticks and spoons, within every drink and every meal."

At this very moment, a sudden change occurred!

"Boom—!"

An earth-shattering roar came from underground, and the entire mountain peak shook violently!

The Old Earth Vein Turtle seemed to use up its last strength, suddenly opening its massive mouth and spitting out a streak of golden Dragon Qi that was brilliant to the extreme!

That was not the auspicious Qi that nourishes all things, but the final and most violent breath of resentment after its life Origin had burned out!

This Dragon Qi was like an out-of-control golden dragon of rage. It didn't charge toward the sky or scatter to the fields, but instead blasted straight toward the core of the market—Zhang Xuanyi's stall!

"Not good!" The Sect Cultivators at the foot of the mountain cried out in alarm, yet a flash of wild joy crossed their eyes.

This was the moment they had been waiting for!

As long as this Dragon Qi destroyed the market's core, they could swarm forward and snatch the remaining fragments!

However, at the moment the golden Dragon Qi was about to touch the stall, the shadow of the Old Market-Stall Dog, which had been lying at the foot of the stall as if dead for a long time, suddenly raised its head!

Its figure transformed from illusory to solid in this instant. Without a hint of fear, it proactively charged toward that world-destroying Dragon Qi!

There was no earth-shattering collision, no aftermath of magical fluctuation.

The violent Dragon Qi and that loyal shadow touched so gently, and then, they merged with each other.

The shadow of the old dog dissipated in the golden light, while that golden Dragon Qi turned into a submissive golden flame, slowly and gently winding around that tattered stall cloth, as if setting an eternal golden border upon it.

Everything settled.

Zhang Xuanyi walked silently to the front of the stall. From the place where the old dog had dissipated, he picked up a section of a tattered dog leash that was no longer recognizable, and from the cracked earth beneath him, he pried out a piece of turtle shell fragment stained with mud.

He buried these two items side by side in the soil directly beneath the stall, his movements as gentle as if he were burying two of his closest friends.

"It wasn't me you were guarding," he said softly, his voice devoid of sorrow or joy, "it was the right of choice in this Mortal world."

As soon as he finished speaking, the four ancient characters "The Willing Find Leisure" originally branded on the stall cloth began to slowly twist and change under the reflection of the golden flame.

The ink dissolved and reorganized into new characters—"Freedom from the Heart".

At the same time, Su Qingzhu walked into the center of the crowd, holding a newly finished manuscript that still carried the scent of ink.

It was the final draft of her new book, "The Heavenly Dao on a Street Stall".

The cover of the book was blank, without any writing, only a faint brand mark scorched by firework smoke.

Under everyone's astonished gazes, she publicly threw the book into the nearest oil lamp.

The manuscript met the fire and instantly turned to ashes.

But within those rising ashes, a line of brilliant golden text similarly emerged, brighter than the stars in the night sky:

"The Dao is not on high altars, not in secret classics, not in the Heavenly Master Seal—it is within that single thought of belief or disbelief when you pull out money to buy a talisman."

The entire field was dead silent.

In the next second, not knowing who started it, countless stall owners spontaneously picked up the oil lamps in front of their stalls and held them high above their heads.

Those small points of light converged into an unstoppable torrent, surging like a tide toward the mountain peak, toward that stall labeled "Freedom from the Heart".

That light was recognition, it was choice, it was a declaration.

Dawn was approaching. The earth vein returned completely to tranquility, the Old Turtle's aura went completely silent, and the old dog's figure left no further trace.

Zhang Xuanyi sat back in his bamboo chair, grabbed a handful of heavenly eye mung beans that had just sprouted from the soil, and chewed them slowly, the crisp sound exceptionally clear in the silent dawn.

Suddenly, he froze slightly.

A corner of the stall cloth moved gently on its own, despite there being no wind.

A line of tiny characters, like ink soaking into rice paper, slowly emerged.

It was not the cold font of the System, nor was it the work of any human power; it seemed more like the collective thoughts of thousands of stall owners and the will of this heaven and earth condensing together.

"You are not the Heavenly Master; you are the starting point."

Zhang Xuanyi looked at that line of text, stunned for a moment, then smiled with relief and turned over, actually intending to continue his nap.

The camera slowly pulled back. Among the thousands of stall lamps on the mountain, though the flames were weak, not a single one was extinguished.

A child of about seven or eight years old used some mud mixed with well water from the roadside to clumsily mold a blurry little figure.

Once molded, he actually imitated the adults, respectfully placing the clay figure on the ground and bowing deeply toward the direction of Zhang Xuanyi's stall.

A morning breeze blew by, fluttering the stall cloth and also passing over the land where the dog leash and turtle shell had just been buried.

A new crop of heavenly eye mung beans was stretching out its tender green leaves toward the first light of dawn.

The first ray of dawn pierced through the clouds, splashing golden glory across the mountains and fields.

The lights of the market finally went out one by one in the morning light. The stall owners who had been busy all night had exhaustion on their faces, but more so a kind of unprecedented peace and reassurance.

In everyone's eyes, this soul-stirring and inconceivable "Xie Long Banquet" had finally come to a close.

However, among the major Sects at the foot of the mountain who should have ceased their activities, not a single person left.

The formations they composed remained grim, but the naked greed in their eyes had now faded, replaced by a deeper, colder wariness and Killing Intent.

The Elder of the Sword Qi Sect looked at the market on the mountainside that had returned to peace, his face ashen. He slowly raised his hand, and a cold gesture was made silently within his sleeve.

The surrounding Sect experts understood perfectly. The Killing Intent they had been projecting was instantly retracted without a trace, but the solidified air was even more suffocating than before.

The end of one feast seemed to be merely the beginning of another hunt.