83: You are free

That ancient and heavy character only hovered between heaven and earth for a brief moment before dissipating like smoke, as if it had never appeared at all.

The early morning mist carried the chill of the mountains and fields as Su Qingzhu stepped on the dew-dampened grass, returning to that familiar clearing.

On the former site of the stall, that weathered tattered cloth still lay quietly on the dirt, the leaf patterns on its surface trembling slightly in the morning breeze, as if it were breathing.

The handwriting from last night that read "If you leave, the stall remains" had vanished without a trace, replaced by a line of marks as fine as ant tracks: "The fire has landed, and the hundred grasses smoke."

Su Qingzhu's heart skipped a beat.

She slowly crouched down, and just as her fingertips touched a corner of the fabric, a searing heat surged from her palm!

A wisp of faint green flame actually shot out from the patterns of the cloth with a "whoosh." It had no temperature at all, yet it moved like a living spirit snake, rapidly circling her wrist once.

The green flame did not burn her flesh, but in that instant, countless chaotic and grand images flooded into her mind like a tide!

It was the bustling Chang'an night market, where a Talisman drawn by a destitute scholar ignited on its own without any catalyst, linking together into a Formation that caused the street lights to flicker in unison.

It was the misty Lingnan water towns, where several naked children molded crude runes out of mud, actually drawing dark clouds together to bring down a sweet rain.

It was the frontier battlefield filled with yellow sand, where a one-legged veteran, using only a blackened stone, lit a hearth fire in the sand that would never go out, warming the entire tent... These images flashed by, so fast she had no time to think, leaving only a shock that originated from the depths of her Soul.

She let out a cry of surprise and abruptly jerked her hand back.

That wisp of green flame seemed to lose its Foundation, suddenly vanishing back into the cloth patterns, leaving only a faint, lingering warmth on the surface.

Just then, several powerful auras approached from the distance.

Cui Wujiu arrived from the headquarters overnight, accompanied by three solemn-faced Notary Deacons.

His face was as dark as water. The purpose of this trip was singular—to use the secret technique "Power of Will Anchoring" to completely seal this main stall, which had begun to "spread out of control," and sever all its connections with the outside world.

Cui Wujiu stood before the tattered cloth, his hands quickly forming seals as he chanted under his breath.

One by one, golden Talismans constructed from pure Mental Energy appeared out of thin air, pressing down toward the tattered cloth like raindrops.

"Seal!" he barked softly.

However, the moment the golden Talismans touched the surface, that seemingly ordinary tattered cloth suddenly shuddered like a startled living creature!

With a series of crisp "crackles," all the golden Talismans disintegrated, turning into a sky full of light specks that scattered like grains of sand.

Cui Wujiu's pupils shrank, and a flash of disbelief crossed his face.

He took a deep breath, his hand seals changing again as his aura became even more sharp and overbearing: "Rise! Karma Origin Tracing Formation!"

This time, the ground began to vibrate. With the tattered cloth as the center, complex light patterns rose from the earth, attempting to forcibly trace the origin of this street stall and lock it down completely at the level of Karma.

But just as the Formation was about to take shape, a sudden change occurred!

"Rumble—"

The ground split open without warning, and a moss-covered turtle head, as heavy as a mountain range, slowly emerged from the depths of the earth vein.

It was an Old Earth Vein Turtle that had slept for untold ages; its head alone was larger than a house.

It seemed merely to have its slumber disturbed, as it impatiently exhaled a blast of turbid earth Qi from its nostrils.

"Buzz—!"

That turbid air seemed slow, yet it produced a massive vibration like the tolling of an ancient temple bell. In that vibration, the light patterns of the Karma Origin Tracing Formation disintegrated inch by inch from their Foundation, collapsing into nothingness in an instant.

Cui Wujiu was shaken by this force until his blood surged, and he staggered back several steps, his face deathly pale.

The Old Earth Vein Turtle only glanced at him with an ancient and indifferent gaze before slowly retracting back underground, the crack healing behind it.

A deep and heavy thought, however, rang directly in the minds of Cui Wujiu and all the deacons:

"The Dao is not a prisoner; to forcibly restrain it is to invite death."

Inside the small house, Zhang Xuanyi was leisurely munching on a cold skewer, completely deaf to the earth-shaking commotion outside.

With a blade of grass in his mouth, he narrowed his eyes and looked with interest at the broken pot in the corner that had once boiled Ten Thousand Laws Mung Beans.

At some unknown point, the ring of scorch marks at the bottom of the broken pot had begun to crawl slowly like a living thing, gradually revealing a miniature version of the stall patterns. There was even a wisp of faint smoke rising from the patterns, as if it also wanted to set up a stall.

"Heh," Zhang Xuanyi chuckled, casually grabbing a handful of salt and tossing it into the pot. "Even a broken pot wants to run away and start its own business. That's good."

The door was pushed open, and Su Qingzhu walked in with a pale face, her voice trembling slightly: "Mr. Zhang, that cloth... it seems to be 'copying' what you once did, spreading your Dao."

Zhang Xuanyi shook his head, spat out the blade of grass, and said calmly, "I never taught it, and it cannot copy me." He paused, his gaze turning profound. "What it is learning from is people. It is the Power Of Will of everyone in this world."

That night was destined to be sleepless.

From the frozen Mohe permafrost in the north to the Sansha coral reefs in the south, eleven new "Stall Shadow Markets" appeared simultaneously across the country.

These markets appeared without warning—some in parks at midnight, some in abandoned factories, and some even on the balconies of private homes.

Strangely, whenever a market first appeared, it was accompanied by a flash of "Green Flame Burning the Sky."

Anyone who witnessed this green flame felt as if their mind had been lightly tapped open by something.

An old man who had practiced calligraphy for many years suddenly became self-taught and could draw Talismans with Soul-soothing effects; a web novel writer who spent his days fantasizing found he could make a cup on his desk float slightly; even more remarkably, an old beggar under an overpass who casually molded a few mud bottles and placed them on the ground actually sold an imitation of "Pseudo-Three Caverns True Qi Liquid."

Drinking this would not increase one's cultivation, but it could bring peace of mind and three days without worry.

Cui Wujiu and his team were overwhelmed, investigating the source of these "imitations" through the night.

Eventually, all clues pointed to a bizarre location—the old well that had been abandoned for years next to the main stall.

At some point, the well water had begun to contain a minute amount of Power Of Will, pure and gentle.

Those who drank this water for a long time would naturally develop a faint "Dao Sense."

The darkness before dawn is the deepest.

Zhang Xuanyi walked out of the small house alone, came to the tattered cloth, and slowly crouched down.

He reached out and gently patted the surface of the cloth, as if comforting a pet.

"Alright, that's enough trouble," his voice was very soft. "You are free."

As soon as he spoke, the surface of the cloth began to fluctuate violently, like boiling water.

In the next second, the entire stall seemed to lose its physical form, turning into a pool of ink-colored liquid that silently seeped into the soil beneath his feet and disappeared.

Zhang Xuanyi stood up and was about to leave when he suddenly felt a familiar warmth near his feet.

The translucent phantom of the Old Market-Stall Dog appeared before him one last time.

It held a charred dog leash in its mouth, placing it gently by Zhang Xuanyi's shoe, then looked up at him with those same eyes as before, full of attachment and reluctance.

Zhang Xuanyi's heart felt as if it had been lightly pricked by something.

He leaned down and reached out to stroke its illusory head; the touch was warm and smooth.

"Go on," he whispered.

The dog's shadow seemed to find final liberation, giving him one last deep look before turning and running toward the east, where the sun was about to rise.

It ran very fast. With every step it took, a strange cloth pattern grew an inch on the ground. The pattern wound forward like a living vein, extending all the way out of the mountains and merging into the wider world.

The perspective was pulled infinitely high, looking down over the entire land.

The cloth patterns left by the dog shadow's running path overlapped perfectly and without the slightest error with the mountain and river veins hidden deep underground!

Countless such fine lines extended from the "Stall Shadow Markets" across the country, all ultimately pointing to the same source, faintly outlining a magnificent "Ten Thousand Stalls Returning to the Source Map" across the vast land of Shenzhou!

At the moment this map was fully formed, a vast aura that could not be described in words soared into the sky, connecting heaven and earth.

Thousands of miles away, atop a mist-shrouded immortal mountain, a giant bronze bell hanging in front of a thousand-year-old temple issued a long, resonant chime that shook the clouds, without being struck by any external force.

The tolling of the bell penetrated the mountain gate and spread through the entire ancestral seat of the Daoist lineage, awakening all the ancient beings who were in secluded cultivation.