Chapter Six: A Traveler from Another World?

Seeing this, the other two little foxes scrambled up onto Wang Ling’s shoulders as well, clearly having no intention of leaving and expecting him to carry them. Wang Ling laughed and scolded them, though he was grateful that these little foxes were very clever and loved cleanliness; their fur was snowy white and glossy, without any unpleasant odor.

They were really not much different from three cats…

For a fleeting moment, Wang Ling was tempted to take them home with him.

But on second thought, he knew it was impossible. How could a scion of the Wang Clan of Danling keep foxes at home?

If word got out, it would hardly reflect well on him!

The three little foxes fidgeted restlessly on Wang Ling’s shoulders, chattering and gesturing with their paws.

A thought struck Wang Ling—could it be that their den was nearby?

It made sense. Little White watched him practice every day, so naturally, their den could not be far from where he trained.

Nonetheless, he said, “I have to go to the market now, so I can’t keep you company.

By the way, you’d best move your den, and farther away this time. Who knows if that hunter will talk, or if someone else will get ideas?”

He left unsaid the fact that the human heart is the most unreliable of all.

With that, he ignored the three little foxes’ incessant chatter, set them down, and quickly walked away, leaving the three little foxes bewildered.

By “Guangyang Market,” he didn’t mean there was a city called Guangyang up ahead.

In fact, the word ‘market’ originally referred to commercial districts where goods were bought and sold.

Just like the famous East and West Markets of Chang’an during the Tang Dynasty.

This, it seemed, was also the origin of the word for shopping.

As for Guangyang Market, it was merely a marketplace, and one that only convened every fifteen days.

This was common enough in ages when commerce was underdeveloped, and with the New Year approaching, such a grand market was especially lively.

Everywhere, people could be seen wearing rough clothes of yellow and white hemp, balancing bamboo poles or carrying baskets.

Some were ordinary folk or hunters selling eggs, herbs, or even animal pelts from their own homes.

There were also merchants selling cloth, furniture, iron pots, salt, and other wares.

All in all, for this era, it was a dazzling array of goods.

At this early hour, however, it was still morning and the crowd was thin.

By midday, it was likely that several thousand people would have gathered here.

Wang Ling wandered idly, buying some herbs and other small items.

Suddenly, he heard a clamor ahead!

At first, Wang Ling assumed it was a fight—nothing unusual in this world, where martial valor was prized above all. Most people in the marketplace wore swords at their waists; a dispute could escalate to drawn blades and blood spilt within five paces without much ado.

But after a glance, he realized this was something different. With a soft exclamation and a peculiar expression, he followed the gathering crowd.

There, two petty officials in black uniforms, each with a wooden tablet at his waist and a long sword in hand, were closing in on a man dressed in black Daoist robes.

“This man, this man…”

From a distance, Wang Ling’s eyes widened in disbelief at the Daoist’s attire.

Although such dress was not out of place in this ancient world, Wang Ling instantly recognized him as a fellow transmigrator.

That was why Wang Ling was so astonished!

It was much like how, in his previous life, Westerners would encounter East Asians and could hardly distinguish one nationality from another, thinking all looked alike.

Yet East Asians themselves could always discern subtle differences in features to tell where someone was from.

Similarly, though Chinese-Americans were of Chinese descent, there was always something different about those who had grown up abroad—their way of life, temperament, and especially their bearing.

It was hard to put into words, but unmistakable at a glance!

Upon seeing the features, bearing, and mannerisms of this black-robed Daoist, hearing even his tone of voice, Wang Ling immediately recognized him for what he was.

He stood out as plainly as a crane among chickens—impossible to miss.

What’s more, the fabric of his robe and shoes was clearly not of this world.

But the Daoist himself had no idea he’d been identified by Wang Ling, another transmigrator, and remained entangled with the two petty officials.

“What manner of evildoer dares use sorcery to beguile the crowd? Surrender at once!” one official shouted.

The man, tall and cold-faced, snapped back, “Out of my way! When did I ever cast a spell?”

His words were arrogant, showing utter contempt for these lowly officials.

Wang Ling immediately thought this was a bad sign; sure enough, the Daoist’s words had infuriated the two petty officials.

Without another word, one of them flicked his wrist, throwing a rope snare over the Daoist’s head.

The black-robed man, now enraged, stepped back to avoid the noose, then seized it with a twist of his hand, wrenching it away.

The petty official felt his hand go numb as the snare was snatched away, and shouted in fury, “Insolent sorcerer, you dare resist arrest?”

The black-robed man let out a cold snort, clearly not wanting to deal with them any further.

Given the uncertain situation, and seeing these two were obviously bailiffs or constables, he knew such types were never easy to handle in any era.

He decided to use an old trick to handle the current predicament, believing it would suffice.

A faint glimmer appeared in the black-robed man’s eyes—he meant to bewitch the two officials, to avoid further trouble.

But just as one official’s gaze turned dazed, about to fall under his spell, the wooden tablet at the other’s waist began to glow faintly, instantly snapping the official to attention, his eyes suddenly clear.

With a glare, he drew the wooden tablet and brandished it at the Daoist, shouting, “Evildoer, dare you use sorcery to harm others? Are you not afraid of the law?”

In that moment, the Daoist’s eyes were drawn to the tablet, upon which two lines of inked script were stamped with a cinnabar seal.

As he gazed at it, the writing and the seal alike shone with a piercing light, stabbing into his pupils.

Instantly, the Daoist’s eyes went blind, his mind filled with white light—he could see and hear nothing.

It was as if he’d been struck by a flashbang grenade.

What in the world was that wooden tablet?

“Bold fiend, trying to escape?” the two officials shouted, shaking off their shock and seizing the Daoist, binding him tightly with the rope.

“Hmph! A mere trickster dares practice sorcery here? Did you not see the tablet in my hand?” one official said triumphantly.

In truth, the moment the Daoist had begun his soul-bewitching spell, Wang Ling had already shaken his head, silently lamenting his fellow transmigrator’s fate.