Xiangzi's Record of Immortal Cultivation

Chapter 17: Demon Beast Meat, Vitality Broth

As Xiangzi stepped out of the shop, a shrill alarm bell pierced the air.A group of police officers emerged from their checkpoint, clustering together and stretching a long yellow cloth barrier across the street.

Pedestrians halted, forced to stand behind the tape.

Jincheng Lane, usually orderly, took on a grim air.

Blocked by the barrier at the shop’s entrance, Xiangzi, tall and sturdy, saw more clearly than those around him.

At the street’s end, a shadowy procession of carriages approached.

Uniform black-lacquered coaches, each pulled by four towering horses, rolled slowly through the city gate.

The carriages, seemingly iron-made, creaked under their weight, leaving deep ruts in the ground.

Surrounding them were lean men in short tunics.

Xiangzi squinted—each bore the characters “Baolin” on their backs.

“” said the scar-faced man from the shop, suddenly at Xiangzi’s side, a half-smoked Hardmen cigarette dangling from his lips.

Xiangzi pulled out a matchbox, struck one with a , and offered it. “”

“” Gray smoke curled from Scarface’s mouth.

“” he said, puffing away.

Xiangzi’s jaw dropped. After weeks of training, he knew the score—Baolin’s outer disciples were ninth-rank bone-tempering experts!

Eyeing the iron crates on the carriages, Xiangzi asked, “”

Scarface sucked his cigarette to a stub, reluctantly flicking it away.

Pointing at Xiangzi’s chest, he grinned. “”

Xiangzi blinked, touching the vitality broth in his jacket, realization dawning.

Seeing Xiangzi’s dazed look, Scarface chuckled. “”

Xiangzi nodded, understanding.

He’d never seen a demon beast, only heard they were fearsome, their bodies treasures. Regular ranked fighters couldn’t even get close.

Oddly, they only roamed the mine outskirts, never nearing the city.

After the dozen carts lumbered past, the officers lifted the barrier.

It was all for show—

The spectacle over, Xiangzi pulled up his hood and clasped his fists to Scarface. “”

“” Scarface said, arms crossed, smiling. “”

Xiangzi paused.

“”

Scarface didn’t answer, turning back into the shop.

The leather curtain swayed as a weary voice drifted out. “”

Xiangzi bowed toward the curtain, acknowledging.

Exhaling, Xiangzi touched the vitality broth.

Leaving Jincheng Lane, the choking smog thinned.

Cautious, Xiangzi skipped hiring a rickshaw, walking back instead.

West City to South City wasn’t far, just past West Gate.

But Harmony Rickshaw Yard was in South City’s east end, a trek across five wards and seven streets.

South City was a chaotic mess.

Police checkpoints stood empty.

Streets teemed with children, grass markers in their hair—sold by desperate families.

Northern lands were rough, but Forty-Nine City was a haven.

With embassy district bigwigs around, no warlord dared aim cannons here.

Outside the city, though, warlords fought over land and grain, stripping the earth bare, leaving refugees like swarms of ants.

Since Marshal Zhang ousted Marshal Cao years ago, claiming Forty-Nine City, he’d open the gates on select days to let refugees in—

In a few years, South City brimmed with ragged souls.

Xiangzi himself had entered this way.

But not everyone had his strong frame to find labor in the city.

Those who couldn’t starved slowly; women turned to dark alleys for coin.

When all else failed, selling children was the last resort.

Not always out of cruelty—many parents hoped their kids would land in a big household as registered servants, at least fed.

When Xiangzi first arrived, he’d pitied them, tossing a coin or two when he could.

Now, he was numb.

“”

An old man clutched Xiangzi’s pant leg.

Skinny as a skeleton, his ashen face ageless, his cloudy eyes pleaded.

Beside him was a frail girl.

In Forty-Nine City’s chilly spring, she wore a tattered earflap cap and an oversized, scavenged coat, tied with rags, shivering in the wind.

Xiangzi noticed—no grass marker in her hair.

He said nothing, shaking his leg free with a gentle pulse.

The light in the old man’s eyes died.

Half a street later, Xiangzi sighed, stopping.

He bought fresh meat buns and two servings of bean juice, turning back.

Seeing Xiangzi return, the old man’s dull eyes sparked, as if understanding.