The dust motes danced in the feeble rays of the setting sun, each particle a tiny, ephemeral dance of light and shadow. For Jian Feng, they were a familiar sight, a constant reminder of the precarious dance he had been engaged in for the better part of his life. He wasn't old, not really, perhaps a century and a half by human standards. But in the harsh world of cultivation, a century and a half could buy you a thousand lifetimes of close shaves with death. He had fallen from cliffs, been caught in qi maelstroms, nearly been swallowed whole by ravenous beasts, and more than once, been a hair's breadth away from a fatal blow from a rival cultivator.

  He had learned to breathe with danger. To feel it, taste it, and sometimes, even predict it.

  Tonight, danger was etched into the very air of the ruins before him. The crumbling edifice, a once magnificent temple now swallowed by time and tenacious vines, exuded an aura of raw, untamed power. It wasn't the refined power of a skilled cultivator, but the ancient, primal kind that sent shivers down even his battle-hardened spine.

  Jian Feng, with his worn leather armor and calloused hands, wasn't a hero. He was a scavenger, a survivor, and a reluctant scholar of the dead. He possessed just enough understanding of formations to know what spelled "death" and what held potential rewards. He could sense the faint hum of ancient energies, the invisible threads of power that held the ruins in a delicate balance. He had once cracked a simple sealing formation by sheer luck and a misplaced foot, earning him a small but invaluable bottle of spirit replenishing elixir and a nasty bruise.

  He moved cautiously, his senses on high alert. He didn't rush. He knew from experience that impatience was the first step towards a shallow grave. He avoided the heavily warded areas, the ones that screamed of complex formations and certain doom. Instead, he sought out the weaker spots, the places where the ancient power was frayed and fractured.

  He found a collapsed archway, guarded by a thankfully dormant illusion formation. He carefully nudged at a dislodged stone, its removal breaking the illusion and revealing a narrow passage. He slipped inside, the air growing colder and heavy with the scent of damp stone and forgotten incense.

  He spent the next few hours cautiously navigating the ruins. His reward was modest, a handful of broken clay tablets etched with archaic symbols which he hoped he could decipher later, a rusted sword that still possessed a flicker of spiritual energy, and a surprisingly intact scroll depicting a meditation technique that, if nothing else, would be interesting.

  Then, he found it.

  A massive chamber, its ceiling lost in the shadows, the air thick with a palpable, growing power. At its center, a massive altar, its surface covered with intricate carvings. And on the altar, resting on a pedestal of jade, a single, pulsating crystal. The crystal emanated an energy that made the hairs on his arms stand on end. It was the raw power he had felt from afar, distilled and intensified.

  As he approached, drawn in against his better judgment, the crystal erupted. It pulsed with blinding light, and the very air around him vibrated with a discordant symphony of power. The ground trembled. The ruins groaned. And from the depths of the earth, a voice boomed, ancient, resonant, and filled with the weight of millennia.

  "Mortal... you have roused me."

  Jian Feng's blood ran cold. He knew that voice. He had read about it in fragments of ancient texts, in the whispers of drunken storytellers. It was the voice of a forgotten god, a being of unimaginable power, entombed in this ruin eons ago.

  The air shimmered and coalesced, forming a figure of pure energy. It took on a vaguely humanoid shape, eyes burning like twin suns, its presence radiating an aura of both terrifying majesty and cold, uncaring indifference.

  “You dare disturb my slumber, little worm?” the god’s voice reverberated through his bones.

  Jian Feng, for the first time in a long time, felt true, unadulterated fear. His close calls with death had never prepared him for this. This was more than a close shave; this was a direct confrontation with oblivion.

  But even in the face of such dread, a spark of his old scavenger’s spirit remained. He knew he couldn’t win, not in a direct confrontation, that much was obvious. But he could survive. He had survived worse, hadn't he?

  He activated the spiritual energy in the rusted sword he had found, its meager power a pinprick compared to the god's, but it was his only weapon. He didn't attack head-on. Instead, he used his intimate knowledge of the ruins, the frayed threads of power, the hidden pathways only he had seen. He raced, ducked, weaved through the crumbling pillars, desperately trying to buy himself time, hoping to find a crack, a weakness, anything.

  The god moved with an unnerving grace, his immense power wreaking havoc as he chased Jian Feng through the ruins. Walls collapsed, floors buckled, and ancient formations shattered under the weight of his fury.

  The chase became a desperate game of cat and mouse. Jian Feng pushed himself to his limits, his qi reserves dwindling, his body screaming in protest. He used his knowledge of formations, collapsing pillars strategically, creating temporary diversions, buying himself precious seconds. He knew he was dancing on the edge of the abyss, but he refused to fall.

  He had always been a scavenger, a survivor, a creature of the shadows. He was not a hero, he was not meant for greatness, he was simply a man, who had survived too many close shaves with death. And now, with the weight of an ancient God on his heels, he would simply have to survive one more. The fight was not to win, but to survive, to make it out of this tomb in one piece. It was a fight for his life, but it was also a fight he had been training for since the day he first left his village as a youth.

  The flickering lamplight of the Black Market alley cast long, distorted shadows, making the already dubious characters huddled in the corners appear even more menacing. Jiang Feng, a man whose youthful face belied a collection of near-death experiences that would make a veteran warrior shiver, adjusted the worn leather satchel slung across his shoulder. He was just a Qi cultivator, barely at the fifth Level, no match for the powerful cultivators who swaggered through the world. But he had something they didn't: an uncanny knack for surviving, a stubborn streak thicker than a mountain wall, and a growing expertise in deciphering the secrets of forgotten ruins.

  Only weeks ago, he'd been knee-deep in crumbling stone, ancient glyphs whispering promises of power and peril. He'd barely escaped that forgotten temple with his life, the enraged tendrils of some ancient, nameless god snapping at his heels. That escapade had taught him more than just how to dodge eldritch appendages. It had also gifted him with a series of meditation techniques, etched onto jade tablets, promising to accelerate his cultivation. He’d spent the last few days feverishly poring over them, his Qi swirling with newfound intensity, a testament to their power.

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  Now, he was here, in the heart of the Black Market, a swirling vortex of illicit goods and whispered promises. He pushed through the throng, his eyes scanning the stalls, landing on a particularly shifty-looking merchant with a cart piled high with what looked suspiciously like stolen artifacts.

  "Old Man Kui," Jiang Feng called out, his voice surprisingly steady despite the flutter of nerves in his stomach. He adjusted his worn face mask, an essential accessory in this place of shadows and secrets. "Got a few things I think you might be interested in."

  Kui, a man with a face crisscrossed with wrinkles and eyes that gleamed like a predator's, narrowed his gaze at Jiang Feng. He knew this young cultivator, the one they called 'Lucky Feng'. He had a history of finding treasures, somehow always escaping the kind of disasters that would crush a weaker man. "Let's see what you've got, boy. But don't expect much. This ain't charity."

  Jiang Feng placed the jade tablets carefully on the rough wooden surface of the stall, the soft glow emanating from them drawing the attention of the other patrons. He let Kui examine them, a small smile playing on his lips beneath the mask. He knew the value of these things, more than any bauble or stolen weapon.

  "Hmm," Kui grunted, his thick fingers running over the smooth jade. "Ancient meditation techniques. Nothing special. Heard of those before."

  Jiang Feng stifled a snort. He knew better than to show his hand. "Maybe. But these are different. From a ruin not found in any map. And not just any ruin, Old Kui. It once held… well, let’s just say it held significant… power." He let the word hang in the air, knowing that mystery was more valuable than simple truth.

  The merchant's eyes glittered. "Power, you say? What kind of power?"

  "The kind that accelerates cultivation significantly. The kind that can make a Qi cultivator like me… well… let’s just say, a little less vulnerable to things that go bump in the night." Jiang Feng leaned in, lowering his voice. "And I know how to use them.”

  The haggling began, a complex dance of feigned disinterest and calculated bluffing. Jiang Feng was patient. Years of surviving deadly situations had taught him that patience was a virtue, particularly when dealing with greedy merchants. Kui whined about the commonality of such tablets, about the low value of Qi enhancement compared to soul-nourishing elixirs. Jiang Feng countered with the quality of the jade, the intricacy of the inscriptions, and the fact that he, 'Lucky Feng', always seemed to be able to find the best stuff.

  He didn't give an inch, knowing the true value of the techniques he was selling. Finally, after what felt like an hour of verbal sparring, a deal was struck. A decent sum of spirit stones, enough to keep him fed and equip him for another delve into the forgotten corners of the world.

  As he walked away, the jingle of the spirit stones in his pouch a comforting sound, Jiang Feng cast a glance over his shoulder. He’d earned his keep today, not through strength or power, but through his knack for survival and deciphering the secrets of the past. He was just a Qi cultivator, yet he moved with a quiet confidence that was starting to unnerve the more powerful fighters in the city. They might scoff at his lack of raw power, but they couldn't deny the fact that ‘Lucky Feng’ always seemed to come back, often with pockets full of secrets.

  He had no illusions about his place in the world. He was a scavenger of lost knowledge, a survivor in a world teeming with dangers. But that's exactly what made him so good at it. Because each time he stared into the abyss, he came back with something new, something that made him a little stronger, a little smarter, and a little more determined to unravel the mysteries that lay hidden beneath the dust and ruins of this xianxia world. He knew that soon, another ruin would call to him, promising both riches and terrible perils. And he, Jiang Feng, would be ready. He always was.

  The air in the marketplace was thick with the smell of dried herbs, roasting meat, and the cloying sweetness of candied plums. Jiang Feng, sweat beading on his brow despite the early morning chill, adjusted the coarse linen cloth covering his stall. He surveyed the motley crowd with a practiced eye – merchants eager for a quick profit, cultivators searching for a breakthrough, and the usual rabble looking for a good deal. Today, he was here for one thing: resources.

  He patted the worn leather bag nestled beneath his wares. Inside, lay his treasures – five ancient tablets, each inscribed with swirling, almost hypnotic glyphs, and a single, unadorned sword, its steel dull with age but resonating with a faint, inner power. These were the spoils of his recent delve into the Sunken Caves, a ruin rumored to hold remnants of a long-lost civilization. He’d risked life and limb for them, and now it was time to reap the rewards.

  He started with the tablets. He placed them carefully on a small, rough-hewn platform, arranging them to catch the dim morning light. He held up one, its surface cool against his calloused fingers. “Ancient tablets!” he announced, his voice projecting just loud enough to be heard above the market’s clamor. “Inscribed with the secrets of ancient formations! Perfect for those seeking a deeper understanding of the Dao!”

  A few curious onlookers approached. A young, eager-faced cultivator, barely past his teenage years, pointed at one of the tablets. “What kind of formations are on them?”

  Jiang Feng smiled, a practiced but not entirely insincere gesture. “Ah, young friend, these tablets hold secrets that could take years to unravel. They speak of foundational techniques, the very core of formation building. Imagine, mastering the flow of Qi itself! The possibilities are endless.” He paused for a beat, letting the words sink in. “Each tablet, fifty spirit stones. A small price for such ancient wisdom.”

  The young cultivator paled slightly. Fifty spirit stones was a considerable sum for him. He mumbled something about thinking about it and moved on. Jiang Feng didn't mind. He knew that the initial price was a starting point.

  A wizened old woman, her face etched with experience, approached next. She peered at the tablets through narrowed eyes. “Fifty spirit stones? For a few old stones?” she rasped. “I’ve seen similar things in the ruins near the Whispering Mountains. They weren't worth the dust they were covered in.”

  Jiang Feng chuckled. He’d expected a challenge from her. “Ah, venerable elder, your eyes are sharp, indeed! But these are no mere stones. These are artifacts from the heart of the Sunken Caves. Their energy…it’s different. Feel it.” He held out another tablet.

  She did, her fingers tracing the glyphs. She remained silent for a long moment, then finally spoke. “Thirty spirit stones. For two.”

  The haggling had begun.

  For the next hour, Jiang Feng engaged in a dance he knew well – the push and pull of the market. He extolled the virtues of his meager artifacts, parried low offers, and countered with just enough flexibility to draw people in. He ended up selling three tablets for a total of one hundred and twenty spirit stones, a sum he considered respectable.

  Next, came the sword. He unwrapped it carefully, revealing the dull, unpolished steel. He held it up, letting the sunlight glint off its edge. “This, my friends, is no ordinary blade,” he declared. “Forged in an age long past, imbued with the very essence of battle. Perfect for a swordsman seeking to hone their skills.”

  A burly man with a scarred face and a formidable physique stepped forward. He hefted the sword, its weight surprisingly balanced in his hand. He swung it a few times, a low hum resonating through the air. “It feels…right,” he admitted, his eyes gleaming. “How much?”

  Jiang Feng smiled. He knew he had found a buyer who understood the true value of the blade. He quoted a price of seventy spirit stones, and after a brief back and forth, he agreed to sixty-five.

  By midday, Jiang Feng had amassed a small fortune. He retreated to a shady corner of the market, his pouch heavy with spirit stones. He pulled out a small, well-worn pamphlet he had carefully tucked away. It was a catalog of new formations that had recently been discovered, a guide he had been longing to acquire. He knew where to find it, and with the resources he now had, it was finally in reach.

  He purchased the book from a scholarly looking merchant, along with a few vials of low-grade qi boosting pills. As he stuffed the book and vials into his bag, he felt a surge of satisfaction. The day had been long and tiring, but it had been a successful one. He had risked much to acquire these items, and now, they would allow him to take another step forward on his path of cultivation.

  With a renewed sense of purpose, Jiang Feng left the bustling marketplace, the echo of haggling and the promise of new formations filling his thoughts. The journey ahead was long, but he was ready. He had the resources, and now, with his new book, he had the knowledge too. The path to power was paved with risks and rewards, and he was ready to embrace both.