Regarding Mu Wanwan wanting to give them two silver coins, Lan’er looked extremely happy. Feng only looked deeply at her, then stretched out his pale, slender hand and accepted the two silver coins as if accepting some precious treasure. In a place Mu Wanwan did not notice, he gripped them tightly in his palm.
“Let’s go,” Feng said calmly, turning around and leaning on his crutch with one hand.
Mu Wanwan nodded. Meeting Lan’er’s happy smile, she followed behind the siblings.
Because Feng had trouble with his legs, they walked very slowly. Along the way, they inevitably brushed past many people. The humans were all right; they only glanced at the siblings before looking away. But whenever they occasionally ran into some beautiful-looking elves, they would receive an extremely mocking eye-roll.
When they passed by a rouge shop, a pretty and adorable black-haired little elf girl even directly called out Lan’er’s name.
“Yo, isn’t this Lan’er? Did you sell any vegetables today?”
Mu Wanwan noticed that Lan’er’s small fists clenched instantly. She bit her lip and only after a long while did she say loudly, “Why should I tell you?”
“Heh.” The little girl gave a beautiful eye-roll. “I don’t want to know anyway. You’re about to be unable to pay rent soon. When that happens, won’t all the vegetables you worked so hard to grow become mine?”
“You!”
Lan’er was so angry she nearly died. Her face flushed red, but after holding it in for a long time, she still couldn’t say a single word.
Feng silently turned around. His icy blue eyes swept lightly over the chattering little girl, and that girl immediately seemed like a chick whose neck had been grabbed. She huffed and stopped talking.
Mu Wanwan watched Feng restrain himself as he patted Lan’er’s tearful head. While feeling sympathy for them, she also thought of her own Mr. Dragon.
Because they were born with birthmarks, they were discriminated against by their own people like this. Had Mr. Dragon also experienced something similar?
If even among elves—where discrimination did not really turn into substantial violent harm—an imperfect face could invite this kind of verbal mockery, then among the dragon race, where the weak were always prey to the strong and discrimination was even more severe, how miserable had Mr. Dragon’s life been when he was born with five claws and could not perfectly transform into human form as a child?
Dragon flesh was a great tonic for some cultivators of other races. The dragon race also discriminated against dragons who were different from them. Because of his five little claws, Mr. Dragon had also been unable to perfectly transform into human form and disguise himself as a cub of another race. Just what kind of childhood had he endured?
The original book had only mentioned it briefly, but now Mu Wanwan remembered. Mr. Dragon was an orphan dragon. The dragon race had nothing like an orphanage. So where had the still-weak Mr. Dragon survived?
Mu Wanwan followed behind Feng, her mind filled with the image of Mr. Dragon lying on the bloodstained jade bed with his rotting tail. Her heart felt as if something were lightly pricking it. By the time she returned to her senses, she had already followed the siblings past almost half the shops and arrived at the edge of the market.
There were obviously far fewer people here. Only a few people would occasionally pass by. Mu Wanwan noticed that there were very few elves here. Looking around, almost everyone was human.
“This is the place.”
Feng pointed to a somewhat old shop in the corner and walked in first.
“Senior.”
Lan’er tugged at Mu Wanwan’s sleeve and said in a small voice, “The shopkeeper is a lion beastman. His temper isn’t very good.”
“Nonsense. My temper is very good!”
Before Mu Wanwan could react, a rough voice sounded from ahead. She raised her head and met a sharply defined face. He was a somewhat older man. There were some complicated red markings on his forehead, three layers of them. According to the original owner’s memories, they were a beastman’s beast markings.
This person was most likely the shopkeeper Lan’er had mentioned. Judging by his beast markings, he should be a third-rank fire-type beastman warrior.
“Senior, hello,” Mu Wanwan greeted the shopkeeper.
The other party was quite straightforward.
“Lan’er and the others brought you here. Are you here to buy seeds or sell spiritual plants?”
As they spoke, the group entered the shop. The inside of the shop was unexpectedly neat. As soon as they entered, they could see a cloth curtain, so the shopkeeper probably lived here too.
Outside the counter were two large wooden shelves. One had many small compartments, each marked with labels. It was where the seeds were stored. On the other wooden shelf, some dried or fresh spiritual plants were stored in transparent containers. With sharp eyes, Mu Wanwan saw burning grass on the lowest level of the second shelf.
She immediately became a little excited and felt even more grateful toward Feng and Lan’er. It seemed this shop was not only a place that sold seeds; it was also very likely to buy back spiritual plants.
“Look around as you like. It’s been ages since I had a new customer here, hahaha,” the lion shopkeeper said to Mu Wanwan. “Or you can just tell me what you want. I usually have it here.”
Mu Wanwan’s eyes lit up. She glanced gratefully at Feng, who was standing silently by the door, and asked, “Senior, I want to buy some burning grass seeds.”
“Oh, burning grass seeds.” The lion beastman glanced at her. “I have quite a few here. Since Feng brought you, I won’t overcharge you. One copper coin per seed.”
Mu Wanwan frowned slightly.
One copper coin for one burning grass seed was equivalent to one yuan per seed. Moreover, cultivating burning grass was risky. Generally, a first-rank wood-type cultivator’s success rate was around sixty percent. And with her current spiritual power, cultivating ten seeds a day was already her limit. In other words, out of ten seeds, she might only be able to cultivate six stalks of burning grass.
Her capital would be ten coins. If she sold them at market price, one silver coin per stalk of burning grass, then she could only earn five silver coins a day. Five silver coins was not even enough for half a low-grade spirit stone! And that was not even mentioning whether she could find a buyer willing to spend one silver coin on one stalk of burning grass.
Mu Wanwan quietly calculated the accounts in her heart. She did not directly say how many she wanted, but instead threw out a new question.
“Senior, do you buy freshly cultivated burning grass here?”
The lion beastman first froze for a second, then burst into loud laughter.
“Not bad. I do buy it here. What, you want to buy seeds from me, cultivate them, and then bring them back here to earn money?”
Mu Wanwan knew that this shopkeeper was not weak, and he was an old beastman. Her little thoughts definitely could not be hidden from him, so she did not conceal them.
“Senior, my husband is currently seriously ill and bedridden. If you buy them here, I would truly be very grateful.”
Her words seemed to touch some painful spot in the beastman shopkeeper. His expression instantly turned fierce, and the beast markings on his forehead suddenly became bright red. He slammed his fist into the wall, producing a loud bang.
Mu Wanwan was startled. Seeing the beastman glare at her and let out a low growl, she heard him say, “If you’re lying to me, I’ll tear you apart immediately.”
Lan’er was also frightened silly. But Feng was unexpectedly calm.
“Uncle Zong, calm down.”
Mu Wanwan clearly heard that after Feng’s words fell, a faint cough came from behind the cloth curtain. After that cough sounded, the beastman called Uncle Zong almost immediately calmed down. The beast markings gradually dimmed, and his originally spirited eyes also darkened quite a bit.
He tugged the corner of his mouth at the stunned Mu Wanwan.
“I buy them here. I can give you market price: one silver coin per stalk. Or you can exchange twelve stalks of burning grass for one low-grade spirit stone.”
Only then did Mu Wanwan notice that the shop carried a faint medicinal smell. Earlier, she had thought it was the scent of some spiritual plants and had not paid much attention. Now, combining it with the cough she had just heard, she could roughly guess that her phrase “bedridden husband” had provoked this seemingly bold and forthright beastman.
Perhaps many people had used the same excuse to try to get a discount, only to be discovered as liars.
But even so, this beastman was still willing to believe she had not lied to him.
Thinking of this, Mu Wanwan couldn’t help saying, “Senior, this junior absolutely did not lie.”
“Stop talking. How many seeds do you want? Take them and get lost,” the beastman said, his brows rising again.
But Mu Wanwan, having seen through his soft-hearted nature, curved her eyes and asked a little greedily, “Junior also has some seeds here. Could Senior help me take a look and tell me what they are?”
…
While Mu Wanwan was racking her brains and bargaining with the beastman in the market, Mr. Dragon, who was lying on the bed, was painfully suppressing the curse inside his body.
He had been doing this for the entire night.
So that Mu Wanwan would not suddenly smell a rotten stench while she was sleeping.
Because there had been no spiritual energy replenishment these past two days, and because Mr. Dragon’s core and meridians were shattered, he had no way to absorb spiritual energy from heaven and earth under the suppression of the curse inside him. He had been desperately restraining it all this time.
But Mr. Dragon’s tail finally could no longer be suppressed. Less than fifteen minutes after Mu Wanwan left, it began rotting again.
His fingertips trembled in pain. Mr. Dragon’s face was pale, and cold sweat covered his forehead. He could feel his scales cracking apart and the sudden, gouging pain of flesh and blood being carved open.
The room had clearly been cleaned spotless by Mu Wanwan and carried the fragrance of soap plants. Yet in that moment, he made it messy again, filling it with a rotten, foul smell.
If he could move, he wished he could cut off that half of his tail. But now, he could do nothing.
Mr. Dragon felt the slowly flowing rotten fluid, and his heart became barren, like a land of thorns.
He was finished.
No one would continuously and without complaint care for an ugly dragon whose tail kept rotting.
She was only a bride brought in to bring good luck. Why should she not despise him at all?
When she returned, the beautiful dream would end.
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