BPIFC -Volume 1 – Chapter 11 The Jiuhe Morning Market

Che Qianzi had no idea how long he had been unconscious.

When he opened his eyes again, he was no longer in a hospital room.

He found himself inside a business van.

Someone had dressed him in a tax officer’s uniform. Still dazed, the young Taoist reached into his breast pocket and found an official tax bureau identification card.

He was alone in the vehicle.

Outside the windows, it was pitch black.

He had no idea where he was or what time it was. Judging by the darkness, it was probably around three in the morning.

No matter how hard he thought, he couldn’t figure out how he had ended up in the van.

His last memory was from the hospital. It seemed that Sun Desheng had tricked him somehow, and then a white-haired man named Old Yang had appeared.

Everything after that was blank.

At that moment, lights finally began appearing outside the vehicle.

Looking through the window, he saw several people pushing carts and setting up stalls along both sides of the street.

More and more stalls appeared.

At first there were only four or five.

Soon there were dozens.

Eventually, hundreds of small booths lined the entire street.

Each stall displayed an oil lamp.

Unless someone saw it with their own eyes, it would be hard to believe that in this age of widespread electricity, there could still be such a dense gathering of oil lamps.

Not only did the vendors have lamps, but the shoppers also carried one each.

Besides the hundreds of oil lamps, there was another strange characteristic.

Nobody spoke loudly.

Whenever someone found an item they wanted, the buyer and seller would lean close together and whisper, negotiating in voices only the two of them could hear.

Despite being such a large marketplace, it was eerily quiet.

The goods on display varied wildly.

There was old furniture, used appliances, and secondhand clothing.

There were children’s toys, pots and pans, kitchen knives, tableware, and even food vendors.

One wonton stand was set up right beside the van.

The aroma of fresh wontons drifted through the air.

For someone who hadn’t eaten in who knew how long, the smell immediately made Che Qianzi’s stomach growl.

He stopped worrying about whether he had any money.

Throwing open the van door, he jumped out and headed straight for the food stall.

Sitting on a long wooden bench, he called out:

“One bowl of wontons first. Got any flatbread? Fried dough sticks work too…

Only pot helmets? Fine. Give me two.

And two tea eggs.

Pickles? Yes.

You’ve got braised beef too? I’ll take some.

Just bring me whatever’s ready to eat. One serving of everything first.”

The wonton vendor was a hunchbacked man.

Hearing Che Qianzi’s increasingly loud voice, he hurriedly pressed a finger to his lips and made a silencing gesture.

Then he leaned close and whispered:

“Shhh… Little brother, you’re not from around here, are you?

The rule of the Jiuhe Morning Market is that nobody speaks loudly before sunrise.”

He nodded.

“I heard everything.

One bowl of vegetable-and-pork wontons, two pot helmets, two tea eggs, one plate of braised beef, and some pickles.”

The vendor worked quickly.

In less than ten minutes, all the food was laid out before him.

Watching the young Taoist devour everything in sight, the vendor even fried an egg for him.

“Slow down, little brother.

I’ve got plenty of wontons.

If it isn’t enough, I’ll cook more.”

Accompanied by the flatbread, egg, and beef, Che Qianzi finished the first bowl of wontons.

The burning hunger in his stomach finally eased.

Still not completely full, he ordered another bowl.

At that point, he discovered a wallet on his person.

Opening it, he found more than three hundred yuan inside.

Only then did he relax.

At least he wouldn’t have to dine and dash.

While waiting for the second bowl, he asked:

“Boss, where exactly is this place?

It’s dark as hell.

And from your accent, you’re not from Beijing, are you?”

The vendor lowered his voice.

“You’re joking, right?

You’re already in Jiuhe, and you don’t know where this is?

People from Jiuhe are naturally from Jiuhe.”

Seeing that Che Qianzi genuinely looked confused, he continued:

“Drank too much last night and blacked out?

This is the Jiuhe Morning Market.

You’re here to collect taxes, right?

We already paid our head tax when we paid for our stall permits.”

Jiuhe…

Morning Market…

Suddenly, Che Qianzi remembered something.

Back in the hospital, Old Yang had mentioned something called the Jiuhe Ghost Market while talking to Sun Desheng.

Although he had been unable to move at the time, he had heard every word clearly.

He couldn’t have remembered it wrong.

By now the second bowl of wontons was ready.

Taking the bowl from the vendor, he politely thanked him and asked:

“Boss, have you ever heard of the Jiuhe Ghost Market? Where is it?”

The vendor wiped his hands and looked puzzled.

“Ghost Market? Isn’t this the Ghost Market?”

Then he explained:

“Our rules are simple.

The market opens around two or three in the morning and stays open until noon.

Every stall has to keep an oil lamp burning.

And nobody is allowed to speak loudly.

People from outside don’t understand our customs, so they call it the Ghost Market.

Morning Market, Ghost Market—they’re the same place.”

Pointing toward both ends of the street, he continued in a low voice:

“See that?

The entire street is part of the market.

It looks like we’re just selling junk, but sometimes genuine treasures show up.

A few years ago someone bought a real imitation blue-and-white porcelain jar here.”

Che Qianzi blinked.

“A real imitation?”

The vendor nodded proudly.

“Even though it was a replica, it sold for over ten thousand yuan.”

By then, Che Qianzi had finished his second bowl.

After eating, he finally felt human again.

He paid the bill and planned to return to the van and wait to see who had transported him all the way from Beijing to Jiuhe.

But when he turned around—

The van was gone.

He stared blankly.

Had it really driven away while he was eating two bowls of wontons?

Seeing him spinning around in confusion, the vendor misunderstood.

“Forgot your oil lamp, didn’t you?

Don’t worry.

Happens every day.

We vendors always keep extras.”

He handed over a greasy old oil lamp.

“Take it. Return it when you’re done looking around.”

And so, still confused, Che Qianzi wandered down the street carrying the lamp.

He had no interest whatsoever in the merchandise.

He only wanted to answer one question:

Who had brought him here?

After passing more than a dozen stalls, he arrived at a secondhand book stand.

He wasn’t interested in old books.

He had simply noticed a few comic books and thought they might help kill some time.

Apparently assuming he was only browsing and not buying, the stall owner walked over and said somewhat rudely:

“Looking’s enough.

You buying or not?

If not, go browse somewhere else.”

The moment Che Qianzi heard the man’s voice, he frowned.

The feeling was strangely familiar.

When he used to travel with Old Deng’er to perform exorcisms, many of those so-called “immortals” had spoken exactly like this.

He raised his oil lamp.

Using its weak light, he saw the face of a man in his forties.

The moment their eyes met, the bookseller began trembling violently.

Without even bothering to pack up his stall, he turned and ran.

At the same time, he let out a sharp, piercing scream.

The previously silent Ghost Market was instantly disrupted.

Hearing the scream, nearby vendors stopped doing business and looked over.

The moment several of them saw Che Qianzi’s face, they also abandoned their stalls and fled.

At that very moment—

On the top floor of a distant high-rise building, Sun Desheng stood beside a powerful infrared telescope.

Smiling, he asked the person monitoring the market:

“Did you see clearly? How many?”

Without lifting his eyes from the telescope, the observer replied:

“Five.

Our people are already moving in.

But Director Sun… will this really work?”

Sun Desheng laughed.

“Of course it won’t.”

Then he corrected him:

“Remember, I’ve stepped down.

Call me Dasheng from now on.

We’re brothers.”

He narrowed his eyes and looked toward the market.

“This is called beating the grass to scare the snake.

The people selling the treasure are trying to unload it quickly.

Now they’re too scared to make a move.”

A sly smile appeared on his face.

“So all that’s left…”

“…is for me to pay them a visit.”