Cultivation: I Can Steal Lifespan from Spirit Beasts

Chapter 178: The Third-Level Ghost Market Slot

“A slot for the third level?”

Wang Ba was momentarily stunned.

He recalled Liu Yaodong mentioning that above the second level of the Exquisite Ghost Market lay a third, more exclusive tier. It served as a grand nexus, gathering elite cultivators from every corner of the Wind Descending Continent. If the second level already housed the wealth of the entire Yan Kingdom, just how vast was the reach of the third?

A chill of realization settled in his heart. The Exquisite Ghost Market was an unfathomable titan, a colossal entity that made ordinary Sects look like mere pebbles in a river.

With his search for a second Dantian technique yielding no results, the urge to ascend grew. If a solution existed, it would surely be found up there.

He turned to apologize to Tang Ji, intending to pack up and seek out a slot, but the space where the man had stood was now swamped by a surging crowd. The carefree, enigmatic cultivator who seemed to treat the world as a playground had vanished.

“A true master indeed,” Wang Ba murmured.

Though he couldn’t pinpoint the man’s exact realm, his aura possessed a transcendent quality that left a lingering impression. With a quiet sigh, Wang Ba stowed his Beast Taming Scroll · Volume One and his wares, then hurried toward the central palace. He envied Tang Ji’s freedom, but for a man like himself, life was rarely so accommodating.

The square was a sea of bodies. Near the palace gates, he finally spotted Zhao Feng, and the two quickly regrouped.

At the entrance, the manager—a stern old man in brocade robes—surveyed the restless mass. His face was as cold as a mountain spring.

“If this crowding continues,” he announced, his voice low but vibrating with spiritual pressure, “this round of slots shall be voided!”

The silence was instantaneous.

However, the stillness was broken by a sharp, icy snort. “Junior, you certainly have a grand opinion of yourself!”

The manager’s expression darkened. His gaze locked onto a figure in the crowd. The air grew heavy, thick with killing intent, yet the challenger did not flinch. He stepped forward, his aura expanding like a rising tide—vast, profound, and ancient.

“Golden Core!” “A Golden Core Perfected is making a move!”

Wang Ba stared, his eyes wide. It wasn’t every day one could gawk at a Golden Core master without fear of immediate retribution. The man was gaunt, but he radiated a faint, celestial glow that demanded respect.

Then, the world seemed to freeze.

An intangible divine sense descended from the heavens. It was as if an ancient behemoth had opened a single, frigid eye to gaze upon a speck of dust.

“Nascent Soul True Lord!”

The Golden Core master’s heart nearly stopped. The arrogance vanished from his face, replaced by a frantic, awkward smile.

“Heh… a misunderstanding. Truly, a misunderstanding! Please, Fellow Daoist, continue. Don’t mind me.”

As the divine sense retracted, the master let out a breath of turbid air, his back drenched in cold sweat. To the Foundation Establishment cultivators watching, it looked like the man had simply lost his nerve. They whispered among themselves, disappointed by the lack of a spectacle. Wang Ba knew better; he had felt the weight of that heavenly gaze.

“Since you are in our market, you follow our rules,” the manager said, his voice flat and indifferent despite just silencing a master. “There are ten slots available. Line up.”

With the Golden Core expert humbled, the crowd turned docile. Wang Ba joined the queue, overhearing whispers that three of the ten slots were already reserved for the Golden Core guests. That left only seven for the rest of them.

Wang Ba looked at the seventy or eighty people ahead of him. Every single one radiated a robust aura. His heart sank.

The line moved. One by one, cultivators were ushered into the palace. Finally, Wang Ba reached the front.

The manager didn’t even stop him. He swept a cold glance over Wang Ba and barked, “Does not meet the requirements. Next.”

Wang Ba froze. “Just like that? You haven’t even tested me.”

Zhao Feng, standing behind him, stepped in. “Dare I ask, Fellow Daoist, what specific conditions are required?”

The manager’s gaze shifted to Zhao Feng. A flicker of spiritual light danced in the old man’s eyes, and his cold demeanor softened into a surprising amiability.

“To enter the third level, the minimum threshold is the late Foundation Establishment stage,” the manager explained patiently. “This boy isn’t even at the mid stage. He simply doesn’t qualify.”

Wang Ba felt a sting of frustration, but there was no arguing with the facts.

“Junior Brother…” Zhao Feng began, concerned.

“It’s fine,” Wang Ba forced a smile. “If you go in, it’s the same as me going in. Good luck, Senior Brother.”

Zhao Feng nodded and disappeared into the palace. Within minutes, the square emptied as the eligible candidates were taken inside.

Wang Ba lingered, striking up a conversation with a nearby cultivator who had ears so long they touched his shoulders.

“What makes the third level so special?” Wang Ba asked, offering a jar of spirit wine to grease the wheels.

The long-eared man took a deep swig and grinned. “First timer, eh? The third level isn’t just a market; it’s a gateway. They have goods from across the Wind Descending Continent and teleportation arrays that can skip across entire nations—though the cost is steep enough to make a Golden Core weep.”

He leaned in closer. “But the real draw? Sanctuary. Once you’re a guest of the third level, no Sect on this continent dares to drag you out. You’re untouchable.”

Wang Ba’s pulse quickened. If he could hide there, he could wait out any soul-cursing techniques until he reached the Golden Core stage. But his cultivation was his cage.

“Don’t feel too bad,” the long-eared man added, seeing Wang Ba’s dejection. “Even the late Foundation Establishment lot get shredded. Usually, only three or four of them actually make the cut. The Ghost Market is picky.”

Wang Ba sat with the group, drinking and watching the palace. One by one, dejected cultivators shuffled out. The long-eared man counted them like a grim reaper.

“Eighty… eighty-one…”

Zhao Feng still hadn’t emerged.

“It seems Senior Brother has a real chance!” Wang Ba felt a surge of pride, tinged with a healthy dose of envy. To have the protection of the Ghost Market was a dream he couldn’t afford.

Eventually, the drinking circle thinned. Wang Ba returned to his stall to pass the time. He didn’t bother bringing out the beasts, instead displaying his spirit turtle essence as a formality. He spent a few minutes feeding the “little weak bird,” watching its crop swell with milk before tucking it back into his robes.

When he looked up, a familiar face was waiting.

“Fellow Daoist Tang?” Wang Ba gasped.

Tang Ji smiled. “I found myself wandering back. I quite enjoyed our talk on beast taming.”

Wang Ba welcomed the distraction. He pulled out the last of his spirit wine, and Tang Ji sat cross-legged on the dirt without a hint of pretension. They began to talk—not in riddles this time, but in the gritty details of biological processing and essence extraction.

Tang Ji proposed breeding methods Wang Ba had never even considered. Inspired, Wang Ba began to share his own findings, his voice growing animated as he discussed his theories on elevating the grades of spirit beasts like Alpha-Fifteen.

“You summarized all of this yourself?” Tang Ji asked, his eyes wide with genuine shock.

“It’s a hobby,” Wang Ba laughed. “When I’m not cultivating, I’m with my beasts. It keeps me sane.”

Tang Ji shook his head slowly. “What a waste. If you were in a premier Sect, with this foundation, you would be a dragon ascending to the heavens.”

Wang Ba looked toward the palace, a trace of yearning in his eyes. He thought of the Heavenly Gate Sect and the Spirit-Hosting Bamboo Slips that hung over his head like a butcher’s blade. “Fate is a fickle thing, Fellow Daoist.”

Tang Ji suddenly tilted his head. “By the way, why didn’t you try for the third-level slot? With your talent, the Exquisite Ghost Market might even offer you a permanent position.”

Wang Ba gave a self-deprecating chuckle, repeating the words he’d heard earlier. “Fellow Daoist must be here for the first time. I went earlier. The manager himself told me: late Foundation Establishment is the bare minimum. I don’t meet the criteria.”

He noticed Tang Ji looking at him with a peculiar, knowing expression. It was the look of a man watching someone fail a test that had already been passed.

Tang Ji smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Why not try again? Who knows? Maybe if you go now, the rules will have changed.”