The Qingyun Marketplace had no fixed entrances or exits, and Lu Ye, descending from Qingyun Mountain, naturally blended into the streaming crowd moving in and out of the marketplace.
A boisterous atmosphere rushed towards him, and the complex intertwining streets were bustling with cultivators brushing shoulders as they passed by.
Lu Ye had not expected such a small marketplace to gather so many cultivators. Previously on Qingyun Mountain, he had hardly seen a soul, well, except for half of one.
It wasn't surprising when he thought about it. Regardless of the sect, the number of lower-level cultivators was always the highest, and the outermost periphery of the Spirit Stream battlefield was exactly where these base-level cultivators converged.
Just by looking at these passersby cultivators, one couldn't tell which faction they belonged to; after all, no one would wear their origins on their forehead for all to see.
