In Grass Dragon Valley, nearly a hundred demons were crammed together, just like the human Ghost Market. They were sneaking and skulking, whispering and rustling amongst themselves.
The undergrowth was dark, and they didn't light any fires, so only the dim light of the moon, hanging high in the sky, shone down, reflecting off the flickering treasure lights within the bushes, creating a rather unique atmosphere.
This wasn't entirely about trading treasures; gain or loss wasn't that important. The mood of the exchange mattered more. It was a birth process of civilization, albeit still at a very primal stage.
There were no stalls because everyone was poor as dirt, with at most a handful of items to their name, and most had just a solitary piece. They simply flung them about in their hands or dangled them around their necks. To the human eye, it didn't look like they were trading treasures, but more like a large, fierce pet market.
