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... ghosts are the stall owners, and people are but passersby.
In this strange yet desolate exchange, some use poetry as money to acquire their "desired" item.
But ordinary poems cannot lead one out of the Ghost Market, the ghost says: "Humans, you’re fooling yourselves... heeheehee."
Those who cannot create a poem must surrender some possession from their body.
The tragic ones, like Wei Tang, thereby lose a part of their foundation.
Others lose a finger, a to ...
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