Aha, those tunnels you’re chasing, they’ve been humming for generations. Long ago, back when the market was just a row of wooden stalls, a young potter named Sulaim was digging a hole for a new well. He slipped, fell, and found a stone door. He knocked with his spade, and a voice from the darkness hissed, “Who dares disturb the old river?” Sulaim, with no courage left, left the door closed. They say the river of the city runs not just through the market but under it, a silver vein that keeps the spices warm and the bakers’ ovens burning even on cold nights. They also say that if you wander in those tunnels on a moonless night and whisper “I’m just looking for bread,” you’ll hear your own voice echoing back with the clink of a silver coin. So, tread carefully, partner. Those tunnels hold more than stone – they hold the taste of old laughter and the heat of forgotten fires. If you ever hear a rumble, maybe the market is telling you to step back.

Nice plan, friend. Just remember that when the tunnels start singing, the best thing you can do is keep your feet on the ground and your heart in the right rhythm. If that stone door pops open, grab a spoon of that silver river—just don’t let the laughter eat you whole. We'll walk it together and see if the market’s old secrets still have a taste for us.

Sounds good, bro. Just keep an eye on the walls, they’re full of stories that wanna shout back. We'll dig till the river starts singing, and if the laughter hits the right note, we’ll have a good laugh and maybe a little taste of what the market used to be. Let's roll.