Princess Xiuyue moved without hurry, her steps carrying an unspoken grace as she crossed to the side gate. The guards bowed low, the girl in silk welcomed her with a polished smile, and then the princess was gone—swallowed by the pavilion’s depths.

  The spell broke. Murmurs rushed back in, layered with envy, awe, and calculation. Yet one truth fixed into every heart: this was no ordinary auction. Even the grander sales of Lingbao rarely drew a royal presence. For one to appear here meant something more lay within.

  More carriages arrived. More faces of wealth and power passed through the side gate, their shadows climbing the walls like banners of influence. The line inched forward. By the time Xiao Lei stepped through the main doors, the hall was already brimming.

  His seat lay near the stage, close enough to see the grain of the polished wood beneath the auctioneer’s stand. Around him, the press of voices thickened, hundreds crowding into the high-ceilinged chamber. He tilted his head slightly, scanning. Above, tiers of private rooms jutted out along the upper floor. Veiled windows hid the figures within, but their weight was palpable, as though unseen eyes leaned over the crowd below.

  After one last glance, Xiao Lei closed his eyes. He folded into the tide of bodies and waited, each breath a small, private metronome.

  An hour stretched thin. Then a gong struck.

  His eyes opened.

  A man stood at the centre of the stage, yellow robes bright beneath lantern light. His bearing carried practiced authority, voice smooth and confident as he greeted the crowd. The name passed quickly through whispers—Lingbao’s foremost auctioneer, Shi Chu. When he spoke, he tapped a jade ring against the stand, each strike ringing sharp as punctuation, every pause timed with precision. Beneath the polish lay cultivation—not high, but steady, the sixth stage of Qi Awakening. Enough to keep order, not enough to threaten him.

  Formalities ended quickly. Shi Chu lifted a hand, and the first item was unveiled.

  A sword—yet not quite.

  Its length gleamed faintly as assistants set it upright, but the blade swayed instead of standing rigid, coiling with a supple, liquid grace. Each ripple caught the lantern light like silk in water. Forged from the marrow of a rank-three beast, refined into a soft sword they called Silk. An Earth-grade treasure, mid-level.

  The opening price: three thousand spirit coins.

  Gasps rose at once. For most seated in the lower tiers, the figure was unthinkable. Conversations faltered, envy sharpening the air.

  Then a voice cut through. “Three thousand one hundred!”

  The contest surged back and forth. A one-eyed brute barked, “Three thousand two hundred!” Offers leapt higher, voices growing rough with greed. At last the hammer fell. The sword was claimed for three thousand nine hundred spirit coins.

  Shi Chu’s smile widened, satisfied. His hand struck the jade again, signalling continuation.

  The air thickened with anticipation. The auction had only begun.

  Items paraded one after another, each carrying its own aura of rarity. Blades whose edges shimmered faintly with qi, talismans scribed with living runes, scrolls bound in beasts’ sinew—treasures that would stir envy in any heart.

  Xiao Lei sat motionless, but his gaze tracked everything, quiet and deliberate. He had already marked four earth-grade weapons and techniques, no trivial showing for an auction. One had climbed to a sky-high sum of five thousand spirit coins, the bidding cut short the instant a figure from the upper pavilions raised the price by five hundred in one stroke. The gesture alone was declaration enough. The lesser seats below fell silent, purses still heavy yet hearts unwilling to cross blades with power.

  The auction rolled onward, but Xiao Lei’s breath barely stirred until the attendants brought forth the next prize. A crystalline vessel was set upon the dais, within it a lump of resin the colour of congealed flame—amber veined with coils of light, as though some ember had been caught and frozen mid-breath. The room leaned in; even the light seemed to dim..

  Shi Chu, sleeves neat and voice unhurried, lifted a hand toward the vessel. “Dragon Breath Resin,” he announced, and the name rang like a struck bell.

  Dragons—true dragons—were sovereigns of beasts, yet none had ever been recorded within Shanli’s borders. The Flame Dragon whose cave birthed this resin was little more than a monstrous lizard, a beast wearing the ghost of a dragon’s skin. But even that echo of lineage had birthed wonders that bent realms.

  Shi Chu’s calm tones wove through the hall. “For those in Foundation Establishment, two stages may be crossed in an instant, without backlash or lingering debt to the body. For those in Core Formation, a single advancement is assured.”

  Gasps broke across the chamber, voices swelling sharp as surf. Cultivation could be stolen, clawed, bought with peril—but to advance without side effect, with certainty? That was no treasure; that was destiny rewritten.

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  Xiao Lei did not add to the noise. His eyes, however, sharpened to a blade. Two levels in Foundation Establishment—he could strike through the ninth stage with ease. Wasteful, perhaps, to burn such a treasure on a single step. But calculation cooled the heat in his veins. If fortune yielded him something more precise, he would trade. If not, this resin would serve. One way or another, it needed to fall into his hands.

  Shi Chu’s smile never reached his lips, but his jade ring tapped the stand in a steady rhythm. “Seven thousand five hundred.” His voice slid over the room; the hall quieted to a brittle hush.

  Then a voice, raw with strain, broke the stillness. “Seven thousand six hundred!” A man from the lower stands had risen halfway from his seat, knuckles white against the railing.

  The one-eyed brute answered at once. “Seven thousand seven hundred.” He lifted two thick fingers, the motion sharp, then swivelled his single, burning eye toward his rival. The stare lingered, heavy and unblinking.

  The first bidder’s jaw clenched. He could not retreat. Treasures like this would not surface twice in a lifetime. His teeth bared in resolve, and he hurled his cry into the hall. “Eight thousand five hundred!” The words cracked the air, a desperate declaration that rang louder than his voice.

  A ripple swept the crowd. To stake so much was to bare one’s fortune to the bone. Yet the brute only narrowed his eye, glaring with a feral heat. The chamber quivered under the weight of that silence—but he did not answer. The poor man’s chest eased, hope flooding his stance.

  But before he could savour it, another voice cut across the chamber, clean and sure. A new bidder.

  Within breaths the man’s fragile victory crumbled. One offer after another trampled his bid beneath their weight. His shoulders sagged; his breath spilled out in defeat. Worse still, the brute’s glare never softened, promising that debts linger beyond coin.

  The numbers climbed. Ten thousand. Eleven. Each figure dropped like a stone into still water, sending shudders through the hall. The call of “Eleven thousand” came from the upper floor, a chamber veiled in shadows. The lower stands shrank into quiet.

  Another chamber answered, sharp and unhesitating. “Thirteen thousand.”

  Murmurs swelled, then faded as Shi Chu raised his hand, ready to seal the fate of the resin. The air hung tight, brittle with expectancy.

  Then, from the common seats, a voice rang out.

  “Fifteen thousand.”

  Every head turned. The sound had come from below, where wealth should not dwell. Gazes converged on a single figure—Xiao Lei. He sat unhurried, posture unbent, as if naming a casual number.

  Even Shi Chu faltered. His brows knit faintly, his ears doubting themselves. That such a sum should emerge from the lower stands? For a moment he studied Xiao Lei as if seeking the trick of an illusion.

  But Xiao Lei did not meet his look. The number left his mouth as if reciting a price he’d already written into somebody’s ledger.

  High above, behind a lattice screen, a youth dressed in black leaned forward. His features were refined, but a scar traced like silver across his jaw, sharpening the cool curve of his smile. His eyes lingered, shadowed with interest. “Who is he?”

  The old man at his side bowed slightly. “Shall I investigate, young master?”

  The youth’s lips curved further. “No need. Others will dig for us.”

  And indeed, others moved first. A mocking voice spilled from the chamber that had last bidden. It carried a lazy cruelty, clear for all to hear.

  “Fifteen thousand? Don’t just throw numbers into the air. Do you truly have such wealth?”

  Despite the jeers, Xiao Lei did not stir. His figure remained cloaked beneath plain black robes, bamboo hat shading his face. That very stillness unsettled more than any retort could. In the second chamber on the right, Xun Chen narrowed his eyes. Wealth enough to hurl out such a bid should have belonged to merchants of renown. Not to a shadow seated among commoners. His mockery earlier had been laced with caution; now, it carried restraint.

  “Seventeen thousand,” he called, voice clear, smooth with confidence.

  But his claim had barely settled when another rang across the hall. It was bright, feminine, edged with authority. “Twenty thousand.”

  Every gaze shifted upward. Curtains in the centre chamber hung open, and Princess Xiuyue sat within view. The flare of her presence pressed against the hall more keenly than the weight of numbers.

  Xun Chen laughed softly, feigning ease, though his gaze lingered on her. “So the Princess herself takes interest. How could I possibly be discourteous?” His words rippled through the stands, a bow veiled in jest.

  The tension seemed ready to ebb. The crowd began to believe the contest had reached its natural end.

  Then Xiao Lei’s voice cut through. “Twenty-two thousand.”

  The hall inhaled as one; the weight of breath pressed downward, and the crowd seemed to hold itself upright by will.

  Shock swelled, disbelief following, then awe. To contend with wealth was one thing; to raise against a royal was near madness. Princess Xiuyue’s fiery temper was known as far as Shanli’s borders.

  Even she faltered. For an instant her lips parted, surprise flashing through her eyes. Then came the heat—anger sharp and bright. Yet she was no fool. This was still the floor of an auction. She drew herself straight, chin lifted, fingers digging faintly into the armrest of her chair. With a measured nod she signalled the elder at her side.

  The old man’s voice carried like iron. “Friend, our Princess has need of this resin. Perhaps you might grant this old one some face.” His hand rose. “Twenty-three thousand.”

  The words had not fully faded when Xiao Lei answered, calm as stone. “Twenty-five thousand.”

  The elder stiffened. His composure cracked as disbelief edged his tone. “You—!”

  Shi Chu’s jade-ring tap faltered—half a beat too late—and the practiced calm slipped for an instant. Sweat gathered beneath his sleeves as he began carefully, “there are countless treasures yet to come—”

  Xiao Lei’s reply cut like cold steel. “Is this an auction, or not?”

  The words struck harder than the bid itself.

  A collective shudder rippled through the hall. Outrageous. The thought was near universal. To openly defy the princess, to press without yielding—it was unthinkable. Faint currents of qi even stirred with the weight of disbelief, as though the chamber itself recoiled.

  Xiuyue’s slender hands clenched tighter on the armrest. A single hairpin trembled against her temple, catching the light. Rage boiled within, yet the decorum of her station bound her. To erupt here would shame her crown. Through tight lips, she hissed a command to the elder. Let it go.

  Shi Chu’s smile wavered, brittle as porcelain. The resin had fetched nearly triple its worth, yet no triumph could sweeten the bitter air. He swallowed hard, forced his voice steady, and hurried to unveil the next item—eager to push this storm from memory.

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  Destiny Reckoning. It’s set in the same universe, and you definitely don’t want to miss it, because the stories will eventually crossover.