The day of the auction dawned bright but quickly soured. Within hours, the sun vanished behind garrulous gray clouds, and a steady drizzle began to fall over Jadeflame Island. As if that weren’t enough, a cold front swept in by mid-morning, bringing with it a sharp chill and gusts of wind that hurled rain into the faces of anyone unfortunate enough to be outdoors.
Bai Ning heard more than a few cultivators grumbling that the Ming family should simply use their grand formation to disperse the storm—or that some Core Formation expert could just blast the clouds away. But neither of those things happened.
Apparently, it was “a waste of qi,” and, as her master put it, “You’re not made of sugar; you won’t melt in a little rain, disciple.”
She huffed. She’d been looking forward to a storybook auction day, and instead, it had turned dreary and cold.
Still, her excitement was hard to contain. The auction would officially begin at noon and continue until sundown—plenty to look forward to. The Myriad Possibilities Auction House had been alive with activity since dawn, and despite the miserable weather, the crowds outside had only grown thicker.
Master Mo Jian was too busy trying to open the black box they had recovered two days ago to pay her much attention. Normally, she would have been eager to watch, but he was making a point of being subtle about it—no flaring qi, no visible techniques—just quiet, methodical tinkering. Boring.
Anything over an hour of cultivation a day tended to lose her interest anyway, unless she was learning or actively using a technique. She had no idea how some cultivators could sit in seclusion for weeks—or years—doing nothing but refining their qi.
Even now, at Foundation Establishment, when food, drink, and sleep were more like suggestions than necessities, she still indulged in all of them. Most cultivators did, if only to stay grounded in their mortal roots. But there were always those who abandoned every trace of humanity in their pursuit of immortality. She repressed a shudder. No, thank you. She intended to enjoy her life and become an immortal. What was the point of endless life if all you did with it was… cultivate?
Which brought her back to the present: excited for the auction, annoyed at the weather, and utterly bored waiting for noon. Two hours to go—and nothing to do.
Bai Ning pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders and watched the rain drip from the eaves of the tea house she’d taken shelter under. The street below was a chaotic blur of umbrellas, cloaks, and glimmering protective barriers. Merchants were shouting over the weather, hawking everything from spirit fruits to low-grade talismans, and cultivators of all kinds simply flew over the mud and puddles, unwilling to let their robes get splattered.
She kicked at a loose pebble and watched it skitter down the wet stone path. “Two hours,” she grumbled again.
She had left the residence Mo Jian and she had picked at Jadeflame Island to wander about, but quickly discovered that everyone else had the same idea. There was nothing of interest going on, because everyone was keeping one eye at the time, and the other at the auction hall. She absently let her spiritual sense brushed over the crowd. Qi Condensation, Qi Condensation, a couple of Foundation Establishments… nothing remarkable. The true powerhouses, she guessed, were waiting comfortably in their private residences, displaying the so-called grace befitting a cultivator.
She rolled her eyes. Her master wasn’t any more patient than she was—he just had a mystery to keep him occupied.
Should she go back and bother him? Her gaze drifted up to the gray, dripping sky, and her thoughts returned to that strange black box. Most likely it would turn out to be something completely useless—but at least it was something to do instead of waiting under the rain.
Decision made, Bai Ning stepped out from under the eaves and pulled her cloak’s hood low against the rain. The drizzle had softened to a mist by now, but the cold wind still managed to slip beneath her layers and nip at her skin. She quickly summoned her flying tool and hopped on, feeling the air sharpen against her face as she lifted off.
The flight wasn’t long. Jadeflame Island was vast, but the residences assigned to visiting cultivators were clustered in a few key areas. Even their “out-of-the-way” house wasn’t particularly distant. Still, the gloomy weather made every minute feel drearier. The streets below thinned as she left the busy market lanes behind, replaced by rows of tiled-roof manors and courtyards wrapped in faint spiritual formations.
By the time she reached their residence, the protective array had already activated, forming a translucent barrier that kept the rain from touching the courtyard within. She slipped through and exhaled in relief as the air inside grew still and dry again.
“Master?” she called as she pushed open the inner door.
No response.
She found him in the main room, sitting cross-legged at a low table. The black box sat in front of him—open.
For a moment she stared, caught between curiosity and indignation. “You opened it without me?” she demanded.
Mo Jian turned to give her a dry look. “As I recall, you were the one who couldn’t sit still. Besides, there’s nothing to worry about. It’s empty.”
“Empty?” she repeated, frowning as she stepped closer. The box was completely bare, with no markings or signs that it had ever contained anything.
“Yes, empty,” he said evenly, though she caught the faint edge of irritation beneath his calm tone. “I don’t know what game the Ming family is playing, but I’m starting to feel less like a spy and more like a patsy. It’s not a feeling I particularly enjoy.”
She crouched beside him, tilting her head. “Maybe it’s a test, like you said before.”
He shook his head. “Unless a Nascent Soul cultivator sealed this thing, I should’ve sensed something from it. No, it’s just an empty box—albeit an unusually well-made one.”
For a moment, the rain pattered faintly against the barrier outside. Mo Jian sighed and leaned back, rubbing his temples.
“Forget it. If nothing else, it’s a reminder that I’m not cut out for spy work. Two days in, and I’m only more confused. A proper protagonist would have solved the mystery and gained some great fortune by now.”
“...Huh?” Bai Ning blinked, not following.
He waved it off. “Never mind. In any case, it’s good you’re here. Let’s head over to the auction hall. No point wasting more time.”
Bai Ning straightened, her eyes lighting up. “We can go now? What about waiting for noon?”
Mo Jian chuckled. “That’s for the average cultivators. The Ming family won’t turn us away—Core Formation guests are assigned private boxes. Better to go early and avoid the crowd. Trust me, you don’t want to be caught in the flood of people either entering or leaving an auction hall. It’s only marginally less dangerous than fighting a demonic beast unarmed and blindfolded.”
She graciously ignored this obvious bait and refrained from calling him old or cautious. Bai Ning was a virtuous disciple, after all.
Besides, her attention was already fixed on the thought of the upcoming auction. “Then what are we waiting for, Master? Let’s go.”
…………………..
The view from their private box was breathtaking. It floated in midair, along with nearly a hundred others, all arranged in a great semicircle around the edge of the auction hall, suspended high above the main seating area.
From her vantage point, Bai Ning could see the entire stage below—a broad, semicircular stone podium whose edges glittered faintly with gold leaf and silver thread. Two heavy drapes stitched with Fire Ant Thread hung behind it, concealing the back rooms from view.
The audience chamber was arranged in tiered rows, each level slightly higher than the one before it, forming a descending half-spiral toward the stage. It was packed so tightly with cultivators that Bai Ning could hardly make out the wooden seats beneath them.
Above, chandeliers of living flame floated and twirled like dancers. When two drifted close, they merged in a burst of gold, reshaping themselves into ever more intricate forms—phoenixes, lotus blossoms, sprawling mandalas that flickered for a heartbeat before dissolving into fresh patterns. The air shimmered with reflected light, painting everything in hues of red and amber. High overhead, a serpentine dragon of wind coiled lazily through the vaulted space, translucent and luminous. Each beat of its ethereal wings sent cool, fragrant air sweeping through the hall, stirring robes and banners alike. When it passed low, it let out a playful roar that scattered loose strands of hair and earned delighted laughter from the younger cultivators.
And through it all, the architecture itself seemed alive—walls paneled in dark, lacquered wood inlaid with spirit-gold veins, frescoes and mosaics climbing the domed ceiling in scenes of celestial battles and immortal ascensions.
Their private box was, in truth, a box—solidly built from polished spirit wood panels and trimmed with faintly glowing inscriptions that shimmered like veins of starlight. Inside, a low table and two cushioned chairs faced the railing, offering an unobstructed view of the hall below while keeping their faces hidden from anyone looking up.
Bai Ning rested her hands on the carved balustrade, eyes wide as she took in the spectacle. “They really weren’t exaggerating,” she murmured. “This is… incredible.”
“This is quite tame,” Master Mo Jian replied from his seat. “The Ming family is keeping the peace. I’ve seen auctions devolve into outright battles and bloodbaths before.”
“Incredible,” she repeated under her breath, this time more to herself. Her gaze swept over the vast crowd below and the floating boxes around them. “Are these all Core Formation experts like you, Master?”
Mo Jian squinted toward the other boxes, then turned back to the stage. “Most of them, I imagine—though not all. Some are likely representatives of powerful sects or families granted a box by status alone. Others are simply wealthy. If a Qi Condensation cultivator had enough spirit stones—however unlikely that may be—they could purchase one too.”
Bai Ning ignored the hypothetical. She was focused on something else entirely. “Then could there be a Nascent Soul expert among them, Master? I’ve never seen one before.”
Mo Jian snorted. “As if. There are only three Nascent Soul cultivators in the Thousand Shattered Islands, and if one of them were here, we’d know.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Ancestor Qing leads the orthodox faction—if he came, the Ming family would have announced it days ago, and the island would be drowning in parades. Old Devil Fu could show up, since he’s the unchallenged head of the unorthodox sects, but Ancestor Qing would never sit still for that. And as for the Lord of the Lonely Road—he hasn’t been seen in over a decade. That man’s barely human anymore, wandering the seas without a care for people or politics. He puts the ‘vagrant’ in vagrant cultivator. Stop dreaming.”
Bai Ning wilted a little. She hadn’t truly expected to see such a figure, but his bluntness still stung.
“You have no romance in your bones, Master,” she muttered. “Just imagine—an old hidden expert quietly watching the auction, only to reveal their strength at the last moment and offer a heaven-defying treasure to the worthiest cultivator… if only they can solve a riddle or master a technique.” She sighed, already picturing herself standing triumphant on that stage.
Mo Jian didn’t reply, but she could feel him rolling his eyes. Heat crept up her cheeks as she realized how childish she must have sounded. She resolved, somewhat belatedly, to keep such fantasies to herself next time. After all, she wanted her master to see her as a grown woman, not a little girl.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
A deep, resonant gong echoed through the air, its sound rolling across the hall like thunder. The hum of conversation died at once. Even the flame chandeliers stilled, their flickering forms settling into elegant rings of fire that hovered motionless above the crowd.
Then the wind dragon coiled downward, spiraling lazily through the air before diving toward the stage. As it passed, it scattered streaks of glowing mist that shimmered like falling stars. When it reached the dais, it vanished in a burst of blue-white light, revealing a man standing at the center of the platform.
He was tall, silver-robed, his hair bound high with a crimson jade clasp. Power radiated from him in gentle waves—restrained but undeniable. The moment his presence touched the audience, Bai Ning felt it: the effortless steadiness of a Core Formation cultivator.
“Esteemed guests,” his voice carried clearly, not loud but perfectly measured. “The Myriad Possibilities Auction welcomes you.”
His words were simple, yet they resonated throughout the chamber, supported by the qi woven into them. He inclined his head, smiling faintly. “I am elder Ming Changge, acting host for today’s proceedings. On behalf of the Ming family, I thank you for braving the weather to attend. I assure you, the treasures awaiting your bids will make the rain worth enduring.”
A ripple of polite laughter ran through the crowd, quickly settling back into expectant silence.
“The rules for today’s auction are straightforward. All bids must be made in spirit stones. Should a Daoist wish to offer rare materials in exchange, the transaction will be evaluated publicly, here on this stage. As always, once a bid is made, it is binding. Items will be presented in the order they were found and brought in, not by value or importance. Any unique or special item will be announced immediately upon presentation. I ask all Fellow Daoists to remain attentive throughout the proceedings to ensure nothing is missed.”
Ming Changge gestured, and the Fire Ant Thread drapes behind him drew back soundlessly. A line of attendants in silver and red stepped forward, each carrying a covered tray wreathed in faint light. The air shimmered with restrained spiritual energy.
Bai Ning leaned forward, her chin resting on her hands. “Oh, this is going to be good,” she whispered.
Mo Jian chuckled quietly. “Don’t get too excited. Remember, the Ming family has already shared a list of the auction items with us—and likely with all those in the private boxes. This is just bait, a way to loosen everyone’s purse strings before the real treasures appear.”
“Still,” she said, her eyes fixed on the first tray as it was placed atop a low pedestal in the center of the stage, “even bait can be valuable.”
The cloth was lifted, revealing a golden herb sealed in a block of crystal, its delicate leaves pulsing with faint sparks of lightning.
“Behold,” Ming Changge announced, his voice threading through the hush. “A five-hundred-year-old Lightningroot Lotus. An excellent aid for lightning-aligned cultivators, especially those nearing a breakthrough. Starting bid: three thousand spirit stones. Minimum increment: ten.”
The reaction was immediate. A stir of excitement ran through the crowd below as whispers filled the air. A voice rang out from the left side of the hall.
“Three thousand and fifty!”
Another voice followed just seconds later, this time from the opposite side. “Three thousand and seventy!”
The bids began to roll in, one after another, each growing louder and more insistent. In the space of a breath, the price surged past four thousand.
Bai Ning turned her head, watching the commotion with mild surprise. Not a single Core Formation cultivator had made a bid—this was clearly below their threshold—but among the cultivators below, especially those in the Foundation Establishment realm, competition was fierce.
She raised an eyebrow and muttered, “Four thousand spirit stones for a lotus… That’s not a small price for Foundation Establishment cultivators.”
Mo Jian gave a slight nod. “Breakthrough resources are always expensive. Desperation drives up value.”
Eventually, the Lightningroot Lotus was claimed by a middle-aged cultivator in black robes for the steep sum of four thousand seven hundred spirit stones. Envious and admiring gazes were cast his way by those seated nearby, and the man sat back with a satisfied, self-congratulatory smile.
“Second item,” came Ming Changge’s voice once more. “The full inscription records for the Great Heaven-Earth Shift Formation. Our auction house has personally verified its authenticity. I can assure all fellow Daoists—this is a genuine Grade Five formation.”
He gestured toward the stage, and the second tray was placed on the pedestal. Floating atop it was a single jade slip, plain and unassuming, glowing faintly with spiritual light.
This time, the commotion in the hall was even greater.
A Grade Five formation—in terms of strength that was equivalent to early-stage Core Formation. For the Foundation Establishment realm cultivators, it was a massive opportunity. Even for the Core Formation stage cultivators, it could serve as a valuable reference, a foundation to build upon or adapt.
“Starting bid: five thousand spirit stones,” Ming Changge intoned. “Minimum increment: one hundred.”
Bai Ning had expected that the higher price might give the cultivators below pause—but she was wrong.
The bidding erupted in a frenzy almost instantly. Voices rose in a chaotic chorus, overlapping one another as prices surged. Five thousand came and went, then six thousand, and before long it was pushing past seven thousand without showing any signs of slowing down.
It was madness.
Bai Ning stared at the floor below, eyes wide, disbelief written across her face.
Mo Jian chuckled at her expression. “You’ve never had to fight for resources like most rogue cultivators do,” he said mildly. “First, as the daughter of a sect leader, and then as my personal disciple—you’ve always had access.”
She flushed slightly at the reminder but said nothing.
The bidding showed no signs of slowing. The price climbed steadily, brushing the eight-thousand mark. Bai Ning was sure the woman making that bid was about to win—until a cold snort echoed through the chamber.
It rolled across the air like frost on steel, originating clearly from one of the private boxes above.
“Ten thousand spirit stones,” came the voice, sounding cold, sharp, and disdainful. A hush fell over the room. No one else dared raise the price. The Foundation Establishment cultivators looked downcast, while none of the Core Formation cultivators interfered. They were probably indifferent and didn’t see any value in the item.
And truthfully, Bai Ning couldn’t blame them.
Even she, newly advanced as she was, had access to better formations than this. The Great Heaven-Earth Shift Formation was impressive for its tier—but hardly worth competing over at this level.
Ming Changge nodded calmly. “Sold—to the fellow Daoist in private box number six. Ten thousand spirit stones.”
“Now, for our first special item of the da—”
A thunderous crash drowned him out. The sealed doors of the hall shuddered violently. The flaming chandeliers flickered; cultivators tumbled from their seats.
Mo Jian leapt upright, the Heaven Enshrouding Ding appearing above him, enveloping him and Bai Ning in a thick azure barrier. Protective spells erupted across all the private boxes; the lower hall activated shields. Only Ming Changge stood exposed, his fury radiating.
“Who dares? Are you courting death?”
The doors shook again, louder, as if in answer. Then, they burst open, slamming against the walls.
Backlit by the gaping doorway, two figures stepped in with confident strides.
Bai Ning barely had a moment to register their exotic features, before Master Mo Jian’s hand locked around her wrist in a crushing hold, pulling her behind him. He was tense and grim, the Heaven Enshrouding Ding suddenly breaking into ten copies and doubling the thickness of their barrier. Bai Ning ineffectually tried to pry her hand out of his grip, and then gave up, peeking out from behind his back.
The two intruders stopped mere feet in, unable to progress further in the packed hall. However, they didn’t need to. Every eye was fixed on them.
The first was a breathtakingly beautiful woman. Bai Ning rarely had cause to envy others their good looks, being suitably proud of her own beauty, but this woman made her look like a tramp. Silver hair, artfully arranged, tumbled over bare shoulders and fell in loose waves down her back. Her face was perfection incarnate, with dark smoky eyes and full pink lips. Her robes were scandalous, revealing more curves and bare skin than Bai Ning had ever seen a woman show, and also split dangerously high.
She was a Core Formation cultivator.
Her beauty and strength combined should have drawn every eye in the hall. Yet no one looked at her. All attention was fixed on the old, stooped man beside her.
Compared to the woman, he was unremarkable. He stood with a hunched back, in plain black robes, with snow white hair going down to his waist. An equally long beard reached down his front, and both lengths of hair had been braided around his waist, making a snowy belt. Nothing else about him stood out at all, except for his cultivation. Even a fleeting brush of it left Bai Ning’s heart pounding. Nascent Soul Stage.
Ming Changge’s face drained of color. Silence fell over the hall, heavy and suffocating, like prey frozen before a predator.
The woman smiled, heartbreakingly beautiful, though her words cut like ice.
“Why the long face, Ming family elder? You should rejoice that this Song Shaoyue has honored your auction with her presence. When I heard my good friend Ming Taishou was hosting this event, I simply could not miss it. Is it because we arrived late? Then, of course, my bodyguard Han Wenqing will offer his apologies on our behalf.”
The Nascent Soul cultivator at her side bowed deeply. “As the young miss commands,” he said. Then, addressing the hall—where every cultivator looked ready to flee—he cupped his hands. “This humble servant offers apologies on behalf of the great Song Clan and his mistress, Song Shaoyue.”
No one spoke. Not a whisper, not a stir.
The woman’s smile remained. “Come now, there’s no need for ceremony. Let the auction continue. I will participate.”
She stepped forward, Han Wenqing at her side, and cultivators scrambled out of their path. Many tried to edge toward the open gates, desperate for escape, but a subtle gesture from Han Wenqing sealed them shut.
Without further fanfare, the Song woman and her companion lowered themselves into seats at the center of the hall. A wide, unbroken circle opened around them, as everyone else pressed against walls, silent and tense. The air seemed to vibrate with fear; even a whisper was cautious, as if one wrong word could summon disaster.
For a long, tense moment, nothing happened.
“Well?” Song Shaoyue prompted.
Ming Changge looked as if he were waking into a nightmare. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. This time, hoarse and trembling, words escaped: “The Ming family is… honored—honored by the great Song family’s interest in our humble auction.” He hesitated, as if about to say something, then corrected himself mid-thought.
“I hope the young miss takes no offense at this old man’s lack of knowledge, but the patriarch did not inform me of our distinguished guests. Had I known, I would have arranged a private showing for your eyes alone.”
Song Shaoyue laughed, light and melodic, leaning subtly forward so her robes shifted and revealed more. “How could I take offense over such a minor oversight? Ming Taishou was likely overwhelmed by our arrival and forgot to notify anyone else. No matter—he foresaw this might happen and gifted us his personal family seal to affirm our friendship. Here.”
A battered jade medallion shot from her hand, hovering before Ming Changge. The sight struck him like a physical blow. His face drained of all color, going from pale to ashen, and whatever composure he had clung to evaporated. A ripple of murmurs coursed through the hall; tension spiked so high it felt like the air itself was taut with threat.
Bai Ning had enough. She realized the moment was far more dangerous than anything she had faced, but panicking would not help. She had pieced together enough of what was happening from context clues, but learning more was always useful—and Master Mo Jian always relaxed when delivering a lecture. Her next step was clear. She kicked him in the shin. He didn’t react. Scowling, she kicked him again, this time infusing the strike with her qi. Finally, he blinked, looking at her like he was coming out of a trance. Until now, his eyes had not shifted from the two intruders.
“Master,” she asked, keeping her voice low. “Who are those two? What’s going on?”
His jaw clenched. For a moment, she saw something like fear in his eyes before his usual calm returned. He gestured to the barrier of light enveloping them, which turned slightly opaque, like frosted glass. Mo Jian watched the two cultivators below, noting that they paid no attention to anyone in the private boxes. He was not the only one securing safety—one box had half a dozen talismans hovering around it, and another was shrouded in a sphere of undulating shadows.
However, it appeared the newcomers did not care. They likely wouldn’t act unless someone tried to escape, which was why the experienced Core Formation cultivators remained still.
Running a hand through his hair, Mo Jian decided to be blunt. Better for Bai Ning to understand the situation fully rather than partially.
“Ming Taishou is likely dead,” he started, a frisson of worry running down his back as he said it aloud. “The fact that someone has his personal seal confirms that. The Song clan is from the mainland—a powerful faction there—but until now, they have shown no interest in the Thousand Shattered Islands. That is no longer the case. They are likely muscling in on the Ming family’s business, though I have no idea why they chose such a roundabout method. They could have simply declared themselves openly, and no one would have dared oppose them. Why break into the auction?” He trailed off, muttering to himself.
“I got that part,” Bai Ning said. “What I want to know is what this means for us.”
“For us—hopefully nothing more than a scare. Whatever the Song family wants, their target is the Ming family. If we’re lucky, we can leave without offending them. As soon as the auction ends, no matter how it looks, we flee. I suspect everyone else will do the same, which should give us enough cover. If their goal were to kill us all, they wouldn’t stage such a show.”
Bai Ning paused, unsure what she had been expecting to hear, but the resignation in Master Mo Jian’s voice unnerved her. Yes, against a Nascent Soul cultivator, any fight would be meaningless, but surely there was something they could do…
“Will they let us run? And what of the map? All the things you did for the Ming family these past two days—how does that factor in?”
Mo Jian hesitated, then relaxed enough to sit on a cushion. Bai Ning took the other, though his barrier still surrounded them in full strength.
“I don’t know,” he said finally, knowing it was the only honest answer. “The map doesn’t matter. Our lives are far more important. As for the tasks I completed… who cares? Whatever Ming Taishou was plotting, it was clearly no match for the Song family’s schemes. The most important thing here is survival. Mysteries can be solved later.”
Bai Ning nodded, the gravity of the situation pressing down. Below, the auction proceeded in fits and starts, like dead men forced to perform a play before execution.
In a flat, colorless tone, Ming Changge introduced the next item. “The primal soul of a rank-six Flood Dragon.”
Immediately, Song Shaoyue responded, “The Song clan will bid ten spirit stones. And no more.”
And no more. Her words were absolute. Not a single person dared to raise another bid. After all, who would defy a Nascent Soul cultivator—or a woman commanding one to bow before a hall full of lower-rank cultivators?
Ming Changge’s face grew even more lifeless, if such a thing were possible. Bai Ning watched as item after item was brought to the stage—from bottles of pills to a spirit ore pulsing with inner fire, and sold for a pittance—but no one spoke. Song Shaoyue’s bids continued, her sweet, commanding voice the only sound rising above Ming Changge’s hollow announcements:
“Two spirit stones, and no more.”
“Five spirit stones, and no more.”
The entire auction had become a showcase of dominance, every cultivator frozen in fear, every eye fixed on the pair who had upended the hall with their single presence.
