A few days passed.
The city breathed differently now.
Gone was the heavy tension that had once clung to the streets like dust after rain. In its place bloomed something lighter—livelier. The market stirred with fresh voices, the chatter of traders hawking wares louder than usual, the clang of forge-hammers and scent of roasted nuts blending into a strange kind of harmony.
Even the wind felt different—cooler, brisker, as if the city had shrugged off something unseen.
Yanwei stood beneath the awning of a modest herbal stall, arms crossed as he watched the crowd ebb and flow. Bright fabrics fluttered in the breeze. A child tugged at his mother's sleeve, pointing at candied hawthorns. Cultivators in plain robes bartered for pills and talismans, laughter cracking like sunlight between haggled prices.
He didn't need to guess. The market's shift wasn't random.
The auction was about to begin.
The pulse of the city quickened, excitement and anticipation weaving through the crowd like electricity. Traders and cultivators alike dressed sharper, moved faster, eyes brighter.
Yanwei's breath remained steady, but beneath the calm, his mind sharpened.
He had to be ready.
Yanwei pushed open the door to his room and stepped into the dimly lit hallway of the Verdant Flame Tavern. The muted hum of conversation floated faintly from the common area below.
He found the waiter—young, quick-footed, dressed in plain robes—tidying near the staircase. Without hesitation, Yanwei called out.
"Hey," he said, voice low but clear.
The waiter glanced up, eyes sharp and alert. "Yes, sir?"
Yanwei's gaze was steady as he approached. "When does the auction start? Where will it be held? And who's running it?"
The waiter blinked, hesitating for a moment before answering.
"The auction's scheduled for tonight, shortly after sunset," the waiter said smoothly. "It'll be held at the Moonlit Pavilion, near the southern district."
Yanwei pressed on, "Who's organizing it? Which sect or group?"
The waiter frowned, looking genuinely uncertain. "I'm not sure, sir. The auction's been whispered about, but no one here knows who's behind it. Just that it's important… and exclusive."
Yanwei's eyes narrowed slightly. That secrecy only made the whole thing more dangerous—and more intriguing.
Yanwei gave a soft snort—whether amused or dismissive, it was hard to tell. Then, casually, he said, "Bring me food. A lot of it."
The waiter blinked. "Of course, sir. Right away."
Yanwei flicked a middle-grade spiritual stone toward him. The waiter caught it with both hands, bowing slightly before rushing off.
Left alone in the hall, Yanwei turned toward the stairs, eyes thoughtful.
"I wonder what their goal really is…"
He didn't linger on it.
There were too many questions and far too little time.
A few hours passed.
The sky had dimmed to a rich indigo, the last threads of sunlight fading behind the rooftops. Lanterns flickered to life one by one, casting golden halos across the cobbled streets. The city had shifted again—its earlier liveliness narrowing into a more purposeful hum, like every step now had direction.
Yanwei walked with his hands in his sleeves, his pace unhurried as he made his way toward the Moonlit Pavilion.
The air was brisk, scented faintly with incense and roasted meat, but he paid it no mind. His gaze was fixed ahead—sharp, calculating.
"I'll sell that extra junk later," he thought, eyes scanning the street. "Should give me enough to buy what I really need."
He adjusted the storage pouch at his side slightly, feeling its weight. It wasn't much. Not yet.
But it would be enough—for now.
The Moonlit Pavilion loomed in the distance, soft lights glowing through its silken drapes like a lantern on the verge of revealing secrets.
And tonight, he intended to take what he came for.
The streets had come alive again—but not with the mindless bustle of the marketplace. This crowd moved with intent. Cultivators of all ages, dressed in everything from plain robes to ornate silks, were making their way toward the same destination. The air buzzed with conversation, curiosity, and a trace of envy.
"I don't care how much it costs, I'll buy that sword!" a young man exclaimed, practically vibrating with excitement as he pushed through the crowd. "They said it's from a fallen cultivator's grave—a blade that drank the blood of over a hundred beasts during the last Blood Moon War!"
His companion scoffed. "You? Buy it? You can't even afford a mid-grade talisman, let alone something like that."
"I'll sell my pills, my storage ring—hell, even my bed if I have to. That sword's calling to me, I swear!"
Just behind them, another conversation picked up.
Just ahead, a young man with a sword strapped to his back whispered to his companion, "They say the auction's selling a rare technique tonight… one that only those with elemental affinities can even begin to comprehend."
A girl beside him, her robes embroidered with frost patterns, let out a breath. "Legendary affinities…? Like darkness, space, or ice? That kind of stuff?"
"Exactly," someone else chimed in—a middle-aged man walking beside a group of juniors. "Word is, it's not just any elemental art. It's pure-grade. The kind passed down in ancient lineages."
At that, a small group ahead slowed, forming a loose circle in the street. One of them—a sharp-eyed cultivator with a jagged scar across his chin—spoke with disbelief. "Isn't that kind of technique only usable by freaks born with a rare spiritual constitution? Or those gifted with an extra innate talent?"
Another nodded. "Extremely rare. Rarer than high-grade talents, maybe even more than extreme ones—if you want to exaggerate it. Honestly, who would spend that much on something that might be useless to ninety-nine percent of the population?"
A short pause.
Then another voice—firm, almost scolding: "You don't get it. Big sects don't gamble like that. Just because someone from the main line dies doesn't mean the bloodline ends. They're always nurturing successors in secret. Hidden heirs. Inheritors we never see."
A ripple of agreement passed through the crowd. Several heads nodded. Even those who'd looked doubtful now wore thoughtful expressions.
Yanwei listened silently, his steps never faltering. But behind his neutral expression, his mind was already working.
So even the rarest techniques are being tossed around tonight, he thought. And someone powerful enough to sell one…
He didn't finish the thought.
He didn't need to.
The Pavilion's glow drew closer with every step.
And so did the stakes.