The room smelled of old smoke and money.
Ren Lei adjusted the cuffs of his dark jacket as he stepped inside, the murmur of voices washing over him. The underground auction was being held in what used to be a theater, its velvet curtains long since rotted away, the walls lined with graffiti. But despite the ruined elegance, the place thrummed with tension. Men and women in tailored suits lounged on broken seats, their eyes sharp, their hands never straying too far from the weapons hidden under their coats.
This wasn't an auction for the rich. It was an auction for predators.
Ren Lei slipped into a seat near the center, the weight of a dozen curious stares falling on him. Nobody here recognized his face. That was good. It meant the name he was carving—Ren Lei—wasn't yet attached to a body people could predict.
The auctioneer, a wiry man with a scar slicing across his cheek, banged his gavel. "First item of the night—unmarked crates straight from the port. Stolen before customs laid eyes on them. Bidding starts at twenty."
A man with rings on every finger raised his paddle lazily. Another, a woman with cold eyes, countered with thirty. The bids climbed, rising in small increments as the players sized each other up.
Ren Lei leaned back, silent. He wasn't here to buy junk. He was here to watch, to learn who the players were, to measure the hunger in their eyes.
The next item was a set of antique pistols, supposedly carried by a warlord before he was executed. Then came a stack of counterfeit passports, a box of uncut stones. All useless to him.
But then came the third lot: a data drive.
The auctioneer grinned, holding it up between two fingers. "From the city's Department of Trade. Confidential contracts. Shipping schedules. Blackmail material, if you know how to use it. Starting bid—fifty."
That caught Ren Lei's attention. Information was worth more than weapons in this city.
"Sixty," the ringed man called.
"Seventy," the cold-eyed woman countered.
"Eighty."
"Ninety."
The numbers climbed fast. Ren Lei let them fight, waiting, calculating.
At one-twenty, the room grew tense. The ringed man sneered at his rival. "Too rich for you, sweetheart?"
The woman's eyes narrowed, but before she could answer, Ren Lei raised his hand.
"One-fifty."
The room stilled. Heads turned toward him.
The ringed man barked a laugh. "Who the hell are you? First time I've seen your face, and you're already barking with the wolves?"
Ren Lei's lips curved. "Names don't matter here. Only whether you can back your words."
"Two hundred," the man spat, glaring at him.
Ren Lei didn't flinch. "Three hundred."
Gasps rippled. Nobody doubled the price that fast.
The auctioneer blinked, then smirked. "Three hundred. Do I hear higher?"
The ringed man opened his mouth, but the cold-eyed woman cut in. "Three-fifty."
Ren Lei chuckled softly. "Five hundred."
The entire room went silent.
The woman's eyes flickered with curiosity. She studied him, then leaned back in her chair, conceding. The ringed man cursed under his breath and slammed his paddle down.
"Sold," the auctioneer announced, banging his gavel.
Whispers spread like wildfire.
Ren Lei stood, walked calmly to the stage, and collected the drive. He didn't count out bills like the others. Instead, he handed the auctioneer a slip of paper with a transfer code. "Funds will clear by morning."
The auctioneer's grin widened. "Pleasure doing business with you… Mr.?"
Ren Lei slipped the drive into his pocket. "Ren Lei."
The name rolled across the theater like thunder.
He didn't leave right away. Instead, he lingered at the edge of the hall, letting the weight of the whispers sink in.
"Never seen him before."
"Came in like a ghost, walked out like a shark."
"Ren Lei, huh? Remember that name."
The ringed man, still fuming, shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. "You'll regret crossing me, boy. Money doesn't buy respect here."
Ren Lei didn't bother to answer. He simply held the man's gaze until the tension broke, until the older predator realized he wasn't looking at prey but at something far more dangerous—something patient.
When he finally stepped into the night air, the alias had taken root.
But outside, the theater's shadow followed him. A pair of men slipped out minutes later, trailing him through the winding streets. Ren Lei knew it before they'd even started.
He ducked into an alley, waiting.
The men thought they were predators. They closed in, knives glinting in the half-light.
"You've got nerve, waltzing in and throwing money around," one sneered. "Who's backing you? Nobody walks in with that kind of confidence alone."
Ren Lei tilted his head. "Do I look like I need backing?"
They hesitated—just long enough for him to strike. His movements were clean, efficient. One man's wrist snapped, his knife clattering to the ground. The other found himself slammed against the wall, Ren Lei's hand tightening around his throat.
"Go back," Ren Lei said softly, his voice calm, almost conversational. "Tell them Ren Lei doesn't need backing. Tell them I walked in alone and walked out with more than I came for. Tell them I'll be back."
He dropped the man, who scrambled away in terror, dragging his partner with him.
Ren Lei straightened his jacket, adjusting the cuff as though nothing had happened.
The night swallowed him whole as he walked away, the data drive heavy in his pocket, the weight of whispers heavier still.
Tonight, he hadn't just bought information. He'd bought a name.
Ren Lei wasn't a ghost anymore.
He was a player.