Dawn never came early in the Black Mountain Fortress.
The shadows seemed to prefer lingering, drinking quietly in the alleyways.
Zhu Xian stood before Master Appraiser Lei Huo, who regarded him with a mix of respect and restrained awe. Upon the table, the four treasures Zhu Xian had presented floated, now sealed within spheres of spiritual energy.
“Master Zhu,” Lei Huo said, using the false name Zhu Xian had registered under, “these are not the simple curiosities of a wandering cultivator. These items are valuable even in the great imperial capitals. Their auction could bring in anywhere between thirteen and fifteen million gold coins, depending on the intensity of the bids.”
The number landed in the air like the strike of an unseen hammer.
Zhu Xian gave a slight nod. No smile. No flicker of emotion. But within, the calculation was sharp. That fortune wouldn’t just open doors — it would be the key to the Transformation Pill being auctioned that night.
With a subtle gesture, Lei Huo signaled an attendant, who brought forth a small black wooden case. When he opened it, a jade medallion rested within, its surface engraved with the sigil of the Miter Auction House.
“This is your special bidder’s pass,” Lei Huo explained. “It grants you access to the high platform. Your profits will be deposited into a secure spiritual account — unless you wish to trade them directly for items. Everything is ready.”
Zhu Xian accepted the medallion and, without a word, melted into the shadows.
The auction hall beneath the Black Mountain Fortress was no ordinary chamber. It was an underground amphitheater, its walls reinforced with spiritual steel and layered wards for protection. At its center stood a black-stone stage, flanked by tiered stairs leading to private boxes for elite bidders.
Zhu Xian arrived early, taking a seat within a secluded cubicle. The vantage point was perfect — unobstructed — while the mist-like veil of energy around the booth kept him hidden.
Soon, the others began to arrive.
An entourage from the Jian Ma Empire claimed a balcony draped with banners of gold. At its center stood a young man, his arrogant bearing amplified by the quiet presence of two Dou Wang elders flanking him. Power clung to them like a second skin.
Across the hall, a delegation from the Izumo Empire filed in with grim, disciplined steps. Their light armor shimmered faintly under the spiritual lamps, their sharp eyes scanning the room, mapping exits and threats with trained precision.
As murmurs swirled over the items to be auctioned, Zhu Xian’s gaze swept the room. Calculating. Measuring.
And then… he felt it.
Not an emotion. Not a thought. Something deeper.
A subtle tremor, like the faint echo of a drum resonating inside his chest. A pulse, almost imperceptible, as if his own heart had answered a call it didn’t know it had made.
His golden eyes lifted — and there, high above, in the highest balcony of the hall, she appeared.
A lone figure stepped forward with the grace of falling snow. She moved lightly across the polished jade floor, wrapped in robes of soft, pristine white. A veil, nearly translucent, shielded her features, but her eyes…
Her eyes were endless depths — the pale, rain-washed blue of winter skies.
Hair, white as fresh frost, cascaded down her back in a silent waterfall, glinting like threads of moonlight beneath the glow of the crystal lamps above.
And Zhu Xian… followed her.
Not by choice. Not even by thought.
Something in her presence tore through the fabric of time, dragging him into memories — places he had buried, emotions he had locked away, and a longing that burned like a quiet, ancient flame.
It wasn’t her. He knew that. She wasn’t the one he had lost, the one whose name still haunted his dreams.
And yet… the feeling was sharper. Purer. Like a forgotten melody rediscovered, a harmony his soul had been yearning for without knowing why.
Who… are you?
The thought trembled through his mind, unbidden.
She didn’t look his way. She stepped to the edge of the obsidian balcony, pausing as though sensing something — someone. Her pale, porcelain fingers curled over the railing, and the soft, ethereal wind of the hall stirred her veil.
For the briefest moment, Zhu Xian glimpsed her face. Just a flicker — but enough to send a violent shiver through his being.
It was as though a silent string, long dormant, had been plucked by the perfect note. As though destiny itself — that cruel, mocking weaver — had laughed softly, knowing this moment had always been inevitable.
Unbeknownst to him, Zhu Xian was looking at his daughter.
A daughter he didn’t know existed.
The child of a love buried under the weight of time and promises whispered in a place of despair.
She was the flower that had bloomed in the shadow of a lost love.
The daughter searching for her origin, unaware that it stood just across the hall.
And for the first time in his life… Zhu Xian felt fear.
Even without understanding why, an urgent, raw need bloomed inside him — a desperate pull to move closer, to reach for her.
An unbreakable bond.
Undeniable.
Irrefutable.
As if blood itself, upon seeing its reflection, had remembered what it was.