BOOM!
The auctioneer’s hammer struck the stage, its deep echo rolling through the vast hall like thunder. The sound ripped Zhu Xian out of his thoughts, dragging him back into the now.
Seated high above in his private cubicle —a chamber of deep blue jade veiled by a misty haze— his silhouette blurred with the shadows, sharp golden eyes quietly surveying the hall below like blades of obsidian.
Across the floor, the other bidders had begun to settle. Imperial envoys in ceremonial armor. Diplomats from smaller sects. Lone cultivators, their faces hardened by years of blood and fire.
At the center of the grand auction hall of the Celestial Star Pavilion, the master of ceremonies appeared —a hooded figure, clad in a crimson robe embroidered with threads of spiritual silver. Their voice, sharp and clear as crystal bells, cut through the lingering hum of conversation.
“Let the auction… begin.”
A subtle pulse of spiritual energy rippled through the hall as the first item was carried forward on a tray of pure white jade.
A crimson sphere hovered in the air, rotating slowly, pulsing with fiery light that throbbed like a heartbeat.
“First item: Spirit Core of a Crimson Flame Lion Beast, Class 4, pure fire affinity. Ideal for cultivators walking the fiery path. Opening bid: fifty thousand gold coins.”
The bids exploded like a sudden storm.
“Fifty thousand five hundred!”
“Sixty thousand!”
“Sixty thousand two hundred!”
Zhu Xian didn’t move. His gaze remained sharp, reflecting the glow of treasures paraded before him, but his mind stayed fixed, unwavering.
The second item followed —a long, dark-golden scale etched with natural runes.
“Scale of the Golden-Blooded Serpent, Class 5. Essence traces of draconic lineage. Excellent for refining the Imperial Resilience Pill. Starting price: one hundred thousand gold coins.”
The air vibrated as offers clashed, sharp and relentless. Greed flashed in the eyes of many; sweat glistened on brows. Men trembled, desperate for power they could almost taste but had never known.
Then came the third: a pale root, its surface alive with frozen streaks of lightning.
“Fallen Sky Root —formed where celestial lightning met earth essence. A key ingredient for the Grade 5 Spiritual Reinforcement Pill.”
Zhu Xian didn’t blink. His senses remained razor-sharp, but his will was immovable. He knew what he was here for.
And then… silence.
The master of ceremonies spoke again, but this time, reverence laced their voice:
“The next item…”
The lights dimmed as attendants carried forward a box of black obsidian, reinforced with three spiritual seals. It landed upon the central pedestal with a soft, resonant thrum.
With a sharp click, the seals unraveled.
Inside, a single pill floated.
Small, no larger than a fingernail. Perfectly spherical. Its surface was wrapped in a faint violet mist that moved with a will of its own, light dancing within like stars imprisoned in glass.
“The Transformation Pill,” announced the auctioneer, their tone solemn. “A Grade 6 alchemical treasure, rare even among the elites of the continent. Its function: to transform the physical form of a magical beast into a humanoid shape —without loss of essence, without degradation of bloodline.”
A hush fell over the hall.
Even those of high status —the silent bidders, cloaked in power— leaned forward ever so slightly, attention sharpened like drawn blades.
“Opening bid: five hundred thousand gold coins.”
“Five hundred thousand fifty!” shouted someone too eager, his voice cracking with desperation.
“Six hundred thousand!” barked an elder from the Izumo Empire.
And then—
“One million gold coins.”
The voice was deep. Cold. Unwavering.
The hall froze.
A million. For a single pill.
Even among treasures of the highest grade, that number was audacious. Gasps rippled across the tiers. Eyes darted to one another, searching, questioning.
Who had that kind of wealth?
Who would spend it so recklessly?
From within his mist-veiled cubicle, Zhu Xian remained still. Silent.
No one recognized his voice.
But his resolve burned like tempered steel.
This pill… will be hers. For Die Ba.
The auctioneer tilted their hooded head, a faint smile curling beneath the veil.
“One million gold coins… Any other bids?”
Silence.
The kind of silence that precedes a storm.