The echo of the one-million bid still lingered in the auction hall, a heavy silence stretching taut like a drawn bow. This was no longer a simple auction. It had become a silent war.
“Who made that offer?” murmured an envoy of the Jin Lan Empire, his brows furrowed as his sharp gaze swept over the mist-shrouded private booths.
One of the Dou Wang elders, hair the color of tempered steel and eyes like darkened blades, spoke without moving his lips.
“It wasn’t a noble. They would’ve announced themselves, flaunting their name. Whoever it is… they’re hiding for a reason. And that makes them dangerous.”
Elsewhere in the hall, the delegation from the Yun Lan Sect stirred uneasily. Nalan Yanran, seated in a modest side booth, turned her head, her voice calm but edged with curiosity.
“One million… without hesitation. Who desires that pill so much… and why?”
Su Loon, one of the sect’s senior elders, crossed his arms, his gaze sharp.
“Either an alchemist… or someone protecting a beast. The pill is useless otherwise, except for those seeking to refine beast lineage.”
Yanran’s lips pressed into a thin line. A name surfaced in her mind, one whispered during past missions. Zhu Xian. The man said to be protecting the exiled princess of the Serpent Tribe.
“What if… it’s him?” she murmured.
The elder shook his head.
“He wouldn’t risk coming here. Not so close. Not so recklessly.”
But Yanran’s sharp eyes didn’t waver.
“Aside from him, who else would spend so much for a Transformation Pill?”
Her gaze settled on the mist-wrapped booth of deep blue jade.
Zhu Xian, meanwhile, sat in perfect stillness.
He did not raise his voice.
He did not increase his bid.
But he did not retract it either.
At the center of the stage, the auctioneer smiled faintly beneath the veil, a predator savoring the tension.
“One million gold coins… any counteroffers?”
A hand lifted —calm, steady— from the Jin Lan delegation.
“One million, one hundred thousand!”
Another sharp voice rang out, this time from the Izumo Empire.
“One million, two hundred thousand!”
Zhu Xian didn’t even blink.
In his mind, Die Ba’s face floated before him —her quiet strength, her unwavering dignity, her hope. He knew what had to be done. Even if this bid burned his cover, even if this entire fortress turned against him, he had already decided.
“I have to do this,” he whispered under his breath. Then, aloud —his voice steady, cold, but carrying like thunder:
“One million, five hundred thousand.”
The room froze.
It wasn’t loud. But it carried weight, a steel edge that silenced every whisper.
And in the highest booth of the hall, the young girl with hair as white as moonlight —his daughter, though neither knew— felt something crash inside her.
Not fear. Not shock.
Something deeper.
A vibration that trembled through her veins, as if some dormant string had been struck and now hummed inside her, soft but relentless.
Her porcelain-pale fingers curled slightly against the edge of the jade railing. Her breathing slowed, her heart pounding with a rhythm she could not understand.
Beside her, a smooth but sharp voice broke the silence.
“Sister Yuning…” Nalan Yanran leaned closer, her lips curving into a subtle smile. “What do you think? Could it be the guardian of the fugitive princess who placed that bid?”
Zhu Yuning didn’t answer immediately. Her deep blue eyes —cold, still, like frozen lakes in winter— stayed locked on that misted booth. Something about that voice…
Finally, her reply came —serene, yet with a faint crease in her brow.
“Maybe… If it really is him, then he’s taking an enormous risk being here. But… I wouldn’t be surprised.”
She turned to her younger sect sister, a rare certainty lighting her gaze.
“When this auction ends, we go straight to the City Lord’s mansion. I have a feeling… after this, chaos will follow.”
Yanran blinked, caught off guard by her elder sister’s tone —a tone that carried quiet authority. Zhu Yuning, only sixteen, already handled the Yun Lan Sect’s strategic missions. Her calm and strength commanded respect, even from seasoned Dou Wangs.
Yu (玉) —the purity of jade.
Ning (凝) —the stillness of a storm yet to break.
But in that instant, as the sound of that unfamiliar voice echoed through her, a tremor stirred deep inside.
Then —a spark.
A memory.
Not an image… but a feeling.
Her own voice, younger, soft and trembling, echoing in her mind:
“Mother… where is my father?”
The vision came unbidden —her mother, Yun Yun, seated by the white lily pond, gazing at the sky. Her expression quiet, serene… but shadowed by an ache too deep for words. She never answered. Never once. She would only brush Yuning’s hair, her touch warm yet distant, and turn her face away.
Yuning remembered those years of silence. Of unanswered questions. Of searching for truths buried in shadows.
And now, here… her heart trembled again.
A weight pressed in her chest —dense, unfamiliar, suffocating.
For one fleeting moment, she almost forgot where she was, swallowed by the tidal wave of unspoken questions.
But the hammer fell again.
BANG.
The auction surged forward, and the war of wills only sharpened.