The silence after the sale of the Transformation Pill was thick, almost reverent. Every bidder guarded their thoughts like sheathed swords, aware that in that hall, battles were not fought with blades but with power, influence, and gold.
But the auction was not over yet.
The auctioneer, still hooded, struck the gavel once more. This time, his voice carried a different tone —not solemn, not aggressive, but expectant.
“Ladies and gentlemen cultivators,” he announced. “Before we close tonight’s auction, we have one final surprise. An item that was not included in the original catalog… but has been brought here by an anonymous benefactor, straight from the Fallen Iron Mountains.”
Every gaze lifted.
“A movement technique. Earth rank. Lower class.”
The atmosphere tightened like a bowstring on the verge of snapping.
The pedestal flared with light, revealing an ancient scroll sealed with five concentric rings of energy, each spinning in opposite directions. The aura it released was sharp, fleeting —like the whisper of the wind just before a storm.
“Its name is Steps of the High Winds Sparrow. Designed to maximize evasion, speed, and aerial combat. Even cultivators attuned to earth or water have shown partial compatibility. It is… unique.”
A sharp exhale rippled through the hall. It wasn’t just desire. It was hunger.
Earth-rank techniques —even lower-class ones— were rare beyond the great sects. Many in attendance had never seen one in person. Its value wasn’t only in its power, but in what it represented: advancement, status, survival.
“Starting price: one million gold coins.”
“Two million!” shouted a middle-aged cultivator wearing the robe of a minor sect.
“Three million!” barked a female Dou Wang from the Jin Ma Empire.
“Four million!” growled another, his voice strained, sweat glistening on his brow.
The bids climbed like a sudden storm.
“Five million!”
“Six million!”
“Seven million gold coins!”
The tension was palpable. Some were panting, others slammed fists on tables, the spiritual energy in the air growing restless and unstable. The smaller sects couldn’t afford to keep up, but their delegates refused to back down, desperation flaring in their eyes.
Then, a calm, feminine voice rose from a private booth:
“Ten million.”
It was Zhu Yuning.
All eyes turned toward the Yun Lan Sect’s reserved platform. The insignia of the sect glimmered faintly behind her, casting a quiet, imperious glow.
“Ten million five hundred thousand,” snarled someone, teeth clenched.
“Twelve million,” Yuning countered, her voice icy and unwavering.
No one dared to raise the stakes further.
The auctioneer raised the gavel slowly, his gaze sweeping the room.
“Anyone else? One last chance?”
Silence.
“Sold, to the representative of the Yun Lan Sect!”
BANG!
The echo of the gavel felt heavier than ever. Not only because of the sum spent, but because of what it represented.
The Yun Lan Sect had secured an Earth-rank technique. And not just that —they had demonstrated dominance, openly, in front of empires, sects, and clans. Many understood the message for what it was.
Zhu Xian didn’t react. From within his private booth, he merely watched Yuning. Something in her steady gaze told him this girl hadn’t just claimed a rare technique —she had claimed leverage.
And outside… the consequences of this auction were only beginning to take shape.