The auction fell into a sharp silence when the muscular cultivator collapsed, Han Jie's hairpin buried clean through his neck. Blood pooled on the street beneath him, iron-heavy in scent, yet no scream rose from the crowd. Only the faint hiss of whispers passed between sleeves, eyes sharpening but feet unmoving.
Shi Yang's heart hammered in his chest. He had seen blood before, yes—but not like this. In his past life, death had always been distant, reported on TV or carried in family gossip. Here, it was a woman's hand shifting slightly, a golden glint of a hairpin, and a man simply ceased to be.
His face twitched, but he forced his breath steady, acting as though he too was unmoved. After all, no one else leapt up in horror. Instead, the surrounding cultivators simply reclined further in their seats, gazes weighing Han Jie with newfound caution.
Han Jie herself adjusted the fold of her pants as though she had merely brushed away a strand of hair. She hooked Shi Yang's arm and pulled it over her shoulder, her smile thin and playful, eyes gleaming cold. "Five silver," she said sweetly, her voice carrying clear as a bell through the auction house.
The dolled-up man in the back stiffened, the fan in his hand trembling ever so slightly. The death of his companion had not earned her even a reprimand. Worse—no attendant from the auction interfered. This was the rule here: strength set the price.
The auctioneer's throat bobbed as he coughed lightly, forcing his composure back into place. "Ten silver bid! Do I hear eleven?" His staff tapped the floor once, and the attendants dragged the corpse off with practiced indifference.
The auctioneer slammed his staff again. "Ten silver—sold!"
The handlers moved quickly, iron prongs glinting under the sun as they forced the snake man's jaw open. The creature hissed and thrashed, its forked tongue lashing against the air, but the restraints held firm. The auctioneer gestured sharply, and one of the men wedged a steel wedge between its teeth while another brought down a hammer with measured precision.
A crack echoed through the streets, one after another.
But the collective gasps of the people only followed twice.
Instead of ordinary venomous fangs, out of the dozens pulled, two glimmering crimson fangs clattered onto the tray laid out below. They pulsed faintly, as if blood still flowed through them, each tooth glowing with a baleful light like embers waiting to bite into flesh.
"C-Crimson Serpent Fangs?!" one of the handlers stammered, stepping back as though burned.
The crowd erupted instantly—shouts overlapping, cultivators all trying to get a better view.
"That's a core-grade material!""Refined properly, even a mortal blade could drink blood like a spirit artifact!""One fang alone could buy land—two? Heavens, they'll profit tenfold! Even if both of them can't enter the tournament—"
The auctioneer's staff slammed down, silencing the clamor. His voice cracked with strain as he tried to maintain order. "As per the rules, the lot belongs to the buyer! These fangs are yours!"
The tray, now glowing with sinister red light, was carried toward Han Jie with trembling hands.
Han Jie's lips curved into that crescent smile again. She lifted one of the fangs delicately, holding it up to the lantern's glow. The light refracted off its surface, painting her pale cheek in a dangerous hue.
She turned to Shi Yang, placing the other fang into his palm. "See, brother Shi? Luck favors bold hands."
Her voice was sweet, but the weight of the fang was heavy, almost humming with venomous power, as if daring him to test its bite.
The streets, however, remained in an uproar. Dozens of greedy eyes still burned holes into their backs, restrained only by the auction's rules and the lingering chill of what Han Jie had done moments ago.
"Indeed it does," Shi Yang agreed softly, though a sliver of doubt lingered. Was it truly luck… or had he stumbled upon a hidden protagonist in disguise? He decided to wait and see if her fortune would hold. "We still have plenty of silver. Do you want to explore the market more, or gamble it all here?"
Han Jie smiled, her lips curving with quiet confidence, then glanced toward the auctioneer as the staff rose again. Her pupils narrowed, her eyes already set on the next target. Getting Shi Yang five more teeth should cheer him up a bit, she thought, looking at the man who stirred a strange guilt in her stomach even though she hadn't done much wrong.
Why am I acting like a lovesick puppy? she sighed inwardly. I've lived through entire empires, entire eras, killed, saved, and broken many hearts. Yet…
When Han Jie looked up at him, her breath would always hitch and her pulse quicken after his claims during the end of her dance.
He turned to face her, and she felt butterflies. Has the heartless Thunderstorm Sovereign fallen so low? she asked herself, her head tilting forward again as she returned her gaze to the auction.
"Next item, starting bid at two silver!" the auctioneer announced.
Her arm lifted with no hesitation. "Three silver."
Heads turned sharply. The entire hall seemed to tense, cultivators clutching at their purses as though to shield them from her audacity. Then, almost begrudgingly, others began to bid.
"Four silver!""Five!""Six!"
The tempo rose quickly, the air tightening with greed and competition. Han Jie countered each one with a calm, unwavering voice, pushing past eleven silver before a richer cultivator in embroidered robes eyed the prize and lazily raised his hand.
"One gold."
They froze.
Then, with a predatory smile, the man lifted his fan. "Two gold."
Another followed suit. "Two gold? Ha, I'll bid five!"
The crowd erupted again, and the price surged past three gold in a matter of breaths.
Han Jie's hand, still poised in the air, finally stilled. She smiled faintly, accepting defeat with grace, and lowered her arm.
From the stage came gasps once more—the handlers pried open the jaws of another serpent, and instead of two fangs, five crimson teeth gleamed beneath the lanterns, glowing like drops of solidified blood.
Whispers rippled through the crowd, yet Han Jie's expression remained calm, almost amused.
Just then, the cultivators who had outbid the rest with a staggering twelve gold stepped to and from the dais. Instead of leaving with his prize, he walked directly toward Shi Yang. The crowd murmured, parting slightly as the man approached with measured steps.
The man was strange. Despite his wealth, he walked with unrefined swagger, torn blue robes, and a smile.
His eyes flickered with familiarity, and stopping before Shi Yang, he cupped his hands in greeting. "Uncle Shi… it has been centuries. Who would have thought fate would let us meet again so soon?"
Shi Yang stiffened. Uncle? Who is this? Do I have a nephew in this world? Panic crept in. He hadn't expected this. He looked at the younger face before him, trying to see if it could trigger something he could latch onto.
Should I pretend I'm someone else? he thought. Han Jie was staring at him now as his mysterious nephew stood waiting for a response.
For a heartbeat, he only stared—until buried fragments of memory stirred like roots breaking through stone. He remembered. Three hundred years ago, as the original Shi Yang of this world meditated beneath a roaring waterfall, a mortal child would come to him every year, challenging him despite being swatted aside again and again. For six long years, the boy returned, unyielding.
And just before Shi Yang finally left the waterfall behind, the child had stood soaked and shivering in the spray, his voice hoarse yet unwavering. "Someday, whether it takes a hundred or ten thousand years, I'll fight you again."
Shi Yang's eyes narrowed, the image of that boy overlapping with the man standing before him.
His doubts about Han Jie flickered. Perhaps she wasn't the protagonist of this tale after all. Perhaps… he had just stumbled upon the return of that boy who once swore to stand before him again.
For a moment, a name whispered at the edge of his mind—Xiu Mei.
Soft, delicate, like the petals of a plum blossom. It was strange, that in this sea of faces and endless years, the memory of such a feminine name lingered. He had thought it lost to dust and time. Yet now, seeing this figure before him, it returned with a clarity sharp enough to cut.
He finally nodded, feigning nostalgia.
"Fate truly is a fickle thing…" he murmured, letting a sigh slip through. "Who would have thought that mortal from back then would become a cultivator such as yourself?"
He gave a quiet laugh, shaking his head.
"This is nothing, Uncle Shi," the youth replied, addressing him with familiarity. "I have only broken through the Middle Stage of the Qi Refinement Realm."
Shi Yang was unsurprised. Everyone else from that era had long perished, dying a mortal's death. Survival itself was proof enough of uncommon strength. But that did not mean his nephew was weak—or equal to the countless mediocrities of the same realm.
There were thousands of variables that determined victory between cultivators of the same stage. The only clear advantage came when one had stepped beyond their opponent's realm entirely.
"Don't belittle yourself," Shi Yang said, his tone light but edged with truth. "To have lived three hundred years and to stand here before me—your talents already set you a cut above the rest."
"You flatter me," the young man replied, bowing as if to accept the praise. His eyes lifted, however, sharp with intent. "But… if I may ask, Uncle—have you wandered here for the same purpose as I?"
Shi Yang studied him for a breath, and the other spoke the words directly:
"The tournament…" He paused, then added quietly, "or perhaps…"
The silence that followed was deliberate.
His nephew smiled, taking it as confirmation. "Uncle, don't tell me you still enjoy playing in waterfalls at your age~"
Shi Yang's lips twitched. The hell is he talking about? Did I truly stumble on the protagonist this time? Or is this just Han Jie's 'luck' dragging me into such encounters?
He stared at the youth, his thoughts running deeper with every breath.
Finally, he allowed himself a faint smile. "I would not mind reliving old memories… if it is with Heaven's chosen."