The dishes arrived without announcement.
Servants moved silently between the tables, placing shallow plates and lacquered bowls before each group. The food looked… understated. Steamed meats glazed with translucent sauce. Pale vegetables threaded with faint veins of light. Cups of clear liquid that caught the lantern-glow like glass.
Elder Syen's voice cut through the low murmur.
"Eat," he said evenly. "You'll want the energy."
Riven blinked, then glanced down at the plate in front of him.
He hadn't been particularly hungry.
Still, he picked up his chopsticks and took a cautious bite.
Something told him it would be better to comply this time.
The effect was immediate.
Warmth bloomed in his stomach, spreading outward in a slow, controlled wave. Not explosive like a pill. Not aggressive. Just… nourishing.
Spiritual food.
The realization landed with quiet weight.
Of course it was spiritual food.
Food that had nourishing qualities for one's qi.
Usually made from the bodies of strong monsters.
Riven ate a little more, slower now, attentive to the sensation. Around him, the others did the same. Even Ziren's posture eased a fraction as he swallowed.
The silence stretched.
Riven hesitated — then leaned slightly toward Elder Syen and spoke quietly.
"So," he murmured, keeping his voice low, "what is this really about? Why do we need the energy?"
He didn't expect an answer.
Syen hadn't explained anything yet. He'd barely spoken since they arrived.
He didnt expect that to change now.
But still.
He wanted to try.
And this time he got an answer.
But not from who he expected.
"Because you'll need to fight."
Riven turned.
Mei.
She was seated properly, hands folded, expression bright — but her eyes were sharp now, focused. Elder Syen glanced at her.
She tilted her head slightly.
"They should know," she said lightly.
Syen didn't object.
Mei continued.
"There's a grand auction in six months," she said. "You might have heard about it already. What you might not know, is who is behind it."
Riven frowned faintly.
What has that got to do with them fighting?
"We own the auction," Mei went on, "partly at least."
Mei continued smoothly, as if she were explaining the rules of a game everyone should already know.
"Not openly," she added. "Of course. To the public, the auction is neutral. Independent. A place where fortunes change hands and treasures surface by chance."
Her smile didn't reach her eyes.
"In reality, it's controlled from the shadows by four factions."
That drew Riven's full attention.
"Every major auction like this one has been," Mei said. "For a long time now. We decide what appears, who's invited, what stays hidden… and how the profits are divided."
Riven's fingers tightened slightly around his chopsticks.
"And this banquet—" he began.
"—is where that division is negotiated," Mei finished. "Or rather—earned."
She gestured subtly with her chopsticks toward the other tables.
"The four factions meet before every grand auction. Each time, we compete to determine the shares."
Ziren frowned. "Compete how?"
Mei's expression softened, almost amused.
"By fighting."
She glanced briefly at Elder Syen, then back to them.
"But it's not always the same. The last auction was fought by Inner Disciples," she said. "The one before that, by Core Disciples."
Riven knew where this was going.
"And this time?" Lara asked quietly.
Mei smiled.
"Outer Disciples."
Them.
She corrected herself."Well kinda. It's more like "newbies"."
A short pause as she glanced at Ziren and Riven. "Disciples who joined the sect within the last six months and haven't started at an advanced cultivation level."
Mei's words settled over the table.
But there was no outburst or anything.
To be honest, none of them were really shocked.
Uncomfortable, yes. Wary. But not surprised.
They hadn't been in the Venomthread Sect long — but long enough to understand one thing: nothing here was given freely. If you wanted something valuable, you fought for it. Sometimes openly. Sometimes in ways that didn't look like fighting at all.
And if that meant fighting for the sect occasionally.
Then they would do that.
It wasn't like they had much of a choice to begin with.
Lara broke the silence first. "You could've told us earlier."
Mei didn't bristle. If anything, she looked apologetic.
"We wanted to," she said. "But this whole thing is sensitive. Very sensitive. If even a rumor leaks, the balance shifts. So the fewer people who know ahead of time, the better."
Mei spread her hands slightly, palms up.
"Plus your elder here isn't exactly the talkative type."
She glanced sideways at Elder Syen.
Syen looked back at her.
He didn't refute it. Didn't correct her. Didn't even sigh.
He simply accepted it.
Riven's gaze lingered on her a second longer.
Who was she?
She knew too much. And more importantly—she was far too casual with the elders.
Mei didn't seem to notice his scrutiny. Or maybe she did, and simply didn't care.
"As for who we're up against," she continued lightly, as if discussing the weather, "it's these three."
She lifted a hand and pointed, one by one, toward the other groups gathered across the platform.
"The Black Widow Pavilion," she said first, indicating the group with the tall, thin elder in muted bronze robes.
"They favor curses, bindings, and methods that take time to bloom. If you feel fine during a fight with them—check again later."
Her finger shifted.
"The Graveweaver Court. They work with remnants, death-aspected qi, and corpses. I personally hate dealing with them."
Then the last.
"And the Silk Dominion," Mei finished. "They specialize in control, contracts, and finances. Don't try to compete outside of the ring."
Riven frowned faintly.
Black Widow. Graveweaver. Silk Dominion.
All spider-related.
The thought slipped out before he could stop it.
"…They're all spider sects."
A soft chuckle cut through the space.
The tall elder from the Black Widow Pavilion stepped forward, hands clasped loosely behind his back. Up close, his presence was heavier than it had seemed from afar—thin, yes, but coiled, like something that struck when you forgot it was there.
"An astute observation," he said pleasantly. "Allow me to answer that."
His gaze swept across the assembled disciples, lingering just long enough on each face to be uncomfortable.
"It's because while we compete now," he continued, "we all originated from the same faction."
A ripple of surprise passed through the younger cultivators.
Riven's eyes widened slightly.
Same faction?
The elder smiled thinly.
"Long ago, we were one sect. One doctrine. One web."
He spread his fingers slightly, as if letting threads slip between them.
"Differences in philosophy led to separation. But not hatred."
He paused, voice cooling just a touch.
"So I don't want to see any unnecessary casualties today."
Riven blinked.
That was… unexpected.
He'd fully assumed casualties were part of the deal. In the sect. In the trials. In anything involving cultivators fighting for profit.
The elder's smile sharpened.
Besides.
That elder hadn't seemed so nice before.
"At least," he added mildly, eyes flicking sideways, "three of us share that origin."
His gaze landed, unmistakably, on Elder Syen.
"One faction joined the web a little later, didn't they?"
Nevermind.
The air tightened.
Elder Syen stepped forward half a pace, his expression darkening by a fraction.
"That's enough," he said flatly. "Save the history lesson."
The bronze-robed elder chuckled again, retreating without protest.
Syen's gaze swept the platform.
"Let's stop talking rubbish," he said coldly.
"And begin with the fights."