The chains bit into his wrists as they hurled him down the narrow stone corridor. The air reeked of sweat, smoke, and rot, carrying the sharp tang of fear. Linhuan's boots scraped against the uneven floor as he stumbled toward the cell that would hold him until the auction began.
"Move faster, wretch!" a guard spat, jerking his chain. "You think we'll wait for you to die of hesitation?"
From the next cell, a woman screamed, a raw, high-pitched shriek that cut through the corridor like a knife as the assaults rained on her.
"Quiet, or I'll make you eat your tongue," another guard barked, slapping her across the face.
Linhuan's figure was forced to move ahead, his eyes sweeping the walls. Iron bars clanged, wooden doors shook with blows, and somewhere, a bell tolled hollowly, announcing the night's first sale.
Behind each barred door, humans were crammed like animals, some crouched in corners, others tied upright, faces pale and glistening with sweat.
A man pressed against the bars, whispering to the one beside him:
"They say the next batch goes to the northern nobles. If you move wrong, you'll be the one on the stage."
"Does it matter?" the other hissed. "At the end of the day, each of us will be sold. If not, the nightmare will only worsen."
From above, a guard swung a whip lazily across a man's shoulders. A muffled grunt, then a yelp. Linhuan caught sight of a boy, maybe twelve, clutching the edge of a cot, eyes wide. "Please… not me…" he whispered.
One of the older captors barked orders to another: "Keep that corridor clear. No one near the stage until the masters arrive. Move!"
"Do we really have to chain them all?" a younger guard muttered. "Half of these are barely breathing. They wouldn't even have the strength to think about escaping."
The senior guard sneered. "Don't get fooled by their pitiful faces. It's all an act. The moment they get even a slight opening, they'll try to flee. You certainly don't want to risk that, right?"
Linhuan's jaw tightened. His chains rattled as he walked. He felt the tension in the air like a living thing, wrapping around each of the humans labeled as 'goods'—fear, despair, and greed feeding each other in a pulse.
A girl sobbed somewhere behind him, thin silk clinging to her small frame. He glimpsed her as the guards shoved her toward the stage, her eyes glassy, lips trembling.
From a side door, a man's voice barked: "Back! Back! Fall into line according to your badges. No one moves forward until their turn."
"Do you hear that?" another whispered to a prisoner standing out of line. "Why are you still here?! Go and stand in the second last spot!"
Every corridor was lined with traps: heavy iron doors, locks that required two men to turn, guards perched on wooden balconies, eyes trained like hawks. The ceiling hung low, lanterns swinging, throwing harsh shadows across the terrified faces. The hall was a fortress; every inch designed to prevent escape.
Linhuan was pushed into a small cell, the floor rough beneath him, chains clinking as the door slammed shut. The sound echoed like a death knell. Around him, prisoners whispered to each other in hushed tones, voices carrying fear and desperation.
"They say those so-called masters take the prettiest first," a woman muttered.
"You don't want to imagine what happened to them," a man hissed. "Better to be unattractive and invisible to their monstrous eyes."
From above, a guard kicked a man who tried to stand. "Sit! Or you'll sleep on the floor forever!"
Linhuan dropped to his knees, letting his shoulders slump. He didn't need to speak or resist. His eyes drifted over the cages, the trembling figures, the guards who laughed at every scream. Every sound, every movement, every cruel act—it all painted the living nightmare that was the black market of Yanfeng.
And yet, he was invisible, fortunately.
He could see the patterns, the timing, the weaknesses in the guards' movements, but none of it mattered. Not tonight. Not yet. He would survive, because the one who hunted him did not know what he looked like now, did not see him hiding behind shadowed walls and a ragged tunic, silver-violet sigil and orbs masked under the spell, leaving only dirt and shadow on display.
A bell tolled again. The auction was about to begin. The screams rose, the chains rattled, merchants whispered, hags licked their lips in anticipation. Linhuan waited, silent and still, knowing that his survival depended on being nothing—on being unseen, on being bought like all the others.
The hall itself was a cavern of shadows, lanterns swaying from iron chains and casting harsh light over polished wooden planks. The stage in the center gleamed under dozens of lamps, a cruel spotlight on the trembling human goods displayed like prized hunting dogs.
Linhuan remained backstage, chained and silent, eyes scanning. From his corner, he saw the second-last girl for the day pushed forward. Barely eighteen, the thin silk robe clung to her like a second skin, carefully arranged by her captors to fetch the highest price.
Her lips trembled, eyes darting between the crowd, as old hags and lecherous merchants leaned forward, claws and hands poised.
"Four hundred taels of silver," a coarse voice called. "Look at the fresh and untouched virgin beauty of heaven! A direct feast to the eyes! Gentlemen, bid your prices!"
"Four hundred and fifty taels!" another yelled, waving a pouch.
The auctioneer's voice rang loud, rehearsed, precise: "Four hundred and fifty taels! Do I hear five hundred?"
The murmurs and clinking of coins swelled into a chorus. Fingers jabbed at the girl's robe, tugging at the thin fabric, inspecting, whispering evaluations. Some older women licked their lips, comparing notes.
"She's delicate, but strong enough for… proper training," one hissed, nudging a man beside her.
"Worth more than five hundred, I'd say," he murmured, eyes scanning her form.
Linhuan's hands clenched beneath the sleeves of his ragged tunic. Every instinct screamed at him to act, to break free, to strike down every hand reaching for her. But his body remained still, head bowed.
He had long abandoned heroics; survival meant invisibility.
Then the hall quieted slightly as a new figure stepped into the light—appearing more like a cultivator. Plain obsidian robes, neat and clean, hair tied in a ponytail, carrying a heavy pouch. The man came forward and bid the highest of the day,
"Five hundred and sixty taels of silver...I'm taking her. Free her right now."
The auctioneer's elated voice boomed, repeating the price three times. When no one interrupted, the girl was sold to the cultivator, leaving others grumbling in jealousy.
He gestured lightly, and a servant stepped forward, hands carrying pouches of silver. They stopped, eyes flitting to the chained figure on stage.
"Free her," he repeated, voice restrained with silent fury.
The seller, greedy and flustered, hurried to remove her shackles. The girl's eyes blinked at him in shock and shame. The young cultivator draped an outer robe over her trembling shoulders and lifted her from the stage with the gentlest of hands, guiding her down to the floor.
The crowd murmured and hissed, envy and disbelief mixing with fascination as the figures departed together.
Linhuan's chest tightened. He dared not watch too closely. A flicker of relief passed—at least she would not fall to the hags, at least for now.
Then it was his turn, the last 'item' of the night's auction.
Chains clinked as he was dragged forward. Lean, upright, disciplined even in rags, he was a perfect specimen for labor or guard duty—a human commodity. The labels outside the cell—"Strong Male, 25–30"—were apt.
The auctioneer called out in a rehearsed way:
"Two hundred taels of silver, and you can own this strong slave for any sort of labour! Don't hesitate, bid your price!"
Linhuan's eyes stayed low. He did not acknowledge the murmurs, whispers, or greedy glances. Each one noted his build, posture, aura—as if he had no consciousness, dignity, or identity.
"Three hundred taels of silver!" one rich merchant's arrogant voice echoed.
The auctioneer smiled, pleased.
"Anyone who would want to bid higher? Three hundred taels, I repeat—"
"Four hundred taels of gold!"
A servant came forward, bidding on behalf of his Master, who elegantly took his seat near the stage. Tall, muscular, draped in vibrant yellow, blue, and jade green robes adorned with glittering gemstones, long black hair half tied and half falling down his back. His eyes, black beneath a crimson veil, scanned the hall.
The auctioneer wavered. "How much again?"
"Four hundred taels of gold," the servant repeated, cutting through the tension.
The hall froze.
Four hundred taels? Of gold? For a slave like him?
Gasps and snickers rose. An elderly man who had held the previous highest bid gaped, shaking his head. "Three… three hundred? This boy must be mad—or foolish beyond measure!"
The auctioneer stammered, "Four hundred taels… are you certain, Sir?"
The veiled figure smiled faintly under the veil, frost-covered gaze sweeping across the hall.
The servant interjected, "Why are you asking so many times?! Don't make my Master wait!"
The auctioneer stammered, "My apologies! Slave no. 368, sold for four hundred taels of gold! Congratulations to the Young Master!"
The veiled man rose, circling the stage, footsteps slow and deliberate, surveying his goods. His frost-colored eyes bore down on Linhuan who refused to acknowledge him.
The general's head dropped instinctively, nerves screaming danger, yet the man standing in front of him felt strangely familiar.
Another servant approached with pouches of gold but halted at the man's signal. The seller, desperate, hurried to unchain Linhuan, jerking him to his feet before accepting the heavy pouch, nearly stumbling.
Linhuan tried to step forward but his frozen legs staggered and his body lost balance. He shut his eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable fall and pain which never came.
Instead, what he felt was the sudden crushing weight of strong arms wrapped around him, lifting him as easily as an infant.
"Put me down," Linhuan's eyes shot up, teeth gritted, feet kicking, body struggling—but the man's grip was iron.
Unaffected by the dozens of eyes staring in shock, he shifted Linhuan in his arms with deliberate ease, cradling him like a bride. His voice traced the sensitive ears of Linhuan softly,
"One wrong move, and I could throw you over my shoulder—right in front of everyone. Let them witness exactly what claimed ownership looks like. Do you perhaps prefer that?"
The general froze, chest tightening, feeling a thread of fear he hadn't known in years. He was carried out in this indignant position.
The hall's chaos faded, leaving only the rhythm of his own pulse and the cold certainty of the man's arms. The servant trailed behind, riding with the horses as he was stuffed inside the lavish carriage.
Linhuan was dropped onto the floor. His eyes darted around the not so-conjusted space.
The veiled figure sat above him, calm and unreadable, eyes never leaving Linhuan's even for a second even though the man refused to meet his gaze.
Linhuan felt the prick of real unease, instinctively sitting up straight and bowing his head slightly, waiting for the the man to speak his intention.
But what he said next was enough for snatching all the breath from Linhuan's lungs, his nervous eyes glanced up for the first time and successfully caught the sinister look in the man's eyes,
"Welcome home ... Shizun."
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To be continued...