The auctioneer let out a slow, inaudible sigh.
She hadn't moved. Hadn't blinked.
Only now did she realize she'd been holding her breath.
To the crowd, the battle was over.
Room Number Three had won.
But to her?
She wasn't so sure.
Because when cultivators of this level—those with names tied to deeper roots and shadows—clashed so quietly, so coldly… it was never just about spiritual stones or treasures.
It was always a prelude.
A warning.
Then, with practiced grace, she straightened her posture.
The ripple of tension was still there—lingering in the air like static—but she did what all veterans of this job learned to do:
She reset.
Expression calm. Eyes bright.
Her voice rang out with renewed cheer, as if the pressure of the last bid had never happened.
"Now then! I'm sure many of you have been waiting for this next item!"
She raised her hand, revealing a transparent orb-like case, within which three small, glimmering pills rested. Each one exuded a soft golden sheen that pulsed faintly—almost like a heartbeat, alive with energy.
"This," she announced, her voice rising with clear excitement, "is a set of Profound Meridian Pills! Only three available!"
A subtle hush swept through the crowd.
"I'm sure all of you are already well aware—these pills are used to assist cultivators in breaking through to Rank 2. Just one of them could be the key to crossing that bottleneck you've struggled with for years."
A beat of pause—then her smile widened.
"The starting bid is one thousand small-grade spiritual stones!"
The reaction was immediate.
"Two thousand!"
"Three thousand!"
"Three thousand five hundred!"
"Four thousand!"
The venue burst into life again—an uproar of voices overlapping, spiritual stones flying like storm-tossed waves, each shout more aggressive than the last.
"Five thousand!"
"Seven thousand!"
"Nine thousand!"
"Ten thousand!"
And then—
"Ten thousand five hundred!"
The voice was firm. Loud. Final.
For a moment, the venue stilled.
But the auction wasn't over. Not yet.
Then, with practiced grace, she straightened her posture.
The ripple of tension was still there—lingering in the air like static—but she did what all veterans of this job learned to do:
She reset.
Expression calm. Eyes bright.
Her voice rang out with renewed cheer, as if the pressure of the last bid had never happened.
"Now then! I'm sure many of you have been waiting for this next item!"
She raised her hand, revealing a transparent orb-like case, within which three small, glimmering pills rested, each one exuding a soft golden sheen that pulsed faintly like a heartbeat.
"This," she announced with clear excitement, "is a set of Profound Meridian Pills! Only three available!"
A beat of pause—then her smile widened.
"The starting bid is one thousand small-grade spiritual stones!"
The reaction was immediate.
"Two thousand!"
"Three thousand!"
"Three thousand five hundred!"
"Four thousand!"
The venue burst into life again—an uproar of voices overlapping, spiritual stones flying like storm-tossed waves, each shout more aggressive than the last.
"Five thousand!"
"Seven thousand!"
"Nine thousand!"
"Ten thousand!"
And then—
"Ten thousand five hundred!"
The voice was firm. Loud. Final.
For a moment, the venue stilled.
But the auction wasn't over. Not yet.
…but it was to Yanwei.
Inside Room Number Three, the atmosphere remained still.
Yanwei didn't speak. He didn't move.
But behind that stillness, his mind stirred.
He knew.
There were eyes on him.
Not the harmless stares of curious bidders—but heavy, pointed ones. Eyes that pressed from afar, belonging to names just as deep as his own. Tyr, perhaps. Or even Velurya.
He exhaled slowly, then turned his head slightly toward the woman beside him.
His voice was calm, but it carried weight.
"Do you have a backdoor in here?"
She jolted—caught off guard. A flicker of surprise rippled through her expression, as though she'd just realized who had spoken to her.
Her breath stilled.
Then she quickly bowed, deeply.
"I'm… not sure, Young Master," she said. "But I can ask the manager."
Her bow was low.
Not just polite—submissive.
After what she'd just witnessed, how could she treat him otherwise?
This wasn't someone to offend.
And Yanwei—
He didn't answer.
"His gaze drifted, unhurried, toward the three private rooms—Yuze's, Velurya's, and Tyr's."
He could feel it. That pressure. That cold presence.
They were still watching.
Still gauging.
And though the bidding war had ended—to him, the true game had only just begun.
…
The woman didn't wait for Yanwei's order and quietly left the room.
The eyes that weren't locked on the bidding—the ones from those who weren't making offers for the pill—were all fixed on Yanwei's room.
Because everyone was waiting—waiting to see who would step out of Room Three—the moment she appeared, all those gazes snapped to her like predators hunting for any scrap of information about the person inside.
Their attention shifted away from the auction item.
Their gazes locked onto her, analyzing every movement, every detail.
Yanwei, meanwhile, took advantage of the distraction.
He quickly changed his attire, tearing a robe and wrapping it around his face as a crude disguise.
While the crowd—including Tyr and Velurya—remained fixated on the woman, Yanwei suddenly kicked open the door and dashed out toward the pavilion's exit.
Tyr's expression twisted in shock, muscles tensing as if to give chase, but he hesitated.
Velurya was equally stunned—she hadn't expected Yanwei to leave so abruptly, his actions seeming driven by fear.
Only one voice echoed through the venue, dripping with teasing mockery:
"Don't try it, meathead, or else someone might just bid for the thing you want~~~"
The entire hall fell silent.
Tyr's humiliation was palpable. Yanwei had caught him off guard again, disappearing before he could even glimpse a part of his face.
The door slammed shut swiftly behind Yanwei.
And once again, Tyr was left humiliated, unable to pursue the man who moved as if chased by a monster two major levels above him.
But it wasn't just Tyr who was caught off guard.
Everyone was.
The figure who had just clashed so coldly, so confidently, had vanished without a trace. To Tyr, Yanwei seemed like another calculating mastermind. But to the rest of the crowd?
He was nothing more than a coward.
A dog that barked too loudly—only to flee the moment the beast stirred.
To them, the main character of tonight's stage had lost all dignity. The one who once stood untouchable, now slinked away without even showing his face.
A loser.
Well… not that Yanwei cared for their opinions.