The swell of voices surged like a tide, rising higher with every portrait that passed from hand to trembling hand. Gasps, laughter, curses—all tangled together into a restless din that filled the narrow street.
Shi Yang let it build. He did not shout, nor gesture, nor need to lift his chin. He only stood in the doorway of the Glory Clinic, teal robes hanging loose from his broad shoulders, his long hair shifting gently in the cool autumn breeze. The calm weight of his presence pressed against the crowd until voices faltered, until whispers frayed into silence.
Only then did he move.
His hand slid into his sleeve and withdrew a narrow bamboo slip, polished smooth from long use. With a flick of his wrist, he snapped it open. The faint scratch of stylus against surface filled the quiet as he wrote in steady, bold strokes.
When he spoke, his voice was even, carrying without effort.
"Breast Crafting," he announced, each syllable precise. "Starting bid: eight copper."
A ripple coursed through the crowd, sharp and immediate.
"Eight copper?" someone scoffed, half-laughing, half-hungry. "A charlatan's price!"
"Cheaper than a single night with a courtesan in the red pavilions!" another shot back.
But there were sharper breaths, too—men glancing sidelong at one another, shame and desire warring plainly in their eyes. Their fists tightened around the crude sketches Xiu Mei had handed out, jaws clenched with something dangerously close to longing.
Han Jie leaned over the railing, her crimson veil shifting as she smiled with sweet, taunting confidence. "Honored daoists, do not falter. A single night of wine and song fades with the dawn… but beauty such as this?" She lifted a hand and gestured toward Xiu Mei, who thrust her chest forward once more with a smug curl to her lips. "This endures."
A reluctant, undeniable murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.
And then, finally—
"Eight copper," a voice called from the back. A fair-looking cultivator, cheeks flushed, raised his hand. His companions jeered, laughing and clapping him on the shoulder, but his eyes did not leave the clinic's doorway.
"Ten copper!" another voice shot back almost immediately—older, harder, the tone of an inner-court disciple in silken robes.
Laughter choked off as the crowd leaned in; tension thickened like smoke.
Shi Yang's lips curved faintly. His brush hovered above the bamboo slip, ready to record the first bid of the day. He smirked, then glanced at the two small pillars of his plan.
This was the right decision, he thought. Not only can I make a steady income, but in a world starving for women, demand is high and supply is low.
One of his old fears had been that if Han Jie or Xiu Mei's secrets were discovered, powerful cultivators or hidden factions would try to steal them. Now that fear eased. If he spread the rumor of feminine company across the town, the temptation to hunt them would be diluted—and the clinic would do more than pay the bills.
Bids rose: "One silver… two… three… six!" The numbers churned in like a tide. Why turn predators toward his women if he could scatter desire across the market instead? It was productive and it increased his bargaining power.
He glanced at the powdered-faced man who'd just bid an amount greater than a servant's monthly wage. "Five silver—going once, going twice," Shi Yang intoned with a theatrical bow. "It seems our patron at the front has won today's first bid." He smiled at the new customer.
If I can carve a name for myself, he told himself, future moves will come easier. I'll build connections, grow my status, feed them the lie of "reforming" the female sex. Then, once I reach Core Formation, I'll push the narrative of crafting artificial wombs—whether it's true or false won't matter. What matters is that it takes root in the open.
That would make his existence unshakable. After all, even if he were to die one day, those who struck him down would find no peace—they would still have to answer for destroying the only cultivator who sought to forge a new path for humanity's generations.
Shi Yang tapped the bamboo slip with the tip of his stylus. "Five silver, then. Our esteemed guest has claimed the first bid of the day." His tone was smooth, neither mocking nor obsequious, but it carried the quiet satisfaction of a merchant who knew the value of his goods.
He turned his head slightly. "Han Jie."
The patron watched as the veiled woman inclined her head, eyes glittering through the crimson silk. She floated down from the railing like a petal drifting on the breeze, skirts brushing lightly against the clinic's steps. Her smile deepened as she stepped before him and inclined her waist with practiced grace.
"Honored customer," she said sweetly, "if you would follow me…"
The man—flushed with the unease of being seen—nodded stiffly and followed her into the Glory Clinic.
Inside, the waiting hall breathed of sandalwood and faint herbal smoke, quiet enough to soften the roar of the market outside. The floor was lacquered wood, swept to a sheen, and silk partitions broke the chamber into intimate corners where patients waited. Latticed windows let in pale autumn light, enough to paint soft shadows across the walls.
Han Jie guided the patron to one such alcove. Two figures already sat within: young "women" in simple garments of silk pants and shirts, their faces rounded and gentle, their figures unmistakably feminine. They glanced up at the new arrival with bashful smiles, their breasts pressing softly against the fabric as though to emphasize the very work that had brought them here.
The patron faltered mid-step, eyes widening as recognition struck. "You… you're—"
The shorter one giggled, ducking her chin with girlish modesty. "Daoist Shi's hands are divine, are they not?"
The other touched her sleeve with a tender, self-conscious motion. "We were as plain as reed stalks before. Now…" Her smile bloomed, equal parts pride and disbelief.
The patron swallowed, the shame and awe battling across his features. He sat heavily beside them, leaning closer as if to assure himself their flesh was real. His voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "And… it truly endures?"
The shorter woman laughed again, soft and breathy, as though the question itself were foolish. "It endures."
Han Jie let the moment breathe before offering him a cup of herbal tea. "Patience, honored guest. Daoist Shi will see you in turn."
Outside, the crowd had not thinned. If anything, the bidding fever had grown sharper, whispers of the first purchase igniting fresh desire. Shi Yang let them stew in it before he lifted his bamboo slip once more.
"Feminization," he declared calmly. "Starting bid: five copper."
The numbers came fast, sharper now: a dozen voices layered atop one another, copper discarded like pebbles, silver flashing like blades. By the end, the crowd had pushed it to three silver.
He let his brush fall. "Three silver, sold."
Not a heartbeat later, he snapped the next slip open. "Fat Distribution. Starting bid: five copper."
It rose slower than the last, though envy burned bright in the bidders' eyes. Two silver.
And then—Shi Yang smiled faintly as he set the stylus poised over the bamboo once more—
"Complete Body Refinement," he said, every word crisp, weighted. "All three procedures in one. Starting bid: one silver."
The crowd stilled for a beat. Then it erupted. Voices clashed, silver stacked upon silver, rising and rising until the air itself trembled with the desperation of wannabe courtesans—who wanted to undergo his procedures to snag better duel cultivation partners—bidding beyond their means. When the dust finally settled, the last cry was not silver but gold.
Shi Yang dipped his brush, recorded the name, and snapped the slip shut.
"One gold," he said, his voice even. "Sold."
As the bidders muttered and shuffled, Shi Yang tallied the numbers in his mind with mercenary precision.
Five silver from Breast Crafting.
Three silver from Feminization.
Two silver from Fat Distribution.
One gold from Complete Body Refinement.
A total of one gold and ten silver.
His lips curved as he slipped the bamboo slips back into his sleeve.
This was only the profit of the fifth day.