The hall slowly quieted after the uproar of the last bid. Attendants moved swiftly, carting the Zephyr Songbird's cage toward the rear where the refining cauldrons waited, its jade-tipped feathers still shimmering with faint azure as it gave one last shrill cry.
Shi Yang leaned back in his seat, calm as ever, though Little Yoke practically quivered with excitement on Xiu Mei's lap, its tiny claws kneading against her robes.
The auctioneer raised his hand again, and servants rolled another cage forward. This time it was not of iron or wood but of living vines, woven tight and humming faintly with spiritual energy. Inside, a faint green glow pulsed like a heartbeat.
The vines shifted, and a delicate figure fluttered into view—no taller than a handspan. A pixie, its skin pale as new leaves, its wings translucent and veined with emerald light. The creature pressed its tiny hands against the bars of its cage, a soft chime echoing like wind through reeds whenever it moved.
"A Wood-Affinity Forest Pixie," the auctioneer declared, pride warming his tone. "Mid-stage Qi Refinement. Rarely found outside ancient groves. Starting bid: five mid-grade spirit stones."
The hall stirred. Pixies were unusual—spirit beasts more often tied to scholars and alchemists than warriors. Their essence was known to harmonize with plant-based formations and medicines, making them highly sought after for refinement.
Shi Yang's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of recognition in their depths. His hand brushed the paddle, and he channeled a strand of Qi into it.
"Five," the auctioneer echoed as the number appeared.
Xiu Mei blinked at him, brows rising. "Uncle Shi… wood? Why are you bidding on this? Your Dao is water."
Han Jie's frown mirrored hers. "You told us before you specialized in water-path. What use would you have for a wood spirit beast?"
Shi Yang only smirked faintly, tapping a finger against his leg. "Water feeds wood. The Sheng Cycle isn't just for theory—it's a ladder. I believe my next Dao is wood, and when this pixie is refined into a pill, it may become… very useful."
The two exchanged looks, but they didn't argue.
Almost immediately, other paddles lit up across the room.
"Six."
"Seven."
"Eight."
The glowing numbers rippled in quick succession. Shi Yang leaned back, unfazed, and raised his paddle again. "Ten."
The auctioneer's eyes gleamed as he announced, "Ten mid-grade spirit stones from the young master on the left."
Another voice cut across, calm but firm. "Eleven."
"Thirteen."
"Fifteen."
The bids rose swiftly—there were clearly more alchemists, healers, and opportunists in the crowd than fighters. The value of the pixie's wood essence was well-known, and many cultivators hungered for it.
Shi Yang's gaze sharpened. He tapped the paddle once more, letting a stronger current of Qi surge through it.
"Twenty."
The number shimmered brightly, drawing murmurs of surprise. The bidding had jumped in an instant, and now eyes began to turn toward him again.
Xiu Mei smirked faintly at his side, whispering, "You're not holding back at all tonight."
Han Jie muttered, "At this rate, everyone here will remember your face."
Shi Yang only smiled, his voice quiet but resolute. "Let them."
The bidding war for the wood pixie stretched on far longer than most had expected. The tiny creature flitted nervously within its cage, wings shimmering with emerald light as though aware of the greedy gazes fastened upon it.
"Twenty-six," Shi Yang called without hesitation.
"Twenty-eight!" another cultivator countered immediately.
"Thirty!"
The numbers climbed with sharp intensity. The hall buzzed with excitement—after all, wood-path beasts were far rarer in this region than earth or even wind. Each flicker of green light from the pixie's wings seemed to draw in more hungry bidders.
Shi Yang, however, remained calm, resting his paddle lightly on his knee, lips curling with the faintest trace of amusement.
"Thirty-five."
"Thirty-seven!"
"Thirty-nine!"
Finally, as if cutting through the noise with a single slash, Shi Yang lifted his paddle once more.
"Forty."
The number glowed brightly on the face of his paddle, drawing a hush over the hall. The opposing bidders hesitated, their confidence shaken. The cost had already gone far beyond what most thought the little spirit could be worth. Slowly, one by one, the paddles lowered.
"Sold!" the auctioneer declared, striking his block. "Forty mid-grade spirit stones, to the honored guest below!"
The pixie's cage was wheeled away to join the other captured beasts in the refining chamber.
Shi Yang leaned back slightly, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.
The auction carried on. A few more earth-path beasts were brought out—thick-shelled beetles, a burrowing badger with stone-crusted claws—but none of them drew much interest from Shi Yang's group. Their buyers savored their winnings. Soon, the first batches of refinement were carried out from the back.
Attendants in fine robes returned with trays of jade bottles, each sealed with fresh talismans. Those who had purchased the earlier earth-path beasts eagerly collected them and departed, clutching their prizes with a mix of relief and pride.
Shi Yang's gaze sharpened as another servant approached their row. The man bowed and extended a jade bottle forward, the faint scent of clean air wafting from within.
"Five Zephyr Pills, refined from the Songbird."
Shi Yang accepted the bottle without ceremony. Popping the seal, he tipped it lightly, revealing five small, pale-green pills that glimmered faintly like condensed breezes.
Without hesitation, he plucked one free and pressed it gently against Little Yoke's mouth.
The cub sniffed, then swallowed it obediently. Almost at once, its fur rippled faintly, as though caught in a phantom wind. It let out a low, eager growl, curling closer against Shi Yang's arm, eyes alight with newfound energy.
Shi Yang slid the rest of the bottle into Xiu Mei's hands. "Hold these for Yoke. They're his."
She nodded, tucking the jade bottle carefully into her sleeve, her lips curving faintly as she stroked the cub's head.
Not long after, the attendants wheeled another cage to the center. Inside, a sleek blue-scaled serpent coiled gracefully, water-like sheen flowing across its body. Droplets of condensed mist clung to its coils, dripping occasionally onto the cage floor and vanishing before they touched the ground.
"Aqua-Thread Serpent," the auctioneer announced with visible satisfaction. "Mid-stage Qi Refinement. Its essence is rich with water-path origin, highly suitable for cultivators of the water Dao. Starting bid: five mid-grade spirit stones."
Before Shi Yang could even move, Xiu Mei leaned forward in her seat, her grip tightening around the paddle. Her eyes glimmered with rare intensity as she whispered, "I want that one."
"Is that so? Then I'll bid for it," he replied lightly, just as the auctioneer called out the opening price and the battle for the serpent began.
"You're the best, Uncle Shi," Xiu Mei said, settling back in her seat with a smile.
"It's nothing. This money isn't mine anyway," Shi Yang murmured. He turned slightly toward the quiet Han Jie. "Oh, by the way, Han Jie—what exactly is your Dao? From your lightning techniques, I figured it might be metal or fire. Or maybe it's something else, and the lightning comes only from formations?"
As he spoke, he lifted his paddle. A glowing "7" appeared across its surface.
Han Jie shook his head calmly. "My Dao is fire. Most of my lightning is a variant Dao born from it. Though you're right—I've used formations to amplify its potency." He paused, as if remembering something. "Didn't that enforcer ask us to bring back two sets of pills?"
"But how are we supposed to know which Dao they cultivate?" Xiu Mei frowned.
Shi Yang tapped his paddle against his knee, expression unreadable. "I think I know, but I'm still weighing whether it's worth it. I probably should, though. If we take their spirit stones and deliver nothing, they'll have a valid reason to come after us."
"That could be considered a legitimate crime," Han Jie agreed. "It's safer to buy what we can for them, then drop the items at the clinic before we leave."
"Exactly," Shi Yang said, raising his paddle once more. "Eighteen mid-grade spirit stones!"
The number flashed.
The rival bidder across the hall grit his teeth. "Nineteen!"
Shi Yang countered without hesitation. "Twenty."
The crowd buzzed. The serpent, coiled and gleaming within its cage, hissed faintly as though sensing its value rise higher and higher.
"Twenty-one!"
"Twenty-two!"
"Twenty-three!"
At last, Shi Yang leaned back, his voice calm but decisive as he raised his paddle again.
"Twenty-four."
The rival cultivator faltered. His hand hovered over his paddle, but finally dropped it to his side with a frustrated scowl.
"Twenty-four mid-grade spirit stones!" the auctioneer declared. "Sold!"
The cage was wheeled away, the serpent's misty coils vanishing into the back chambers to be refined.
Xiu Mei exhaled softly, relief in her eyes. Little Yoke shifted in her lap, tail flicking as though it too shared in her satisfaction.
The auction rolled on. After the serpent was wheeled away, attendants brought forward several more cages—each holding wind-affinity beasts.
First came a pair of feathered hawks with talons sharp enough to shear steel, their wings stirring faint breezes as they screeched at the crowd. Bids rose and fell quickly, claimed by merchants who clearly intended to refine them into speed-enhancing pills.
Next was a sleek fox with pale fur that shimmered like drifting clouds. It prowled within its cage, tail lashing, every movement leaving faint ripples in the air. That one fetched a heavy price before it too was carted to the back.
Then the hall stirred as servants struggled forward with a reinforced cage lined with multiple suppression talismans. Inside, the air buzzed angrily.
A hornet the size of a hound clashed against the bars, its translucent wings vibrating so rapidly the sound drilled into the skull. Its body gleamed with black chitin streaked in toxic green, and a long, needle-like stinger flexed with every twitch.
"The Poisonwind Hornet Queen," the auctioneer declared with pride, his voice steady despite the menacing hum filling the hall. "Late-stage Qi Refinement, peak of its realm. Barely half a year old, yet already matured to this strength. Its venomous wind is said to corrode both flesh and spirit alike."
Gasps ran through the seats. Even some of the cultivators in private rooms above leaned forward, shadows flickering across their gazes.
Shi Yang's eyes narrowed slightly, though not at the hornet itself. Instead, his mind drifted.
Spirit beasts… so strange when compared to cultivators. We gain years with every step forward, but they? Their lifespans remain the same until they reach a great threshold. Breakthrough Foundation, and only then do they claw for centuries. Core Formation, Nascent Soul—each grants them a lesser shadow of the longevity humans take for granted.
His fingers tapped idly against his knee. This is the rule of beasts. The old records say that long ago, humans, beasts, and even the so-called barbarians shared one ancestor in this realm. Heaven itself split three paths for them, offering choice but demanding price. If you craved power, you would forsake life. If you wanted life, you would forsake power. And if you sought both… you would be hated by the world.
Humans had chosen longevity. That choice paved the way for cultivation, and for the eventual mastery of the elements, as they strived for paths that stretched life across centuries.
Spirit beasts had chosen power. So they gained their claws, their wings, their sharper senses—they ruled land, sea, and sky. But they burned bright and short, their lives cut unless they shattered through natural limits into realms that begrudgingly extended their years.
And then there were the barbarians, who had sought both. They were given long life and powerful bodies, yet cursed with dim wits, fractured Dao affinity, heavenly tribulations far harsher than humans or beasts, and bloodline sicknesses that gnawed at their flesh. Each barbarian carried their own form of suffering, a price etched into their marrow.
Shi Yang's lips curved faintly, though no warmth touched his eyes. Heaven's gifts are never free. Everything has its weight.
The hornet slammed itself against the cage again, venomous wind hissing through the bars as talismans flared to hold it in check. The crowd leaned forward, tension palpable.
"Starting bid," the auctioneer intoned, "ten mid-grade spirit stones."
The hall stirred as paddles lifted in quick succession.