The auctioneer's words had barely left his lips before the paddles rose like a wave.
"Eleven!"
"Twelve!"
"Thirteen!"
The hum of the hornet's wings seemed to feed the frenzy, each shrill vibration stoking the greed in the hall.
By the time the price reached ten mid-grade spirit stones, a sharp shift came. The common cultivators lowered their paddles, glancing warily at one another. The hall grew tense as the glow of numbers no longer came from the seats below—but from above.
The private rooms.
Shi Yang's eyes flicked upward, just briefly. Silhouettes lingered behind thin screens, their Qi pressure faint yet suffocating. So, the true players finally join the board.
"Enough with mid-grades, I'm bidding twenty high-grade spirit stones!" one voice called from the left-side chamber.
Another responded smoothly, "Thirty."
The old auctioneer's voice rang clear, but his knuckles were white where they gripped his block. "Thirty high-grade spirit stones! Do I hear higher?"
The number leapt. Forty. Fifty. The atmosphere thickened with every increment, cultivators whispering furiously among themselves.
Then, from the largest private room directly above the stage, a calm, resonant voice spoke as if stating a trivial fact:
"Ten top-grade spirit stones."
The hall went utterly silent.
An expert in the top booths smirked faintly. Finally tired of the children's games. That was the equivalent of a hundred mid-grade stones—twenty thousand gold. In the past, such a sum could buy out villages or topple small clans, but here it was tossed as pocket change.
The silence stretched, broken only by the hornet's venomous hum. No one below dared move.
From the right-side chamber came a counter. "Fifteen."
Then another: "Seventeen!"
The number climbed like a mountain scaled by only the fearless. By now, only three private rooms remained in play, their invisible occupants trading blows with wealth alone.
Shi Yang leaned back, fingers drumming idly on his knee. To him, this was no longer about the hornet—it was theater. A chance to measure the depth of the pockets hidden in this provincial town.
Finally, after half an incense stick of furious back-and-forth, the dominant voice from above cut through.
"Fifty top-grade spirit stones."
Gasps rippled through the hall, cultivators clapping hands over mouths as if to trap their disbelief. Fifty top-grade spirit stones. A hundred thousand gold. For a hornet barely half a year old.
No reply came. The other private rooms fell silent, their challengers conceding without another word.
The auctioneer's hands trembled as he struck the block.
"Sold! Fifty top-grade spirit stones!"
The attendants bowed deeply, moving with near reverence as they rolled the reinforced cage away, the suppressing talismans burning brighter than ever.
Shi Yang's eyes lingered on it for a moment before sliding shut as he exhaled softly. This is the true might of foundation realm experts—to have accumulated not only knowledge, but wealth and status over thousands of years. Yet, without backing, they remain nothing more than big fish trapped in a small pond.
Unlike those who had clung to their sects' thighs and earned the chance to leave this world for better realms. A low chuckle escaped his lips. No matter how fierce you all try to look, in the end you're nothing but sect rejects with mediocre talents.
His fingers tapped against his knee. That's what makes me different. I've only been in this world for a few days, and I've already surpassed my predecessor by leaps and bounds. And eventually, I'll surpass everything in this world as well—etching my name into history.
Shi Yang's thoughts simmered, but he let the noise of the hall fade into nothing. The murmurs of awe, the rustle of robes, the faint creak of paddles lowering—all of it was dust to him.
He straightened slightly, the faintest curl at his lips. Enough of this circus. If I waste any more time staring at others flaunting their coins, I'll stagnate. What I need now is clarity. My Dao.
Turning his head, he extended his hand. A faint shimmer pulsed across the stone surface of Miren's storage ring, while he pulled it off, catching the glow of lantern light. He flicked it toward Han Jie, who caught it with practiced ease.
"Take it," he said, voice low but steady. "Buy two earth spirit beasts—high-grade. One aligned to water for me, and another for yourself. Whatever suits your Dao best."
Han Jie blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard. "You're giving me full authority to—"
Shi Yang waved his hand dismissively. "I trust your better judgment. Just wake me up if something important happens."
He didn't wait for further words. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and folded his hands together, his breathing steadying until the chaos of the auction seemed to part around him.
The faint pulse of his Qi rose and fell in rhythm with his chest, threading through his meridians like a silent river. The lights of the auction hall dulled to him, and the shouts of bids became muffled echoes as he sank inward.
He once again reached the core of his spirit sea. This time, he wasn't standing upon the blood river of before. Instead, a dense forest spread out in every direction, the canopy so thick it swallowed the light above. Towering trunks lined his path, their roots knotting and twisting through the earth like living veins.
At the heart of the forest, he stopped. Between two ancient trees—massive, gnarled, their bark scarred by countless seasons—was a gap. Nestled within it, almost imperceptible, was a small door. Its wood was worn smooth, etched with faint, arcane patterns that pulsed faintly in the dim forest light. The door exuded a presence, as if it guarded a secret too precious to be disturbed.
Shi Yang crouched, inspecting it closely. Locked.
No matter how he pressed, pushed, or channeled his Qi against it, the door refused to yield. Yet when he applied a careful push, the hinges groaned in protest and the tiniest creak split the stillness. From the crack, a soft current of energy spilled outward—verdant and alive, like sap running through veins. Threads of green light wove into the air, curling around him, fragrant with the scent of fresh wood and leaves.
The Wood Dao…
It was faint, barely a trickle, but enough to make his spirit stir. He lowered himself before the door, crossing his legs and folding his hands in meditation. His focus tightened, Qi weaving through his body as he reached for the currents flowing from the gap.
Even the smallest breath of this Dao carried potential. He absorbed it patiently, letting it thread into his meridians, building slowly like a river filling its bed. The forest seemed to respond to his presence—the trees leaning closer, the leaves rustling in subtle applause, as though the door itself was testing his resolve.
So this is the threshold. I cannot pass yet, but even a trickle is enough. I'll cultivate from it until the lock finally breaks.
Shi Yang exhaled softly, closing his eyes. Around him, the gap between the trunks hummed faintly, the arcane etchings shimmering with each pulse of his spirit. Every moment spent here strengthened his connection, and the Wood Dao, elusive yet insistent, began to seep deeper into him.
But this does show that my thoughts about the Sheng Cycle were true, as my secondary Dao is more than confirmed to be wood. If I follow it, my next element should be fire.
He exhaled, then opened his eyes. "Then where is my entrance to my fire inner world?" He looked around and only saw the forest, and heard the streams of blood. Then—
Rumble.
The clouds thundered, a strike of lightning descended, and disappeared into the forest. Water supports wood and wood supports fire. Is my next element going to appear when lightning strikes these great trees?
Shi Yang sat cross-legged on the damp soil, thoughts swirling. Or has it already been born somewhere deeper within? If that's the truth, then why not look around? I wonder what would happen if I awakened three Daos, even if they were only embers…
He hesitated. I could move and search for it, but what if that makes me lose the opportunity right before me? What if the door shuts, and I can't open it again? His gaze drifted to the trees.
A sudden breeze swept through the forest, rattling branches and sending leaves into a restless dance.
That's it.
He didn't need to wander. He could be like the branches themselves—firm, bound to their trunks. No matter how the wind tugged, they clung to their lifeline. They grew leaves to drink the sun's rays, siphoning nature's treasures in silence and abundance.
Right now, the door was his trunk—his lifeline. And he was the branch, striving for chances. His spirit was the leaves: some to bear, some to sever, all for the sake of growth.
I need to let go…
His breathing slowed. His spirit-sea body grew hollow, lighter and lighter, until the weight of his thoughts faded into nothing.
Time slipped away. Rain fell, the wind howled, clouds shifted, night came. Flowers folded and storms raged. Rivers roared, then quieted as dawn pressed against a gray sky. The petals opened once more. Through it all, Shi Yang remained still, until finally—
A single leaf detached from its branch, spiraling down.
Shi Yang's spirit stirred, and something within him opened to the world.
"I did it," he whispered. His inner body rose from the soil, while his physical form remained seated below.
"And I can feel… a thicker connection to my Wood Dao, threading through my meridians." He flexed his hand, feeling faint streams of green light hum against his veins. "It's not much. I doubt I could even release it as a proper sneak attack. But it's something."
His brow furrowed in thought. What should I even call this? My body is still there—so should this be my inner body? Or spirit body, since I'm inside my spirit sea? And this form… my inner-spirit body?
He shook his head, letting the thought drift away. "Doesn't matter. What matters is what else this place hides."
Shi Yang turned, feet carrying him deeper into the forest. The light dimmed as the canopy thickened, until a flicker ahead caught his eye. Firelight.
He stepped closer and found a group of primitive figures gathered in a clearing—cave men with crude clubs and rough hides, their faces painted in ash and dirt. They encircled a tree, its trunk split and smoldering, struck down by lightning. Flames licked its branches, and beneath it, pinned by the burning weight, a sabertooth tiger thrashed.
The beast roared, muscles straining as smoke rose from its fur. The cave men shouted, throwing stones and brandishing their weapons, fear and awe mingling in their cries.
Then, with a violent heave, the tiger tore itself free from the flaming trunk. Embers scattered into the air as the beast rose, fangs glinting. Panic spread. The cave men broke and fled in all directions, their cries scattering into the night.
Shi Yang's vision blurred—then snapped. He looked down and found his hands were no longer his own. Coarse, scarred skin. Fingers wrapped around a crude stone club. His chest heaved, his breath heavy and primitive.
I… am inside one of them?
The sabertooth's eyes locked onto him, golden and murderous, as his new body tensed instinctively to fight or flee.