Yanwei didn't hesitate. From within his sleeve, he retrieved the pouch and placed it into the usher's waiting hands with a faint chime of shifting stones.
Two hundred middle-grade spiritual stones.
The usher blinked, fingers briefly tightening around the pouch as he weighed its contents with practiced touch.
"Sir… this is—" He paused, lips parting as if to say too much, but the words faltered. Two extra stones weren't extravagant, yet even among those affiliated with the Skyheart Enclave, a gesture like this spoke in layered tones. He settled for something safer. "—more than sufficient."
Yanwei leaned in slightly, his voice low and smooth.
"You've already forgotten my face."
The usher stiffened—barely a flinch, but enough. His breathing hitched for just a second.
"And," Yanwei added, "bring a woman to my room."
There was no need to explain further.
The usher understood. He had to. Even someone from a minor administrative line within the Enclave couldn't serve here without being sharp. Whether you scrubbed floors or arranged flowers, you were selected for discretion.
The meaning was clear: if someone came asking, no one knew who stayed in that room. No one had seen anyone enter. No one had done anything outside of routine.
And sure, it was a gamble. The Pavilion might frown on servants playing dumb with powerful guests.
But two middle-stage spiritual stones?
That was a price worth the risk.
The usher swallowed hard, but his voice didn't shake when he answered, "Yes, sir."
Then, with a practiced bow and no further hesitation, he turned and strode off, his movements now careful and precise—the pouch held close to his chest like it was proof of his silence.
Yanwei lingered a moment beneath the stairwell, gaze lifting toward the veiled balconies above. The array still shimmered faintly, veil-thin yet impenetrable.
Then he ascended—alone, composed, and invisible.
Yanwei stepped into Room Number Three. The moment the door closed behind him, the array sealed with a faint shimmer—no sound could pass beyond that veil, no prying sense could slip through its weave. Silence settled thick in the air, broken only by the soft crackle of the lantern flame set upon a jade sconce.
The room itself was simple, but refined. A low table rested at the center, upon which a tray of fruits had been arranged—glossy-skinned and faintly glowing with residual spiritual energy. Cushions ringed the space, padded with dense fiber that smelled faintly of lotus and sandalwood.
He didn't bother admiring the decor. With a slow exhale, he lowered himself onto a cushion and plucked one of the fruits—a moon peach, plump and cool to the touch. He didn't eat it.
Instead, his fingers turned it slowly in his hand, gaze distant.
If that servant dares break silence… I'll kill him.
It wasn't anger in the thought. Just fact. Like stating a weather change, or predicting that rain would fall from darkened clouds. No sentiment. Just certainty.
A silent vow—unwritten, unspoken, but understood. Breaking it was as good as stepping on a blade you thought sheathed.
Yanwei sighed.
"I've spent too much already," he muttered. "Two hundred for the room. Ten just to get in. Even gave him a tip."
His thumb paused against the peach's skin.
"No Rank 1 would spend like this. Not even the wealthy ones."
He leaned back slightly, letting the cushion catch his weight, and gazed at the lanternlight swaying on the far wall.
"But for my safety…" A faint smile ghosted across his lips. "It's worth every stone."
Because unlike fools who clutched their wealth until the moment of death, Yanwei knew that the right coin, spent at the right time, could turn fate itself.
He placed the fruit down again and closed his eyes, letting the silence settle deep.
There was still time before the auction began.
Time to think.
Time to wait.
A knock came—soft, polite, but deliberate.
Yanwei's eyes opened, lids lifting slowly like a curtain rising on a play he had already predicted.
He stood without a word and stepped toward the door. The array shimmered once as he unsealed it, and the entrance slid open.
Standing before him was a woman—mature, graceful, likely just under thirty. Her beauty was understated yet arresting, with a quiet confidence in the way she held her posture. Her hair was pinned up with a silver comb shaped like an orchid, and her robes clung loosely to her frame, dyed in the muted hues of dusk and plum. No rouge, no powder—just clarity in her gaze and a trace of something unreadable in her smile.
Beside her stood the usher from earlier. He offered Yanwei a quick nod, then leaned slightly toward the woman and whispered something, too soft to catch.
Whatever he said, she only nodded once in return.
Without further delay, the usher turned and disappeared down the corridor, his pace brisk.
Yanwei didn't look after him.
He simply stepped aside.
"Go in," he said, voice low, composed.
The woman entered, her movements smooth and soundless, like water poured over silk.
As she passed, Yanwei shut the door behind her, resealing the array. The ward flickered faintly, and the world outside vanished once again.
He returned to his place and sat back down onto the cushion without ceremony.
Then, without even looking at her, he spoke:
"Feed me."
His eyes closed.
He didn't move again. Not a twitch, not a glance.
Command given.
As if the room, the woman, the moment—none of it needed his attention anymore.
He had paid for silence.
And now, it was hers to uphold.
Thirty minutes had passed.
Yanwei remained seated, eyes closed, breath slow and steady. The cushion beneath him had barely shifted, and the woman he'd summoned earlier sat silently by his side, motionless as a shadow. She hadn't dared to disturb him—not even once.
Then, from beyond the array seal, distant murmurs began to rise.
At first, it was vague—a tide of voices bleeding through the spiritual warding. But soon, the noise sharpened: the layered buzz of a crowd reacting all at once. Dozens of men speaking at once. Hushed awe. Excitement.
Then came a voice.
A woman's voice.
Clear. Composed. Measured.
Like a chime struck by moonlight.
Yanwei's eyes snapped open.
He sat upright slowly, not startled—just… attentive.
With a quiet word, the array peeled away from his room's viewing screen, allowing him to observe the central stage below without being seen himself.
There, standing beneath the velvet-draped platform, was a woman unlike any he had seen before.
She was not beautiful in the typical sense—her features didn't align with the soft, painted ideals common among courtesans or noble daughters. No, her beauty came from something else entirely.
An aura.
A presence.
Her eyes were narrow and sharp, lined with subtle kohl. Her skin held the sheen of pearl in moonlight, and her lips were tinted in rosewood. Her garments were simple but immaculately tailored—black, deep green, and glints of gold embroidery tracing unknown runes. She looked like she belonged to a land far from any of the great sects. Somewhere older. Wilder. Not divine—but untamed.
Exotic.
That was the word.
Even among cultivators, who had seen spirits and beasts and beings far more enchanting, her presence pulled the room taut with attention.
And it showed.
The crowd erupted in voices.
"OHHHH—she's the one today?! She's really going to be the auction mistress?"
"No way—damn, she's even more stunning than last time!"
"Not stunning—alluring. It's different. She's got that thing, that charm. Makes you feel like she's speaking just to you."
Another voice—sharper, almost reverent—cut through.
"That's right! I saw her once—back in Autumn Market. I blew hundreds of spiritual stones just because she kept smiling at me. She knows how to hook a buyer without even trying!"
"She's not just pretty," another man added, breathless. "She's the Pavilion's top seller, isn't she? The one they always call when big things are being sold!"
A chorus of affirmations followed.
Yanwei didn't speak. His eyes narrowed slightly.
He watched the woman as she moved to center stage, lips parting to announce the start of the evening.
She didn't raise her voice.
But somehow, even the rowdiest cultivators fell silent—eager to listen, desperate to impress.
Yanwei tilted his head ever so slightly.
His lips curled into a smile.
"Interesting," he murmured.
Then he leaned forward, arms resting on his knees.
Tonight, it seemed, would be more entertaining than expected.