“Y—Senior Brother Yu?”

The four Heavenly Ascent Sect disciples at their seats stared, stunned, at Tianqi Yu standing in the corridor like a shadow drawn long by torchlight.

“Why’d Senior Brother buy that ugly coffin…?” the younger female disciple whispered, face wrinkling like she smelled damp mold. “It looks filthy and awful.”

“Uh… maybe he’s got his reasons.” The male disciple beside her frowned, doubtful thoughts drifting like fog. “At just a hundred crystal stones, it’s not worth fussing over.”

“This gentleman bids one hundred crystals,” the red-dressed hostess announced, small wooden gavel poised, her smile glazed bright as lacquer while she swept the room with a fox’s gaze. No one raised a hand.

“One hundred, once.”

“One hundred, twice.”

“One hundred, thr—”

“I bid five thousand.”

The calm voice rose from the first-floor bidders’ section like a pebble dropped in a still pond. The hostess’s hand paused mid-air, then her smile deepened, warm as silk.

“Bidder Ninety-Eight offers five thousand. Any higher?”

“Ten thousand.” Tianqi Yu didn’t even turn his head. His tone held steady, like iron beneath frost.

He’d seen this bamboo coffin in Netherworld City. Rare—one of those dead coffins sunk in the Stygian River. A coffin, yes, but “treasure” fit it better. He had watched a humble opener pry it wide, draw out a supreme legacy, and ride fate into immortality. Now, with such a coffin appearing in Netherworld City again, he would not let the chance slip, like water through fingers.

“Fifty thousand.” The same voice, flat as a blade laid on a table. Yu’s brows pinched tight, a thorn of familiarity pricking his mind.

Was it a mistake? He lifted his gaze, casual on the surface, and looked toward the sound. Four mysterious women sat together, gray veils like morning mist hiding their faces.

He couldn’t see their true looks, couldn’t confirm the woman his memory hunted. He drew back his gaze and cut in, cold as a bell struck in winter. “Five hundred thousand.”

Gasps rippled like wind through reeds.

“Is that kid insane!”

“It’s a busted bamboo coffin—who gambles that many crystals!”

“He ignored all the fine coffins and picks this wreck—what an idiot!”

“Five hundred thousand,” the voluptuous hostess purred, silver gavel glinting like a crescent moon. She fed the fire with her smoky charm and coy voice, stoking the room till talk crackled like dry tinder.

She’d been fretting how to move this broken coffin. Now two bidders saw a roadside scrap as a jewel, and her heart danced like a kite in spring.

At the Central Auction House, hosts took twenty percent of net profits after the sale. Higher totals, higher cuts; money flowed like a full river.

With the price whipped up to five hundred thousand, even a hammer-down here would bring her a handsome share.

“Five hundred thousand, once!”

“Five hundred thousand, twice!”

“I bid one million.”

What?!

The word slammed the hall like thunder. The red-dressed hostess froze. Cultivators rose to their feet, chairs scraping like startled birds. Madness—pure madness.

It was a ragged bamboo coffin. How could it be worth a million crystals?

“May I ask who this Daoist friend is?”

In the corridor, Tianqi Yu’s face clouded, dark as stormwater. Things had slid beyond his script; he’d thought the coffin his to pocket, and now an unexpected spoiler crashed the stage. How not to burn with anger?

“What’s wrong, Peak Lord Yu, don’t you recognize me?” The woman eased her gray veil aside, legs crossed with lazy grace, one hand propping her cheek, the other lifting her bidding placard. Her tone teased like a cat batting string. “I’m Azure An.”

“You again.” Yu’s eyes flashed like knives, cold biting to the bone. Killing intent boiled out of him, a black tide pressing at the walls.

She’d stolen two heaven-grade treasures, ruined his plans, and now pressed him over this coffin. What game was Azure An playing?

“Surprised to see me here, Peak Lord?” Nana Toki—Azure An—smiled with honey and thorn. “Well, I had no choice. I know some of your dirty secrets. You want me dead, and the mortal world’s too small to hide. So I came to Netherworld City to keep my head attached.”

Her effortless bluffing slid like oil. Yu felt his blood hammer at his temples, anger surging like boiling oil under a lid.

“Is that… Peak Lord Lan?”

“Didn’t the report say Azure An fled wounded toward Tianshan? How’s she in Netherworld City?”

The four Heavenly Ascent Sect disciples huddled and whispered, eyes glinting like sparrows watching a hawk. Whatever the details, they were sure she wouldn’t be hopping for long.

Their Senior Brother Yu had stepped into Golden Core, seventh tier, months ago. The dossier pegged Azure An at Golden Core, third tier. Seven versus three—the outcome was written like ink on paper.

“Sir in the corridor,” the hostess said, silver gavel firm, voice low as a warning drum, “please restrain yourself. This is Netherworld City, not the mundane. If you insist on a clash with the lady below, wait till the auction ends. Don’t put the house in a bind.”

Yu knew what hot blood cost. But letting her walk free churned his gut like grit in wine. Her claim about knowing his secrets lit a red lamp in his mind. This woman could not be allowed to live.

“Azure An, you shout a bid of one million. You’re merely Golden Core. Where would you get that many crystals?”

Eyes swung to Nana Toki like flowers tilting toward light. Even Nascent Soul elders might not have that much liquid wealth. She wasn’t even Nascent Soul—how not to doubt?

Netherworld City had rules for malicious bidding. Light: abolish cultivation and send you beyond the gates. Heavy: kill on the spot. The Central Auction House guarded its name like a blade; it didn’t waste time on clowns.

“Ha. Whether I’ve got that many crystals is none of your damn business.” Her voice rang clean, like porcelain tapped with a fingernail. “If I dare to shout, I’ve got my backing. You really can’t stand seeing me do well. Peak Lord Yu, your character’s as vile as ever.”

The four sect disciples watching: “…” In their hearts, the barb fit her better, a mirror catching her own smirk.

Whoosh—

Nana Toki flicked her sleeve. A small, seven-colored scale gleamed in her palm, light flowing over it like a rainbow poured thin.

“You allow barter here, right?” she said, calm as a lake at dusk. But when her eyes slid to Yu, they carried a playful hook. “I’ve got a legendary seven-colored Heavenswallow Serpent scale. See how many crystals it’s worth.”

“A seven-colored Heavenswallow Serpent scale?”

A collective hiss ran through the hall, like reeds shaken by a sudden wind. Tianqi Yu’s face went iron-black; he looked as if he’d leap across rows and throttle her on the spot.

That was a beast of legend. If her scale was truly from the Heavenswallow Serpent, crystals couldn’t measure it—value rose like the moon over the sea.

How did she get such a thing?

Yu’s expression shifted again and again, clouds breaking and knotting.

“Is that truly a Heavenswallow Serpent’s scale?” the hostess asked, excitement fluttering in her voice like a fan in quick hands. Her address slid from “young lady” to “Esteemed One.”

If true, trading it for this battered coffin would be profit pure and simple, like buying gold for clay.

“Genuine, no doubt.” Nana Toki glanced sidelong at the veiled “sister” beside her—the Heavenswallow Serpent itself—smiling like spring sunlight. “I picked it up in the Wildbeast Wasteland. If you doubt me, call an expert to verify.”

She owed her serpent elder sister for the favor, given on account of the Blue Magpie. Without that scale, winning the coffin might have been wind chasing wind.

“Then forgive my boldness, Esteemed One, may I borrow the scale for a look?”

Taking the seven-colored scale, the red-dressed hostess drew a steady breath, then clapped sharply toward the back.

“Uncle Sun, please examine this. Is it truly a scale of the fabled Heavenswallow Serpent?”