The noise of thousands of cultivators died against the thick glass of the Supreme Private Chamber. The interior smelled of hot tea, sandalwood, and a humid, musky heat that clung to the throat—the result of the intimacy the group maintained far from the market's eyes.
In the center of the space, Zhì Yuǎn rested in the solid mahogany armchair.
Yù Qíng was reclined against the side of Zhì Yuǎn's chest, her small body nestled into the arm of the seat. Her vitality had recovered, but she made not the slightest move to pull away; she kept her head buried in her husband's gray tunic, absorbing his heat with a possessive laziness.
The position left the middle of the seat and Zhì Yuǎn's legs entirely free. Taking advantage of this opening, kneeling on the carpet between the man's knees, Bái Wǎn kept her head lowered over his crotch. Her husband's tunic was parted at the bottom, and the soft mouth of the former scholar enveloped his hot flesh with slow deliberation, swallowing the shaft and gathering the lingering nectar in calm, steady suctions. The wet sound of her tongue and the heat of her breath kept the air in the room dense and stifling.
Near the glass, Mò Yán observed the movement on the opposite side of the hall.
"Qīng Yǔ and Huáng Bìyù have occupied the imperial private chamber," the diplomat reported, her tone practical and observant. "The charisma of the two is obvious. Even the elders of the greater clans pay attention to them, and the heirs of the sects can barely take their eyes off that private chamber. They are the center of attention tonight."
On the side divan, Yù Méi clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, leaning her head back against the wood.
"Idols of mud and clay."
Settled between her husband's legs, Bái Wǎn interrupted the movement of her mouth for a few seconds. She slowly raised her face, licking the corner of her wet lips, and smiled gently.
"Don't worry, Méi," the girl's sweet voice sounded calm and perfectly devoted. "Soon they themselves will be idolizing our god, won't they, Eldest Sister?"
Yù Qíng let out a low laugh against Zhì Yuǎn's tunic, approving the observation without changing position. Bái Wǎn tilted her head forward again, parted her lips, and returned to swallowing her husband's member, letting the muffled sounds of suction fill the back of the room.
The wooden door opened with a soft click. Mèng Lián entered in silence.
The change brought by the Primordial Qi Zhì Yuǎn had injected into her chest had wiped away any trace of fatigue or imperfection from her skin. Mèng Lián now appeared as a young woman in the peak of her twenties, displaying a face of impeccable symmetry and a milky, natural glow without the slightest need for makeup. Under the tight carmine silk that wrapped her body she radiated a sinful tone, with a silhouette that competed directly with Mò Yán's.
Since her appearance in the Bifront Empire a year ago, the leaders of the great sects and hegemonies—and even the patriarchs of the Huánglóng and Qīngluán clans—had competed for her attention with daily offers of dowries and alliances. She had become the most sought-after fairy of the current world.
Yet the woman who made the elite of the world salivate took three steps inside, immediately folded her knees on the carpet, and pressed her forehead to the floor, prostrating herself like a slave at Zhì Yuǎn's feet, showing not the slightest strangeness at the scene before her.
"The hall is full, my Lord," Mèng Lián's velvety voice sounded submissive against the floor. "The ginseng root lot has just been sold. The stage awaits your orders."
Zhì Yuǎn did not look away from the glass. He kept one hand stroking Yù Qíng's black hair at his side, while the other descended to rest on the nape of Bái Wǎn's neck, lightly dictating the rhythm with which the young woman served him.
The first wife opened her eyes slowly, without rising from his chest.
"Present this bottle, Lián," Yù Qíng ordered, her lips curving into a short, sharp smile as a flask floated over to the slave. "Announce it as a relic capable of curing any plague. And when the old men and the heirs start killing each other over it, say that the owner does not accept coins, but demands to evaluate the purpose of whoever requests it."
Mèng Lián nodded, keeping her forehead pressed to the floor.
"Understood, Lady. I will position the pavilion guards on the central stairs to contain the uproar. We will claim fund-verification protocol. That will hold the common buyers and give time for only those with imperial authority to step ahead of the masses."
Zhì Yuǎn adjusted his fingers on the nape of Bái Wǎn's neck, pushing the young woman's head deeper against his pelvis for a second before releasing her.
"Do it," he said, his voice deep and rustic.
Mèng Lián bowed once more and withdrew in silence through the side passage.
------
On the stage lit by spiritual crystal lanterns, Mèng Lián took the center of the platform. The presence of the red-haired woman, known in the market as the most beautiful woman in the world and the administrator of the Firmament Auction, immediately quieted the amphitheater's murmur.
She made no long speeches. She simply raised a small jade box and withdrew from it a sealed crystal flask. Inside it, a single drop of dark-golden liquid remained motionless.
"Esteemed leaders of the older generation and the younger generation, I present to you the final lot of the night," Mèng Lián's voice announced, amplified by the hall's matrices. "The Tear of Creation, an offering from the kindest man who has ever inhabited this world."
With a calm movement, she removed the stopper for only two breaths.
There was no flash or explosion. Only a clean, soft, and warm air spread through the amphitheater. The smell of sweat, smoke, and dust vanished instantly. In the third row, an old merchant felt the chronic stiffness of his veins ease. On the upper benches, the breathing of dozens of stagnant cultivators grew lighter.
Mèng Lián stoppered the flask. The silence in the hall lasted the time of a single heartbeat before exploding into shouts and disordered bids.
In the imperial private chamber, Qīng Yǔ took a step forward, gripping the marble railing. The healer of the Qīngluán Clan felt her own Dantian vibrate in response to that purity. The eastern provinces were facing a plague that dried the meridians of the youngest disciples; that single drop could save hundreds of lives if used as a refining matrix.
Beside her, Huáng Bìyù adjusted her posture, her right hand descending to the hilt of her sword. The warrior's father, a general of the Huánglóng Clan, suffered from ancient internal war wounds that no imperial pill had managed to close.
"One hundred thousand spiritual stones!" shouted an elder from the northern sects, even before the minimum bid was announced.
"Two hundred thousand!" covered the representative of a merchant guild.
Huáng Bìyù did not hesitate. Using her clan's military funds, she raised her voice, dry and direct:
"Five hundred thousand stones!"
Qīng Yǔ combined her reserves with the funds of the healing pavilions, covering the bid next. But the dispute slipped beyond the two women's control. Heirs of ancient families and old leaders willing to spend fortunes for longevity pushed the values to absurd marks, even using spiritual jades as payment, surpassing the immediate liquidity of the two fairies.
Qīng Yǔ pressed her lips together, frustration stamped on her face as she thought of the eastern villages. Huáng Bìyù clenched her teeth, her hand locked on the hilt of the blade.
It was then that Mèng Lián raised her hand on the stage, interrupting the commotion.
"Silence," the redhead declared, her voice echoing firmly through the matrices. "The owner of this resource does not seek accumulation of stones. He has established that possession will not be decided by the highest bid, but by the conduct and utility of whoever carries it. The Senior grants a private audience in the Supreme Private Chamber to evaluate the intentions of the interested parties."
The declaration provoked an immediate rush on the ground floor. Dozens of patriarchs, heirs, and old masters rose at the same time, seeking the corridors of the upper floor.
However, at the access to the central stairs, the pavilion guards formed a rigid blockade. Claiming the need to verify credentials and organize a formal line under security criteria, the auction staff held the crowd with bureaucracy and document requirements, locking the passage.
Huáng Bìyù and Qīng Yǔ did not wait in line. Known to the auction administrator and using their official positions as representatives of the empire's greatest factions, the warrior and the healer displayed their golden seals and cut through the guards' blockade without room for contestation, climbing the staircase in long strides while the rest of the buyers remained held below.
The two fairies stopped before the dark wooden door of the Supreme Private Chamber. Huáng Bìyù adjusted the coppery armor on her chest, while Qīng Yǔ drew a deep breath, trying to maintain the composure of a medical master, expecting to find a reclusive elder with a white beard and a mild gaze.
Huáng Bìyù knocked on the wood. The door unlocked and opened slowly.
They took three steps inside, and the dry thud of the door closing behind them sealed the environment. The illusion matrix covering the room dissolved without sound.
The air inside the room struck the two women's faces like a wave of heat. There was no serenity or pure aura of a hermit. The space was impregnated with a warm, dense, and terribly intimate aroma—the perfume of sandalwood mixed with sweet sweat and an aphrodisiac scent.
But the smell was only the first blow. When the two women's eyes swept the room, their minds simply locked.
In the center of the room, reclined in the mahogany armchair, Zhì Yuǎn did not look like a mortal master. The man in the slightly open gray tunic possessed a presence that went beyond ordinary cultivation: the raw perfection of his musculature, the contour of his jaw, and the unfathomable depth of his gaze transmitted the overwhelming sensation of standing before a real divinity walking among mortals. Around him, the four wives rested with a predatory and equally unreal beauty, their features seeming carved outside the rules of the world.
The aesthetic impact and the gravity of that man struck the fairies' minds before they could reason. The thoughts of two imperial heirs accustomed to control collapsed in a matter of seconds, replaced by a short-circuit of shame and embarrassment.
Qīng Yǔ glanced at Zhì Yuǎn's face once and immediately averted her gaze, fixing her gaze on the floor of the private chamber. The healer's heart raced in a disordered rhythm. The sensation of nakedness before him was so overwhelming that she genuinely feared that if she held eye contact for one more second, her body would do something shameful and uncontrollable against her own will. With that alone, her Dantian contracted in a spasmodic way, and a humid, feverish heat spread rapidly through her lower abdomen.
Beside her, Huáng Bìyù felt the blood of the Golden Dragon lineage boil in her veins. The warrior's clear neck stained red, and her legs trembled so much under the armor that she had to lock her knees to keep from losing balance before those beings.
"Where… where is the Senior who offered the drop?" Huáng Bìyù managed to articulate, her voice coming out rougher than intended, her mind still trying to digest the shock. "Sister Mèng informed us there would be a reclusive master…"
"The owner of the relic is sitting in front of you, Master Bìyù," Mò Yán answered, her voice polished and cold. "If you came to negotiate for the resource, speak clearly. My Lord does not appreciate circumlocution."
Qīng Yǔ took a trembling step. Without the courage to raise her head, she looked at the hem of Zhì Yuǎn's tunic, trying to cling to her moral position to disguise the panic and the tremor in her own body.
"If the Lord possesses a treasure of such pure vitality… keeping it locked while the eastern provinces suffer from stagnation is a waste," Qīng Yǔ said, her voice thin and hurried. "The Qīngluán Clan and our medical pavilions can give this essence the noble destiny it deserves."
Yù Qíng let out a soft laugh against Zhì Yuǎn's chest, without moving from where she was nestled, only tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear.
"'Noble destiny'… You cover your own ambition with the word 'duty,'" Yù Qíng said, her tone loaded with acidic sweetness. "The healer wants the liquid to promote the name of her pavilions, and the warrior beside her wants it for something more… selfish. Neither of you gives a damn about the mud outside."
Huáng Bìyù tried to focus on the provocation to irritate her own blood, but the natural authority radiating from the couple and the suffocating atmosphere of the environment locked any reasoning.
"Watch your words, woman," Bìyù spoke, though her voice failed in the middle of the sentence. "My clan's patrols guarantee the security of this capital—"
"Or what?" Yù Qíng cut in, turning her face toward them with a sharp smile. "Are you going to draw that sword with your hands trembling like that? Look at your collar, warrior. Your collar is slick with sweat just from sharing a room with my husband. Your bloodline knows its place, even if your mouth tries to lie."
Huáng Bìyù and Qīng Yǔ locked in place, ashamed and unable to process why the presence of a single man could disarm all the discipline they had trained for years.
Eager to salvage the two women's wounded egos and give the final push into the trap, Bái Wǎn, who was already standing, advanced with slow, silent steps. The former scholar approached the visitors with a docile face, her clear eyes overflowing with welcoming innocence.
"Please, don't be upset with my Eldest Sister, Master Yǔ," Bái Wǎn said, her voice sounding like a relief in the heavy air, despite the sweet breath. She stopped two steps from Qīng Yǔ, offering an honorable exit. "She simply likes to test whether the determination of those who seek us is true. Our Lord values the generosity of those in higher positions."
Qīng Yǔ released the air trapped in her lungs, clinging to that feigned kindness like a shipwrecked person clinging to a plank.
"We… we merely fulfill our duty to the people…" the healer murmured, still not daring to raise her eyes to Zhì Yuǎn.
"And we respect that," Bái Wǎn continued with a sweet smile. "The world would be far more chaotic without the order your clans maintain. But a conversation in such a cramped environment as this pavilion does not do justice to the greatness you represent. Wouldn't it be more appropriate to continue this dialogue where your true authority resides?"
The two fairies seized the suggestion immediately. In their stunned minds, the absolute priority had become leaving that suffocating room and the sight of that man who stripped their instincts bare. They naively believed that by taking the group to the Imperial Palace—where they would be surrounded by their own guards, elders, and protective formations—they would regain control of the situation and not be caught by surprise again.
"If… if it is the Lord's will to understand the structure of our administration," Huáng Bìyù said, trying to hurry the terms so they could leave, "this auction is far too small. The chambers of the Imperial Palace are the only suitable place."
"Yes," Qīng Yǔ completed, pulling two plates of golden jade from her sleeve with trembling fingers and extending them without looking forward. "We can issue an Honor Invitation. Free access to the empire's inner courtyards."
Bái Wǎn took the plates with a delicate reverence and returned to the side of the armchair, delivering the seals into Zhì Yuǎn's hands.
The man in the gray tunic looked at the two flushed and disconcerted girls at the door. The reading he had made of both women's structures and channels was complete.
"The palace will do," Zhì Yuǎn said, his deep, calm voice cutting the silence. "Be ready when we arrive."
"We are eager to offer our most humble hospitality to the Senior," Huáng Bìyù answered, her voice rapid.
The two fairies bent at the waist in a hurried reverence. They turned on their heels and left the private chamber almost in flight, the collars of their clothes still warm with sweat and their breathing disordered.
Behind the door locked once more, Yù Qíng rested her head on Zhì Yuǎn's shoulder and let out a low, satisfied laugh.
"They think they're taking us to their own court, my heaven," the principal wife whispered, her tone sweet and territorial. "They have no idea they've just invited a beast into the garden."
Zhì Yuǎn stored the two jade plates in his tunic sleeve with a calm movement. Then, before his wife could settle back, his large hands seized her waist. With a single firm push, he lifted Yù Qíng's small body and positioned it completely on top of his own, making her sit on his chest, face to face.
"Who's the beast here, you little temptress?" Zhì Yuǎn said, his voice deep and provocative, while his fingers attacked the soft sides of her waist in a rapid rhythm.
Yù Qíng let out a laughing gasp, writhing entirely on his chest as she tried to grab her husband's wrists to defend herself. The first wife's free, spoiled laughter completely broke the tension of the room, drawing muffled giggles from Bái Wǎn beside them and a short laugh from Yù Méi on the side divan. Even Mò Yán covered her mouth with her silk sleeve, watching the scene with a calm, amused smile.