Volume One: The Monarch's Command Chapter Fifty-Nine: A Vast World of Rivers and Lakes

The entire venue spanned three blocks, once a slum area purchased at great expense by the Tianbao Chamber of Commerce and transformed into the Tianbao Auction Hall. The eight-tiered, fan-shaped seating rose in steps, offering places for buyers attending the auction, while the ninth tier was reserved for private boxes—set aside for distinguished guests. Great families such as the Fengs and the Gongs, as well as the elders of the Heavenly King Path, had already taken their seats, waiting for the event to begin.

Over three days, nine auctions of varying quality would be held. Each year, the number of buyers hovered around one hundred thousand, attracting not only locals from Yanliang Prefecture but also travelers from as far as Xishui Prefecture who journeyed for months in advance, hoping to find treasures suited to their needs.

From weapons to blueprints, even slaves and beauties would appear on the ten-yard-long exhibition stage for selection. Buyers sat in different tiers according to their capital, making management easier for the sellers.

Manager Li stood backstage with folded arms, watching coldly. Though over a hundred martial experts had been hired for security, he still felt uneasy. Rumor had it that the Feng family planned to strike against the Gong family, aiming to seize all the caravan transport routes. That very morning, the Fengs had mobilized their household staff, concentrating them in the streets around the auction hall, their intentions unknown.

Inside the Gong family’s VIP box, a young man sat in the center, about twenty-five years old, with bright eyes and fine features, short hair, and a gold-threaded cotton robe, his feet clad in cloud-patterned boots. He was about eight feet tall, and even seated, his presence seemed to ripple through the air.

Beside him at the tea table sat Gong Lichun, the current patriarch, quietly rubbing a string of prayer beads and resting his eyes. Twenty-five years ago, Gong Lichun’s son was diagnosed by a famous physician as having a congenital weakness, unlikely to live past age three. The family elders sought a backup, adopting a baby boy and naming him Gong Che, claiming he was Gong Qing’s younger brother and raising him to inherit the family business.

At that time, the identity of the future patriarch mattered little; the elders held the reins, ensuring no great upheaval would occur. Gong Lichun felt deep sorrow—the child was his own flesh and blood, yet he was powerless against the family’s ostracism. Today, he had not brought Gong Qing, but instead sat beside Gong Che.

This child had many virtues but was impatient and ruthless, so decisive in his actions that even Gong Lichun felt fear. If such a person became patriarch, the Gong family would know no peace. The main purpose of today's visit was to secure a weapon for Gong Che.

When he was eight, a remarkable swordsman appeared out of nowhere, insisting on taking Gong Che as his disciple. Now Gong Che was a master of the eighth tier of the Earth Soul Realm—unknown to all but the core Gong family members, their hidden trump card.

The Gong family rarely practiced martial arts, preferring scholarly pursuits, and their ancestors had produced several esteemed scholars, accumulating vast wealth and securing their place in Yanliang Prefecture. Yet their lack of martial prowess was a weakness.

The next patriarch combined both scholarship and martial skill, so it was little wonder that the elders pinned all their hopes on him, sparing no effort to nurture his talents.

Unbeknownst to them, outside, Gong Che’s elder brother had stepped out of a carriage, his complexion vastly improved after dispelling the chill. Even his familiar friends failed to recognize Gong Qing, until he greeted Qing’er.

Liu Xiaoyi, wide-eyed and stunned, wore the expression of a country bumpkin, gazing around in awe, momentarily deaf to the hubbub.

Some strode with swords on their backs, radiating heroic spirit; some greeted others with the plump, gracious smiles of the wealthy; some moved furtively, faces obscured; others strode upright with calm dignity. Together, they formed a lively scene outside the auction hall.

Daytime auctions offered mostly ordinary goods at relatively low prices. Tianbao Auction House permitted private exchanges, so buyers set up stalls right outside, hawking their wares openly.

Payment was possible, but barter was more common. Liu Xiaoyi wandered slowly from stall to stall, marveling at the strange and novel items.

Weapons were the cheapest goods, but there were also rare elixirs, precious jewelry, treasure maps, and even magical artifacts sold by cultivators.

The quality of goods was uneven, and the crowd was a motley mix. Most blueprints were fakes, hastily drawn by unscrupulous merchants to swindle buyers.

Suddenly, Liu Xiaoyi felt a sharp pain in his left ear—Meng Qiaoqiao was tugging him aside.

“Try to carry yourself with some dignity! Don’t behave like a country bumpkin!”

He realized he’d wandered off course. Gong Qing was at the entrance, conversing with several young gentlemen.

Around the auction hall, temporary stalls sold food, and even inns sent staff to the streets to attract guests, their shouts echoing nonstop.

“We’ll go ahead and see what treasures turn up today,” Gong Qing said, taking his leave. His departure drew no attention, and he went straight to the seventh row and sat down.

His wealth, accumulated through years of appraising treasures, rivaled that of mid-tier families, so it was no wonder the two of them could choose any auction items they fancied.

The wooden sign at the row’s head bore the inscription “One Hundred Thousand”—meaning only those with assets worth one hundred thousand taels of gold could sit there. Apart from their group, only a handful of seats were occupied.

The first day was always minor, with little of real value. The big spenders usually waited for the final session.

“Don’t worry about the money. If I have anything, it’s money,” Gong Qing assured them.

In such an environment, Gong Qing thrived, feeling at ease, especially now that his health had returned.

The auction was hosted exclusively by young women in high-slit cheongsams, their graceful figures on full display. Despite the winter chill, the hall was warm as spring, and scantily-clad girls were everywhere.

Some bold men ogled them shamelessly, earning laughter and sneers, yet still retorted, “A man’s nature—why not?”

“This morning’s auction features weapons, as everyone knows…”

As the basics of weaponry were explained yet again, Liu Xiaoyi began to doze. He knew well that these lectures were simply a ploy to inflate prices.

Auctions could occasionally yield bargains, but most were low-priced at the start, then soared, earning the house a tidy profit. As Liu Xiaoyi meditated and trained throughout the day, sellers at the front rows quarreled fiercely, and outside, fights broke out—Tianbao Auction House took no responsibility for any scuffles beyond its doors.

“Not planning to buy anything? Young Master Gong said to choose whatever you like,” Meng Qiaoqiao prompted. Though she hadn’t trained in weapons, she bought two jeweled daggers for herself, costing over a hundred taels of silver.

“I’m not interested—they’re nothing special. At the very least, they should be superior to my Frost Sword,” Liu Xiaoyi replied, patting the sword on his back. His swords were no ordinary blades, so his standards were high.

Gong Qing was puzzled, but too embarrassed to ask. All day, Liu Xiaoyi barely opened his eyes, as if he’d come just to sleep.

When night fell and the session ended, the Gong family left their VIP box, and by chance passed Gong Qing in the corridor. Gong Lichun was startled—though his son’s appearance had changed, he still recognized him!

“Qing’er?” Gong Lichun exclaimed, hardly believing his eyes. The young man before him was free of sickliness, standing tall with bright eyes. “What happened to you?”

Gong Qing was resigned; the last person he wanted to see was his weak father, the humble go-between trapped between family and clan. “Father, it’s me.”

The accompanying elders saw everything, their hearts full of complicated emotions. Gong Qing understood well what they were thinking.

“It really is my son! Look, this is my son Gong Qing!” Gong Lichun cried hysterically, turning to the elders and drawing everyone’s attention.

The elders smoothed things over, gathering around as they walked out onto the street. Night had deepened; the townsfolk’s doors were shut, only a few taverns remained open. Seven Star City had no curfew, and nighttime business was still decent.

Feeling Gong Che’s strange gaze, Gong Qing knew trouble had finally arrived. His younger brother always saw him as a thorn in the side, and even if he was a useless invalid, Gong Che never let down his guard.

Now Gong Che wore an expression of “just as expected,” lurking behind the elders, calculating who knew what.

“Father, I have matters to attend to—we’ll talk when we return,” Gong Qing said, seeing that familiar look of constipation. It was the same expression his father wore the night his mother died, facing the elders.

Gong Lichun wanted to say more, but watched as Gong Qing and his retinue walked away down the avenue.

“Your father’s the patriarch—he must have a lot on his plate. My own father was always busy, too; my master took care of me instead,” Meng Qiaoqiao said, mouth full as she devoured her late-night meal, completely disregarding any image of a senior expert.

Gong Qing drank his wine in silence, sighing. He had little influence, sickly for years, and no one cared to associate with him. “Gong Che will definitely make a move against me. That child hasn’t changed at all.”

Beside him, the maid Qing’er couldn’t hold back her tears. She had been brought in to accompany Gong Qing at age seven, and over time their feelings deepened; but fear of the elders’ judgment made her heart ache.

“Why don’t you two elope! Heh heh heh! The Daoist manual I gave you—once you master it, you’ll be able to protect yourself, and no one will dare bully you,” Meng Qiaoqiao said, gulping down seafood soup and offering advice.

Liu Xiaoyi didn’t eat—not because he wasn’t hungry, but because he’d stuffed himself with snacks during the auction’s midday break.

He’d slept most of the day, and now was full of energy. Stretching, he glanced at a corner table where four people sat, each with faces hidden under bamboo hats, sipping tea.

Drinking tea in the middle of the night? On the other side, two figures in tight-fitting attire sat, short knives at their waists.

Both groups formed a pincer, encircling their table. A faint murderous intent leaked out, causing many would-be customers to turn back and leave.

“Just eating isn’t much fun. Let me show you a trick,” Liu Xiaoyi said, hands in his pockets, gathering frost and crushing it forcefully.

Before the six could react, sword energy reached them, and white mist spread across the entire floor, obscuring vision so no one could see what was happening.

Meng Qiaoqiao reacted instantly, her talismans flying out to shield Gong Qing and Qing’er. “Don’t move—there are plenty of people here to kill you!”