The auction continued, items after items were brought up to entertain the monk's excitement.
Like a fire, continuously fueling the flame, else the fire will die.
And for that, Ilya wouldn't want such a thing to happen. If possible, burn brighter...
And make more money for them. The more money she gained, the more she would be able to provide for the man beside her, and in return, the more products she would be able to sell from Liam's casual creations.
But of course, the main goal was to be a good thigh hugger, or perhaps trying to elevate her position in Liam's eyes even further.
Then, as the two were busy in their own private chamber, a knock came from the door.
The puppet exchanged glances and nodded, opening the door swiftly as a figure came inside.
From the far end of the room, a butler slipped into the room with the ease of someone accustomed to silence.
His shoes barely touched the polished floor as he moved closer, bowing low, arms folded neatly against his chest before speaking.
The words he carried were delivered in a tone respectful and... polite, "My lady... Senior"
He regarded the two first, a necessary salutation.
Then, he began his words, body shifting, and it wasn't entirely presenting to one person only.
Liam's presence in the chamber of commerce wasn't quite a secret but few knew his true identity other than the Young Lady.
The butler was curious, yes... But he wasn't courageous enough to intrude into the unknown.
Just a brief glance, not even seeing the man's face, the butler immediately caught it.
By the posture of sitting alone and the way Ilya presented herself on the couch. It appeared that this man's identity and status seemed to be higher.
Nevertheless, he was here just to report on the auction's progress, mainly behind the scene's intricacies.
Ilya nodded as the butler finished his reports.
On the other hand, Liam... as the 'bystander' heard the reports as well.
Judging from the overall performance this chamber had shown tonight, Liam admitted Ilya's capability in handling tonight's event.
He was pleased...
His brow lifted, the smallest flicker of restrained satisfaction passing across his usually impassive face.
A faint curl at the corner of his lips suggested he had been expecting this news. It was the kind of confirmation he desired.
Then, Liam leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing in thought.
The butler exited the room, and the soft thud of the door marked yet again, the beginning of another fruit feeding session between the two.
From beyond the walls, the noise of the auction hall pressed in.
It was a sound like rolling waves against stone, rising and falling in constant rhythm, growing sharper with every new treasure brought forth onto the stage.
The voices of cultivators filled the space, layered atop one another in a chaotic chorus.
Robes of every cut and color flashed under the lantern light, sect emblems and family crests boldly embroidered for all to see.
Such a scene was normal, common even, monks from certain forces flaunting the power that stood behind them 24'7.
Nothing strange here...
Each figure leaned forward, eyes locked on the stage, shouting bids with fervor.
The hall was alive, the kind of atmosphere that clung to the skin, restless.
Every item displayed was enough to spark a storm.
Each talisman, pill, or weapon set the audience alight, cultivators lunging over one another's words to push their offers higher.
Prices climbed fast, voices overlapped, and the hall seemed to sway under the weight of the frenzy.
Yet amidst the roar, one figure remained steady as usual.
Since the last foundation building pill, he seldom made further shots other than occasional hand raisings to increase the bidding price.
Perhaps, he took a liking in torturing those who were interested in those items.
And as the price reached an astronomical amount, he forfeited directly.
Causing the opposing monks to bleed heavily not from injuries, but from their pockets.
And the worst part, they didn't dare to scold this playful senior no matter how much they gritted their teeth.
Cloaked from head to toe, he sat without shifting much, his presence quiet compared to the storm raging around him.
His hands rarely lifted. His posture stayed calm.
But when his hand did rise, even once, the noise faltered.
The prior biddings taught the whole auction hall a lesson, a VERY important lesson.
This Senior loved to play around with people's money and emotion from time to time.
So, be careful...
And each time he joined in these bids after the prior ones, the rest of the monks became wary.
The half raised hands immediately pulled back, taking wet tissues to wipe the sweat from their foreheads, "Close call... Fuh"
His bids dropped into the chaos like heavy stones into still water, impossible to ignore.
The ripples they caused spread instantly, forcing cultivators to bite down their words or swallow half-raised offers.
"Eighty thousand low-grade spiritual stones, for a middle-stage Foundation Realm talisman!"
The auctioneer's voice rang through the chamber, gesturing towards the item on the stand.
She was a woman draped in a revealing silk dress, her tone rolling off each word with deliberate charm.
Her painted lips curved, eyes shining as she lifted her arm, drawing out the tension, savoring the audience's hunger.
"Going once! Going twice—"
Her hammer struck down, the sharp sound cutting through the murmurs.
Her smile deepened, catching the glow of lanterns hung high above.
"Sold! To the honored guest below!"
The hall stirred immediately.
A ripple of voices swept through the crowd.
"That senior did it again"
"Doesn't seem to be playing around for this one"
"Haih, what luck. I should've bid higher"
Gazes turned, eyes narrowing as they fixed on the cloaked bidder seated comfortably among the common benches.
His calm posture only made the whispers sharper.
"Damn it… who is this brat?"
A woman's voice came into this perspective.
The voice came from higher up, teeth clenched hard enough that the words sounded almost bitten out.
In one of the upper boxes, set apart from the common crowd, a young woman sat stiffly in her chair, surrounded by elderly men wearing red violet robes.
The faint light that passed through the thin veil covering the booth revealed her clenched hand, nails pressing hard into the soft flesh of her palm.
Her violet eyes burned through the barrier of the window.
They fixed not on the stage, not on the treasures, but on the cloaked figure below.
Seated casually, unbothered by the crowd, he was a quiet disruption to her prior bid just now.
She was aiming for the talisman but this bastard just happened to jump out at the last moment.
Fearing that he would forfeit, she gave up with regret, not knowing the person wasn't intending to forfeit at all.
The longer she looked, the deeper her frustration pressed into her chest.
And yet, she could not look away.
"Let me fight him!"