They left Qin Rui's corridor with their backs straight and their breathing controlled, like they hadn't just been measured and priced in five minutes.
Only when the cloth-draped passage spit them back into the plaza did Shen Lu realize how loud the underworld really was. The murmur of voices didn't sound like conversation. It sounded like appetite.
Pei Xun muttered, "I want to set him on fire."
Tang Ye whispered, shaken, "He knew about my fox."
Gu Li's voice was stern. "He knows what he can confirm. He guesses the rest."
Xie Han's smile was thin. "He guesses well."
Helian Feng didn't speak.
He walked with the same cold control as before, guiding them toward the black silk curtain of the auction hall. The sign still hung there with its neat rules about names and violence, as if law could exist in a place built on buying.
Shen Lu's heart wouldn't settle.
Not because of the auction.
Because of one word.
Space.
He kept hearing it in his head, like the word itself had teeth.
Yuan's voice slid into his mind, cold and quiet. Master. They were fishing.
Shen Lu swallowed. "How do you know."
Because the snake had lived long enough to recognize traps.
Because Shen Lu had lived long enough to fear them.
They found a side seating area near the entrance, half-shadowed by a stone pillar. People here wore masks or veils, some lacquered, some cloth, some jewel-studded enough to be their own kind of weapon.
Gu Li made everyone sit.
He positioned Tang Ye and Pei Xun on the outside like a barrier. Xie Han sat where he could see exits. Helian Feng stood behind Shen Lu like a cold shadow.
Shen Lu hated that too.
He pretended he didn't.
The auction bell hadn't rung yet. The crowd was still thickening, buying drinks, trading small bundles, whispering.
Shen Lu kept his eyes low.
He tried to breathe evenly.
The flame inside him pulsed once, not hungry, but alert. Like it disliked being in a room full of greed.
Then Helian Feng's voice came low, meant only for Shen Lu.
"They don't know," Helian Feng said.
Shen Lu's throat tightened. "What."
Helian Feng's gaze stayed forward, but Shen Lu felt the attention like a hand at the back of his neck. "About the space."
Shen Lu's breath caught.
He didn't look at Helian Feng. He couldn't. If he did, it would feel like admitting the secret was real between them, and Shen Lu wasn't ready for the shape of that.
"How can you be sure," Shen Lu whispered.
Helian Feng's answer was flat. "Because if they knew, they wouldn't probe. They would negotiate terms."
Shen Lu swallowed hard.
Relief hit first.
Then anger.
"They used it as bait," Shen Lu whispered, voice tight.
Helian Feng's voice didn't change. "Yes."
Shen Lu's fingers curled inside his sleeves. He wanted to go back to Qin Rui and spit the word in his face. He wanted to wipe that amused smile off him with poison mist.
The flame inside him warmed faintly at the spike of emotion.
Gu Li's stern voice cut softly from beside him, not looking at him directly. "Keep steady."
Shen Lu forced his breath even.
He tamped the flame down.
Across the plaza, the black silk curtain shivered as if a wind passed behind it.
A chime rang out.
Not the traveler's bell.
A larger sound, deep and deliberate.
The auction bell.
Conversation died in layers.
People turned like a school of fish.
The curtain lifted a fraction, and masked attendants moved to usher guests inside.
Pei Xun muttered, "Here we go."
Tang Ye swallowed hard. "Stay close."
Xie Han's smile sharpened. "Try to enjoy it. This is history."
Gu Li shot him a look.
Xie Han didn't care.
They entered the auction hall.
Inside, the ceiling was high and dark, lit by dim lanterns that cast a soft, sickly glow. Rows of seats curved around a central platform, and above the platform hung a circular formation array etched into stone—subtle, quiet, but heavy enough that Shen Lu felt it in his bones.
A control array.
A silence array.
Maybe a contract array too.
Shen Lu's stomach tightened.
They sat where Gu Li directed: not front row, not back, near a side exit.
The auctioneer stepped onto the platform.
Masked.
Robed.
Voice altered into a smooth neutrality that made every word sound expensive.
"Welcome," the auctioneer said. "Tonight's offerings are rare, lawful in this hall, and none of your business outside it."
A soft ripple of amusement moved through the crowd.
Shen Lu's flame pulsed once, unimpressed.
The auctioneer continued. "Bidding is done in stones or equivalent trade. No true names. No violence."
A pause.
Then, pleasantly: "Unless purchased."
Xie Han's eyes gleamed.
Gu Li's jaw clenched.
Helian Feng's aura tightened faintly behind Shen Lu, cold restraint.
The first item came out: herbs sealed in glass, presented like jewels.
The crowd bid calmly.
Low-grade spirit stones for common rarity.
Mid-grade for true rarity.
Shen Lu watched the rhythm, the way greed stayed polite here, the way money replaced shouting.
He saw what Qin Rui meant.
This was theater.
Then the second item: a sealed weapon, its spirit light muffled, the casing etched with a star-like pattern.
The bidding rose faster.
Shen Lu kept his face still.
No reactions.
No tells.
Then the auctioneer's voice smoothed into something almost casual.
"And next," the auctioneer said, "a rumor."
The crowd shifted.
Shen Lu's pulse jumped.
Gu Li's hand tightened on his sleeve, stern and grounding. Don't.
Shen Lu forced his breath even.
The auctioneer lifted a small black slip of lacquered jade.
A purple star stamp at its center.
Shen Lu's stomach dropped.
Not his token.
The same system.
A stamped piece of information, packaged like a product.
"Rumor," the auctioneer said sweetly, "of a junior alchemist traveling the lower world with a rare heavenly flame newly bound."
The crowd stirred again.
Interest. Hunger. Price rising without anyone saying it.
Shen Lu's flame pulsed—warm, offended, restless.
Helian Feng's presence behind him went colder.
Pei Xun whispered, almost soundless, "That's you."
Tang Ye's face went pale.
Gu Li's gaze stayed sternly forward, but Shen Lu saw the tension in his jaw.
Xie Han smiled, delighted and vicious. "Now it starts."
The auctioneer continued, voice polished. "The rumor includes details of the flame's name, its binding mark, and the likely direction of travel after tonight."
Shen Lu's blood went cold.
Direction.
That meant their next steps could be sold too.
Shen Lu's nails bit into his palms through his sleeves.
Helian Feng's voice came low, only for him. "Don't move."
Shen Lu didn't.
He only watched as the auctioneer lowered the lacquered slip like it was a blessing.
"Opening bid," the auctioneer said. "One mid-grade spirit stone."
Silence.
Then a voice from the crowd, calm: "Two."
Another voice: "Three."
Shen Lu felt the world tilt.
He hadn't been sold.
Not yet.
But his path was already being auctioned like a map.
And the worst part was knowing, with cold clarity, that if he reacted wrong—if he flinched, if his qi spiked, if his flame surged—someone would decide the rumor was more than a rumor.
Someone would decide it was proof.