Fan Ling strode through the winding crimson corridors of the Blood Sect headquarters, each step measured, silent, predatory. The metallic scent of blood lingered heavier here, closer to the main hall—remnants of recent "tributes" from weaker factions who had failed to pay their respects on time.
He reached the towering double doors carved with coiling blood dragons. Two elite guards—both Dou Wang —bowed deeply without a word and pushed the doors open.
Inside, the grand hall was as imposing as ever.
Fan Lao sat upon the obsidian throne, one leg crossed over the other, a goblet of dark-red liquid in his hand. Whether it was wine or something thicker, Fan Ling didn't care to guess. The peak Dou Huang's aura pressed down like an invisible mountain, casual yet suffocating.
Fan Lao's blood-red eyes lifted as his son approached.
"You've come quickly," Fan Lao said, voice low and rough like grinding stones. "And you walk differently today. Less like a pampered cub, more like… something with teeth."
Fan Ling stopped at the proper distance, cupped his hands, and bowed just enough to show respect without groveling.
"Father. I've come to discuss resources."
Fan Lao's thin lips curved. Not quite a smile—more the baring of fangs.
"Resources. Always resources with you lately." He set the goblet aside. "Speak plainly."
"I need gold. A substantial amount. Liquid coin, not pills or herbs or blood crystals. I have plans—plans that require capital now, before the next wave of chaos sweeps the region."
Fan Lao studied him for several heartbeats. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
"Interesting. And bold. Most sons would beg for a new cauldron or a virgin blood slave. You want coin." He paused. "Very well. I will not simply hand you the treasury's key. Not yet."
Fan Ling's expression didn't change, but inside a cold thread of disappointment coiled.
Fan Lao continued.
"Tomorrow night, in Black Mark City, the largest underground auction of the season begins. The Black Underworld Pavilion with eight gates is hosting it—neutral ground, heavy security, no sect banners allowed inside. They've leaked the catalog to high rollers only."
He flicked his finger.
A jade slip floated toward Fan Ling, who caught it smoothly.
"Read it."
Fan Ling poured a thread of Dou Qi into the slip. Golden text shimmered into his mind.
Seventh-grade Yin-Yang Harmony Pill – starting bid: 8 million gold
Ancient Blood Phoenix Feather (one intact) – starting bid: 12 million
Map fragment to a rumored Dou Zong cave relic – starting bid: 5 million
…and dozens more, each item rarer and more obscene in price than the last.
Fan Ling's heart rate spiked despite his iron control.
Any one of those could be flipped for triple the price on the black market. The Yin-Yang Pill alone—perfect for dual-cultivation breakthroughs or stabilizing violent bloodline mutations—would fetch twenty million easy if he could secure it cheap and resell discreetly.
But then another memory surfaced, cold and sharp.
Black Mark City auction.
In the original story… this was the exact event where the original Fan Ling had attended, arrogant and flashy, flaunting his Blood Sect status. He'd bid recklessly on several items, offended the wrong people, and drawn the attention of a certain young alchemist who happened to be present incognito.
Xiao Yan.
The fight hadn't happened inside the auction house—rules forbade it—but the moment Fan Ling stepped outside with his prizes, ambushes came .The Blood Sect entourage was slaughtered. Fan Ling himself was cornered, humiliated, and finally burned alive by Green Lotus Core Flame.
All treasure which he got robbed away .
That memory belonged to the old soul.
But the dread was fresh in Fan Ling's chest.
He should refuse.
He should stay far away from that city for at least another year until Xiao Yan moved on to bigger things.
And yet…
His gaze drifted back to the jade slip.
Tens of millions in starting bids. Items that could be resold for hundreds of millions if played right. Enough gold to unlock Mangekyou Sharingan. Maybe even push toward Rinnegan if he chained several flips.
The Wealthy System panel hovered silently in the corner of his vision.
Current Balance: 1,200,000 Gold Coins.
One item. Just one big score. And the game changed forever.
Fan Ling slowly closed his fingers around the jade slip.
Fan Lao watched every micro-expression.
"You hesitate," the older man noted. "Why?"
Fan Ling met his father's gaze evenly.
"I was considering the risks. Black Mark City is a snake pit. But…" He allowed a faint, cold smile to touch his lips—the same smile the mirror had shown him earlier. "…the rewards are worth it. I will go."
Fan Lao laughed once—short, approving.
"Good. I was beginning to think my son had grown soft." He waved a hand. A spatial ring flew over, heavier than the last one. "Two million gold coins. Use it wisely. Bring back at least triple that in profit—whether through winning bids or… creative means afterward."
Fan Ling caught the ring. Felt the satisfying weight.
"Understood, Father."
"Take twenty elite Blood Guards. No more—no less. Draw too much attention and you'll paint a target on your back. Draw too little and the vultures will think you're easy prey."
Fan Ling bowed again.
"I'll return with results."
As he turned to leave, Fan Lao's voice followed him, casual yet edged with warning.
"And Ling'er… if you encounter any particularly talented alchemists from the Jia Ma Empire side… be careful. Rumors say one of them has been making waves lately. Black robe. Young. Very dangerous flame control."
Fan Ling's steps didn't falter.
"I'll keep that in mind."
He walked out of the hall.
The moment the doors closed behind him, his expression turned icy.
*Xiao Yan.*
The auction was tomorrow night.
He had less than twenty-four hours to prepare.
Gear. Information. Backup plans. Escape routes. Maybe even hire a few disposable mercenaries to act as bait.
And above all—gold.
Because if he survived this auction…
The Wealthy System would finally start to feel real.
Fan Ling's grey hair swayed as he moved faster down the corridor.
Black Mark City awaited.
So did death.