An invitation to dine with a Core Formation cultivator wasn’t exactly rare for Mo Jian. Cultivators at that stage typically held positions of power and authority, and wherever he traveled, he was usually accorded the same respect due to being someone of equal standing. He declined most such invitations with polite detachment—experience had taught him that they were often thinly veiled attempts at recruitment, or else pretexts for idle gossip. Neither held his interest.

  This time, however, he was caught off guard.

  Azure Wall City was large enough that a half-dozen Core cultivators could pass through on any given day without causing a stir. Reclusive cultivators like Mo Jian—those who traveled incognito or hid their cultivation—weren’t uncommon. The trope of a hidden master disguised as a beggar persisted for a reason.

  So why had this invitation come? This wasn’t his first visit to the city, nor had he done anything to attract notice.

  It wasn’t like he had ever expected his hastily thrown-together disguise to fool another cultivator of his own level. It was only meant to let him wander the market unbothered, without people throwing themselves at his feet or scrambling out of his path. That someone had seen through it didn’t surprise him. What did was the attention.

  His eyes flicked to Bai Ning, and as usual he couldn’t help but worry…

  But no. He had prepared for this. Between the two of them, she had the better concealment. Her bone age was hidden by a pill he had painstakingly developed—an expensive, resource-heavy concoction that disguised her apparent youth. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked. Masking her cultivation was more difficult. She still needed room to grow; disguising her as a mere Qi Condensation cultivator would hinder her progress.

  Instead, they relied on misdirection. Age would deflect casual scrutiny, and the rest they would handle with caution and anonymity.

  So no—he wasn’t particularly worried that the Island Masters' sudden interest had anything to do with Bai Ning. If they’d meant to trap him, there were far easier ways. No, this felt personal. Specific. But no matter how hard he racked his brain, Mo Jian couldn’t think of a reason the rulers of Azure Wall City would be interested in him.

  If he wanted answers, he’d have to ask for them.

  At least the hour passed quickly. Bai Ning was clearly distracted by the invitation—she didn’t mention the sword she’d been eyeing even once. Mo Jian swiftly completed the sale of the cores she had harvested, trading them to a pill refiner in exchange for tool-refining materials. Once their business was concluded, they boarded their flying boat and headed for the peak of the city, where the palace of the Island Masters resided.

  Twice they were intercepted by armored cultivators patrolling atop drifting clouds. But the jade talisman in Mo Jian’s hand—the used voice transmission token—was enough to send them on their way.

  As they passed tier after tier of the city, the architecture shifted. The higher they flew, the plainer the dwellings became. It had been the opposite in the middle levels, where each tier seemed desperate to outshine the one below it. But now, the homes were austere, even humble. Only the dense spiritual qi and the immensely powerful formations—what little they could glimpse of them—hinted at the wealth and influence residing there.

  At the very summit, there was no peak. It had been sheared flat, revealing a bare platform high above the clouds. Hovering a hundred meters above it was a small floating mountain, lush and green. Shrubs and bushes blanketed its surface, and a narrow stream circled its base before falling off the edge in a delicate waterfall. The water vanished before reaching the flat summit below, scattering rainbows in the mist.

  Atop the floating mountain stood a three-story wooden tower. It was built in a traditional style—plain varnished wood, curved eaves, paper-paneled doors. A rock garden of intricate mosaics flanked one side, while a cobbled veranda opened on the other.

  Mo Jian guided their flying boat into alignment with the mountain’s base and released the jade talisman. It darted forward, slipping through the shimmering light barrier that protected the mountain, and disappeared into the tower.

  Moments later, a voice rang out: “Fellow Daoists, please don’t stand on ceremony. Welcome to our humble home. Island Master Shi Dei and I will be with you shortly.”

  As the voice faded, a seam appeared in the barrier. Mo Jian cast a heavy, meaningful glance at Bai Ning—which she as usual, happily ignored—and they flew through and landed softly in the courtyard surrounding the tower.

  The moment they stepped off the boat, Bai Ning drew a sharp breath. He understood. The air here was different—crisp, pure, and rich with spiritual energy. Even without meditation, qi moved through the body. It reminded Mo Jian of his own cave residence, though the concentration here was several times higher.

  He stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back, absently surveying the courtyard. Bai Ning followed close behind, her eyes moving with curiosity.

  The courtyard was simple in design—plain stone paths wound through neatly trimmed hedges, a quiet stream gurgled nearby, and the wind whispered gently through the trees. That same restrained elegance extended into the tower when they stepped inside. The furnishings were modest but refined, made from qi-conductive wood. Curtains hung from the windows, thin as mist and shimmering faintly in the light, like strands of silk woven with threads of moonlight.

  Bai Ning drew another breath, this one quiet with awe. Fuguangjin silk. Light as moonlight, delicate as a cicada’s wing, yet stronger than tempered steel, and proof against fire and water. It took master weavers three years to produce a single bolt—and only those trained in the correct cultivation techniques from birth could craft it. Her mother owned a single dress made from that cloth, and it was her most precious possession.

  Here, it hung casually from windows as curtains.

  Before Bai Ning could dwell on it further, one of the paper doors deeper within the tower slid open with a soft rustle, revealing a man in plain grey robes. He looked to be in his fifties, with streaks of silver in his neatly tied hair and a short, disciplined beard. His presence was unassuming, his cultivation masked—but it was there, vast and deep, like an ocean beneath a calm surface.

  “Fellow Daoist Mo,” the man greeted, bowing with practiced grace. “And your disciple, I presume?”

  Mo Jian returned the bow with equal courtesy. “You presume correctly. This is Bai Ning.”

  The man inclined his head to her politely, then gestured toward the open doorway. “I am Shi Dei, one of the two Island Masters of Azure Wall City. My counterpart, Lady Yun, is preparing refreshments. Please, come in. We look forward to conversing with an expert like you.”

  Mo Jian offered a small nod and stepped inside, Bai Ning beside him.

  The room they entered was as understated as the rest of the tower—polished wood floors, low tables set with floor cushions, and elegant scrolls of calligraphy adorning the walls. A small brazier burned gently in the corner, perfuming the air with sandalwood and a fainter note—something floral, perhaps lotus or refined spirit grass.

  Seated at one of the low tables was a woman in robes of pale seafoam green. Her hair was pinned with silver threads, and her sharp, fox-like eyes tracked their every step, amusement glinting behind measured awareness.

  Lady Yun rose as they approached and offered a graceful bow. “Welcome, Fellow Daoist. It’s a rare pleasure to host someone of your cultivation.”

  Mo Jian returned the greeting. “And a rare thing to be invited so directly.”

  Lady Yun laughed lightly. “Yes, forgive our boldness. But I promise you—it will be worth your time. Fellow Shi Dei and I have been inviting every rogue Core Formation cultivator we can find to discuss a matter of shared interest.”

  At that, Mo Jian relaxed—if only by the barest degree. So, this wasn’t about him or Bai Ning specifically. That was both reassuring and intriguing.

  “But first,” Shi Dei added, closing the doors behind them with a flick of his sleeve, “let us not be accused of poor hospitality. It would shame the name of Azure Wall City. Please, allow us to serve you our famed spirit tea. And for your disciple…”

  Bai Ning bowed quickly, seizing the opportunity. “Thank you, Senior, for your kindness. I wouldn’t mind trying a bit of spirit wine, if you have any…”

  She trailed off with a smile both charming and just audacious enough to test boundaries.

  Mo Jian suppressed a sigh. She knew perfectly well she wasn’t of age for wine. But give her a chance, and her mother’s warnings vanished like smoke in wind.

  Lady Yun looked more amused than offended. With a flick of her sleeve, a small, intricate pitcher floated up, pouring a measure of clear, gleaming liquid into a shallow porcelain saucer. As the wine hit it, delicate cracks bloomed across the surface, forming a mesmerizing pattern.

  Mo Jian’s brow lifted again. Fragile Touch Porcelain. Rare and absurdly expensive. Crafted to shatter with even the lightest brush of qi, each piece could only be used once. It had no practical purpose beyond extravagance—and flaunting wealth.

  For his part, Mo Jian settled gracefully onto a cushion and lifted his teacup with care. He took a small sip—and then paused.

  He raised the cup again with care, this time swirling it gently, letting the faint motes of qi hovering above the surface settle. Only then did he inhale its fragrance. With meticulous restraint, he took the tiniest sip, let it rest on his tongue, then swallowed.

  He exhaled softly in quiet appreciation.

  Beside him, Bai Ning snorted with open amusement.

  He ignored her with a serenity forged through long suffering. Lady Yun, less accustomed to her irreverence but clearly entertained, raised an eyebrow.

  “Not a fan of tea, little Bai Ning?” she asked, lifting her own cup in a casual toast before downing it in a single gulp.

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  Mo Jian winced. Such waste. Toasting someone who didn’t appreciate tea was bad enough—but this tea in particular deserved reverence, not recklessness.

  “I enjoy it well enough,” Bai Ning replied, side-eyeing Mo Jian as though she’d overheard his thoughts. After years of living together, she practically had. “I just find it ridiculous how much of a performance some people”—she flicked her gaze deliberately toward him—“make out of it.”

  Mo Jian shook his head in mock sorrow. “Forgive my disciple. In this, I’ve clearly failed to enlighten her.”

  Lady Yun smiled behind her cup, visibly amused by their banter. Mo Jian, however, was wholly sincere. If Bai Ning had ever developed a proper appreciation for tea, he could’ve sent her on a dozen meaningful errands over the years. Alas—a missed opportunity.

  Rolling her eyes, Bai Ning took her saucer of wine and sipped it, pretending it was a cup of tea with just enough flair to be obnoxious. “Mmm. Yes. I taste… leaves.”

  Mo Jian closed his eyes briefly, as if in pain. “Ancestors forgive her,” he murmured to the air.

  Next to Lady Yun, Shi Dei dropped down into his own seat, unbothered, and poured himself a generous measure of wine. He took a long gulp, and set down his cup with a quiet clink. “You two seem more like siblings than master and disciple.”

  Bai Ning’s face froze in a look of visible horror, as though the mere suggestion had offended her soul.

  “Siblings?” she repeated, aghast. “Is that what we seem like?”

  Shi Dei blinked, clearly surprised by her reaction, and quickly backtracked. “Ah—my apologies, Fairy Bai Ning. Brother Mo. I didn’t mean to offend.”

  Mo Jian raised a calming hand before Bai Ning could respond. The last thing he wanted was for her to actually say what was on her mind.

  “Of course not, Fellow Daoist Shi,” he said smoothly. “What offense could there be between friends?”

  Bai Ning’s expression smoothed over at once, her smile now perfectly composed—just shy of too charming. “Naturally. I was only surprised, that’s all. Please don’t mind me, Senior.”

  Shi Dei gave a nod, his demeanor smoothing back into the same calmness he had displayed earlier. “Then let us set aside misunderstandings and move to the matter at hand.”

  Lady Yun leaned forward slightly, her gaze sharpening. “Have either of you heard about the Ming family’s heir selection tournament?”

  Mo Jian’s brow furrowed. “Only in passing. I know the Ming family controls the wealthiest auction houses across the Thousand Shattered Islands. Their fortune is said to rival Ancestor Qing’s personal collection. Is the family changing leadership?”

  Lady Yun nodded, clearly pleased. “The current head—Shi Dei’s and my old friend, Ming Taishou—is preparing for closed-door cultivation. He intends to attempt the breakthrough to Nascent Soul.”

  Mo Jian let out a low whistle. “Aiming for Nascent Soul? Fellow Daoist Ming Taishou has my deepest admiration. If he succeeds, the Thousand Shattered Islands may soon have a fourth Nascent Soul patriarch.”

  Shi Dei waved a hand, looking slightly wry. “Don’t let him hear that, or he’ll never let it go. Truthfully, the old man knows his chances are slim. This is just him making a final fuss before going out. Still, I suppose he figured there’s nothing to lose at this point.”

  Despite his dignified appearance, Shi Dei was clearly a blunt man.

  Lady Yun looked faintly embarrassed by her fellow Island Master’s candor but made no attempt to correct him. Apparently, she agreed—despite her professed friendship with Ming Taishou.

  Mo Jian understood. The topic of Nascent Soul stirred a dozen emotions in a dozen cultivators. It was the dream most Core cultivators chased—the final step before true legend—so hearing someone was preparing for it, even against the odds, always inspired a complicated mix of admiration, envy, and bitter hope.

  Lady Yun took a sip of her tea, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then she set the cup down gently and continued, “Still, whether or not he succeeds, Ming Taishou is determined to settle all worldly matters before closing himself off. And that includes naming a successor.”

  Shi Dei added, “That’s where the tournament comes in. The Ming family has many children—legitimate and otherwise—and most of them are talented. Too talented. Infighting was inevitable. A tournament, at least, gives it a veneer of fairness.”

  Mo Jian nodded slowly. “And I assume this isn’t a quiet family affair.”

  Lady Yun smiled. “Quite the opposite. The tournament will be public and lavish. It’s being held in Ming Taishou’s private domain on Jadeflame Island, with representatives and observers invited from across the Thousand Shattered Islands.”

  Bai Ning tilted her head, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “That’s… risky. Can a tournament between Core Formation cultivators even be held on an island? I assume the Ming family’s top heirs are at that realm.”

  Shi Dei’s mouth twisted slightly. “And that brings us to the unorthodox part. The participants will range from Qi Condensation to Core Formation. But this isn’t a tournament of cultivation. It’s a tournament of commerce.”

  Lady Yun took over smoothly. “Ming Taishou wants to see which of his descendants has inherited his eye for value—and his skill at selling. There won’t be any direct combat. Instead, the heirs will compete to find and auction off the most interesting and valuable items they can acquire, using the resources provided at the start. It’s more or less a massive auction… possibly the largest the Thousand Shattered Islands have ever seen.”

  Mo Jian’s eyebrows had climbed nearly to his hairline. “And what does any of this have to do with me?”

  Finally, they were getting to the point.

  Shi Dei met his gaze with a faint smile. “Brother Mo may have already guessed. For an auction of this scale to succeed, powerful cultivators must be gathered in advance. After all, who will spend if they haven’t been invited? But announcing it publicly before everything is ready would only invite interference from powerful factions. So, Ming Taishou has authorized us to extend private invitations to a select few—cultivators unaffiliated with major sects, powerful enough to be more than spectators, and capable of playing a role in his…script.”

  Mo Jian leaned forward. “His… script?”

  Lady Yun mirrored the gesture, her fingers lightly tapping the rim of her cup. “Yes. He wants these invited cultivators to act on his instructions—bidding on key items, striking backroom deals, creating obstacles for some, supporting others. It’s less about brute force, and more about subtle influence. But strength will be necessary—to act, and to protect oneself from retaliation.”

  “And you think I’m that person?”

  “We believe,” Shi Dei corrected, “that you are one of the few who could be.”

  A silence fell over the room.

  Then Bai Ning frowned. “Wait. Are you saying my master would be… a spy?”

  Lady Yun laughed lightly. “Spy is such a crude word. Let’s say… agent.”

  “To be an agent,” Mo Jian said dryly, “I’d need to be very close to the action.”

  “You would,” Shi Dei agreed. “Which is why Ming Taishou’s invitation will allow you to participate in the auction as an honored guest. The official announcement will go out at the end of the month, and the event itself will be held two months later. That’s enough time for even the most remote cultivators in the Islands to attend—but not enough to attract the attention of the mainland. Or allow too much mischief.”

  There was a lot to unpack in that. But one word caught Mo Jian’s attention.

  “The mainland?” he asked. “He thinks someone from there might interfere?”

  Lady Yun ran a finger along the rim of her cup, frowning slightly. “It’s a possibility. The Song clan might not see the Ming family as worth their time—but a tournament-auction of this magnitude could still draw their notice. Taishou wants to ensure they don’t get involved in his family business.”

  It had been a while since Mo Jian had heard that name. The Song clan was a major merchant family in the southern mainland, though their interests hadn’t extended this far south. The original Mo Jian had been from those parts—and he had inherited the memories of how grand the Song caravans and auction houses had been. Nothing in the Thousand Shattered Islands came close.

  It was always worth remembering that, while not quite a backwater, the Thousand Shattered Islands were still a regional power—dwarfed by the mainland. Even the mighty Song clan was a second-tier force compared to the great families of the Imperial Heavenly City. And that city, vast and imperial as it was, had only risen after the Shattering.

  They were all just children playing at grandeur, compared to the real powers that moved in the world’s hidden corners.

  “Fascinating,” he said at last. “And dangerous.”

  “Isn’t that half the fun?” Bai Ning muttered, her eyes gleaming with interest.

  Mo Jian shot her a look, then turned back to their hosts. “And what does Ming Taishou offer in exchange for this... service?”

  Lady Yun’s eyes glinted. “Any one item from the auction, free of charge—up to a value of five hundred mid-grade spirit stones.”

  Mo Jian almost choked.

  He didn’t consider himself a greedy man, but that number made him see green. It was more money than he had ever possessed. More than he could earn in a hundred years. He was a skilled alchemist and refiner, never short on funds—but this? This was wealth. True wealth.

  And the fact that Ming Taishou could offer that much—likely to multiple cultivators—meant the man was operating on a scale Mo Jian had only now begun to grasp.

  “Master,” Bai Ning said eagerly, before he could speak, “this sounds like a great opportunity! I’ve never even seen an auction before—let alone something like this. I want to go!”

  Ah. So he wasn’t the only one tempted. Bai Ning was already dreaming of the auction hall and its treasures.

  Suppressing a snort, Mo Jian turned back to their hosts, who were politely pretending not to have seen his undignified reaction. He should’ve kept his composure. Showing too much interest before a deal was struck was like throwing meat to wolves.

  “I won’t deny I’m interested,” Mo Jian said slowly, “and Bai Ning has already made her feelings clear. But I hope you can clarify a few things first.” He cupped his hands respectfully, and both Shi Dei and Lady Yun returned the gesture.

  “Please, ask whatever you wish, Fellow Daoist Mo Jian,” Shi Dei replied, sincere and direct.

  Mo Jian gave a short nod. “Why me? No offense, but surely you both know plenty of reliable Core Formation cultivators. Why go searching among rogue cultivators? Why not ask a trusted friend?”

  Shi Dei didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached for the pitcher and poured himself a small amount, letting the silence stretch. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, even thoughtful.

  “Because reliability isn’t the same as discretion,” he said. “And strength is not the same as subtlety. Most Core cultivators we know are too tightly bound—tied to sects, burdened by favors, or too entangled in politics. Very few can act with the detachment this task requires.”

  Lady Yun picked up the thread. “You’ve cultivated outside the major factions for years. You’ve traveled widely, survived dangerous encounters, made enemies and allies—and remained free. That speaks to discernment.”

  Shi Dei added, with a faint smile, “You stay unknown by choice. You don’t announce your name every time you enter a room. That alone makes you more valuable than half the names we might have considered.”

  Mo Jian let that sit for a moment, sifting through their words for flattery and truth. There was some of both, of course. And though he might deny it, a part of him was flattered.

  “Alright,” he said finally. “Assume I agree. What exactly would be expected of me?”

  Lady Yun raised a slender brow. “You’ll be given a token of authority from Ming Taishou himself, one that allows you to enter and move freely within the bounds of the auction and tournament. You’ll be assigned a temporary history, vetted and crafted by the family’s intelligence arm. You’ll pose as a rogue cultivator with wealth and interest, who became friends with Ming Taishou by chance years ago—but has no official ties to him or the Ming family beyond that.”

  “Which is to say,” Mo Jian murmured, “I’ll more or less be myself.”

  That earned a small laugh from Shi Dei. “Convenient, isn’t it?”

  “You’ll be briefed on which heirs are favored, which items are considered valuable, and what roles you may be asked to play,” Lady Yun continued. “Some of those tasks will be straightforward—like placing a high bid on an item to drive up the price. Others… may not be.”

  “You’ll have freedom to act,” Shi Dei added. “But there will be expectations. Ming Taishou does not waste investments. And five hundred mid-grade stones is not a small gamble.”

  Mo Jian leaned back, exhaling slowly. His mind ticked through the layers. The public nature of the event. The veiled politics. The mainland interest. The sheer amount of wealth involved. And now, the knowledge that he'd be stepping directly into a battlefield of ambition—one without swords, but no less bloody.

  He looked at Bai Ning, who was practically bouncing in her seat with excitement, then back at the two emissaries.

  “I’ll want guarantees,” he said finally. “Written, not just spoken. If I’m taking such risk, I won’t do it on trust alone.”

  “Of course,” Lady Yun said smoothly. “A formal contract can be prepared and sealed in talisman script. You’ll have it within three days.”

  “And,” Mo Jian added, “if I find something worth more than five hundred stones, but decide I need it anyway?”

  Lady Yun’s eyes sparkled. “Then you bid like everyone else.”

  He huffed a short laugh. Fair enough.

  “And what about Bai Ning?” he asked. “She’s my disciple. If I go, she goes.”

  “No objection,” Shi Dei said. “All participants are allowed a retinue, within reason. She’ll be expected to abide by the rules of the tournament, and she’ll be subject to the same protections.”

  Bai Ning’s eyes lit up, but she held her tongue—barely.

  Mo Jian stood, cup in hand. “Then I suppose we have the beginnings of an agreement.”

  Both Shi Dei and Lady Yun rose with him, returning the gesture with impeccable grace.

  “We’ll send the contract,” Lady Yun said. “And once signed, the token and initial briefing will follow.”

  Mo Jian inclined his head. “Then until then, fellow Daoists.”