Chapter 105 - The Frost Cicada Shell
Quiet murmurs rippled through the main floor of the auction hall. Attendants moved quickly, clearing the stage and preparing the next lot, but the audience remained focused on the private pavilions above.
"The buyer in Room Nine is sweeping everything," a rogue cultivator in the back rows whispered, leaning toward his companion. "First those dry seeds, and now the meteorite core. Who is that?"
"A pampered young master, surely," the companion replied, looking up at the dark light barrier. "He spent fifty-five thousand spirit stones in less than half an hour. Only a young master from a wealthy clan would waste such wealth on dead wood and stubborn iron just to show off."
Inside Room Nine, Su Ming sat back in his wooden chair, taking a slow sip of his tea. The voices from the lower floor carried through the array, but his expression did not change. He did not care about their assumptions. The two core materials were secured, and that was all that mattered.
***
On the stage, Elder Feng raised his hand again. The chatter on the floor died down as two silver-robed attendants walked out, carrying a shallow tray of black wood.
Resting on a cushion of dark velvet was a single, pristine shell of a glacier insect. It was translucent, white as fresh snow, and shaped like a cicada. A thin, freezing mist clung to its edges, casting glowing patterns of frost onto the black velvet.
"Our next item is the Frost Cicada Shell," Elder Feng announced. "It was harvested from the everlasting snow mountains of the Far North. It is a rare alchemical material, known for its exceptional cooling property. For those who need to refine medicines to heal and soothe scorched meridians, this is a rare treasure."
Behind the light screen of Room Twelve, Situ Lang sat forward.
Next to him, a small white ice-fox lay curled on a silk cushion. Its rear leg was wrapped in thick, herb-soaked linen, but the bandages could not stop a faint, suffocating heat from radiating outward. It was the scorching Qi poisoning left by the southern border beast tide. The fox shivered, letting out a weak whine as the poison burned.
Situ Lang stroked the fox’s head gently, his eyes fixed on the stage.
’I must obtain this,’ he thought, his fingers tightening. ’Physician Mo said the frost shell is the only medicine that can draw out that demonic heat. If I do not heal her meridians soon, she will be crippled.’
***
"The bidding starts at thirty thousand spirit stones," Elder Feng said.
"Thirty-two thousand," the voice of Situ Lang projected from Room Twelve. It was firm and clear, showing his resolve.
A wealthy merchant on the lower floor raised his hand. "Thirty-five thousand."
"Thirty-eight thousand," Situ Lang countered immediately.
In Room Nine, Su Ming focused his mind, casually activating his Essence Sight. The silver light barrier around the pedestal dissolved in his vision, allowing him to inspect the shell.
Under the glowing patterns of icy Qi, he noted something more. Deep within the core of the translucent shell, a tiny, complete spiritual entity lay dormant. It was not a dead alchemical ingredient. The shell had the ancient frost cicada’s spirit essence intact, preserved within the crystal structure. Su Ming did not know how he would use it yet, but he simply realized it was far more valuable than a simple medicine.
Su Ming spoke into his voice-changing array. "Forty thousand."
The crowd murmured. Room Nine was bidding again.
From Room Twelve, Situ Lang glared toward the window of Room Nine, his brow furrowing. The price was rising faster than he had anticipated. Forty thousand was the absolute limit he could afford to spend on such materials, as he had to conserve his money for the important items later. Looking down at his whimpering fox, he gritted his teeth.
"Forty-two thousand." Situ Lang raised the bid. He stared at the dark screen of Room Nine, his hands clenched tightly with a deep anticipation. It all depended on Su Ming now.
"Forty-five thousand spirit stones." Su Ming raised the price again.
The hall fell silent. Situ Lang let out a frustrated sigh; he sank back into his seat and let his token rest. He could only watch as the opportunity slipped away, his heart heavy thinking about his companion.
"Forty-five thousand spirit stones, going once," Elder Feng said, scanning the room. "Going twice."
*Bang!*
"Sold to Room Nine," Elder Feng announced.
Su Ming sat back, taking a sip of his tea. The third lot was his.
***
On the stage, the assistants cleared the tray, replacing it with a large stone container. Inside lay an egg the size of a human head. It was dark green, its shell covered in rough, fossilized-looking scales that caught the stage lights.
"Our next lot is an Ancient Beast Egg," Elder Feng announced, his voice booming. "It was recovered from the deep trenches of the Eastern Ridge, preserved in an ancient mountain. We suspect it carries the lineage of a high-grade spirit beast. Bidding starts at thirty-five thousand spirit stones."
A room-wide frenzy erupted immediately. Rogue cultivators and elders from various peaks raised their tokens in rapid succession.
"Forty thousand!"
"Forty-five thousand!"
Su Ming rested his chin in his hand, casually activating his Essence Sight once more as his vision pierced through the green shell of the egg.
Inside, there was only darkness. The embryonic fluid had dried to dust, and the tiny skeleton within had turned to cold stone. The life force was completely extinguished. It was a dead rock, a fossil that could never hatch.
The bidding showed no signs of slowing down.
"Fifty-five thousand!" an elder from a local sect shouted, his face red with excitement.
"Sixty thousand!" a merchant countered from the left side.
"Sixty-five thousand!" the elder roared, standing up and slamming his token on the rail.
The hall fell silent. The merchant shook his head, unwilling to bid further.
"Sold to Room Six for sixty-five thousand spirit stones," Elder Feng announced, striking the gavel.
The elder sat back, his chest puffed out with pride as he smiled at the surrounding cultivators. Su Ming watched in silence, taking a slow sip of his tea.