The sect was built on an island named Rainbell Isle. It wasn’t an actual island, but rather the back of an enormous tortoise that was thousands upon thousands of years old and bound to the founder of the sect by blood pact. The tortoise carried the entire sect on its back as it traveled the oceans, and it nourished the flora of the isle with its unique spiritual energy.
The disciples of Guyueye had always been enigmatic and removed from the rest of the world. The sect rarely ever interacted with outsiders; only on the first and fifteenth day of each month would the tortoise dock at Yangzhou Port so that other sects could board and purchase medicines, while merchants could peddle their weapons, spiritual stones, and other wares that weren’t usually found on the island itself.
Yet the most famous attraction on Rainbell Isle wasn’t Guyueye, but Xuanyuan Pavilion. The pavilion was a subsidiary trading post of Guyueye, and it was well-known throughout the cultivation world.
This pavilion opened its doors twice per month to auction off goods like Guyueye’s top-grade medicines and rare treasures from various sellers. The merchandise often toed the line of permissibility in terms of the cultivation world’s taboos, but no one was so bored as to make an enemy of Guyueye. After all, most of the medicines circulating in the world originated at this sect. All things considered, Guyueye was no less powerful than the leading Rufeng Sect.
“Put your hood up. Too many eyes here,” Chu Wanning quietly reminded Mo Ran while tugging the hood of his own cloak lower. More and more people were arriving at Rainbell Isle.
Xuanyuan Pavilion’s auction house kept lavish private rooms for each of the great sects as a show of respect. However, since shady deals were made and stolen goods exchanged hands in this establishment, cultivators generally kept their identities hidden so as to not attract any undue attention or fatal misfortune.
Mo Ran and Chu Wanning stepped into Xuanyuan Pavilion. The interior was split into three floors, and the center of the first floor was occupied by a platform of white jade. The platform was shaped like a nine-petaled lotus flower, and it was enshrouded by nine layers of impenetrable defensive barriers. This was where the merchandise would be displayed during the auction.
Several hundred rows of redwood benches extended in the four cardinal directions around the white jade platform. These were the standard seats.
The second floor held private booths, each with a large window made of golden cedar and a curtain of silver moon silk that allowed those within to clearly see out of it, but blocked sight from the outside-in. These booths protected the privacy of the guests, but they were expensive: nine thousand gold for two hours.
Chu Wanning disliked crowding among others, so he took out the gold pieces Xue Zhengyong had sent and didn’t hesitate.
The servants of Xuanyuan Pavilion who attended the guests had made death pacts with the master of the pavilion, and thus would never divulge the personal information of any guest. Even so, Chu Wanning remained wary. He booked the booth with the best view and had the servant bring two pots of snowy fragrance tea, eight pieces each of fresh and candied fruit, four pastries, and four sweets, and then sent the servant away.
Once he was alone with Mo Ran in the room, Chu Wanning finally lowered his hood as he stood by the window, looking down at the masses of people below.
“According to the sect leader, Xuanyuan will be auctioning off a weapon named Guilai.”21
“Guilai?” Mo Ran shook his head. “Never heard of it.”
“It’s a holy weapon.”
Mo Ran started. “A holy weapon? But didn’t Jincheng Lake—”
“Indeed. Supposedly this Guilai was found in a nameless grave in the Wanshen Mountains. Its master probably didn’t have any heirs to pass it to, and so he had it buried with him.”
“I see…”
A holy weapon took only one master: the one who named it. Upon their death, it would accept their heirs. Even if someone else were to get their hands on the weapon, they would be unable to draw out even a tiny fraction of its true power. As far as Mo Ran was concerned, there wasn’t much point in buying a weapon like that.
“It’s true that a holy weapon that doesn’t acknowledge its wielder as its master won’t display its true power,” Chu Wanning said, having seen through his thoughts. “Even then, it will be many times stronger than a normal weapon. These people will definitely go all out.”
Mo Ran grasped the situation. “I understand Shizun’s meaning now. Most people go their whole lives without even seeing a holy weapon. Since this ‘Guilai’ was found in a nameless grave, and an ages-old one at that, everyone here will very likely extend their spiritual energy to test it on the off-chance they happen to be a descendant of its original master. There’s no harm in trying, after all.”
“Precisely.”
“Holy weapons are rarely even seen, but one without a master just so happens to pop up for sale right at this juncture?” Mo Ran continued contemplatively. “No matter how you look at it, this has to be the work of that fake Gouchen. He’s bringing out a high-quality counterfeit to bait everyone into exposing their spiritual energy so he can see if anyone here has the spiritual essence he’s looking for.”
Chu Wanning sat down in a cushioned chair, poured himself a cup of snowy fragrance tea, and leisurely drank it. Then he looked at the swarm of people below and said in a quiet voice: “It’s exactly as you say. Regardless of whether the holy weapon is real or whether it’s part of the fake Gouchen’s scheme, it can’t hurt to check.”
At that moment, there was a ruckus down below.
Chu Wanning and Mo Ran peered downward and were both caught off guard by what they saw.
Xuanyuan Pavilion’s golden gates stood wide open, and two rows of blue-robed young men with their hair done up in jade crowns were striding with their faces exposed through the crowd of cloaked cultivators, whose own faces were hidden under hoods. The one in the lead was slender and handsome, and he didn’t bother with any form of concealment even as he strolled right into the black market.
“Ye Wangxi?” Mo Ran uttered, surprised.