Chapter Seventy-Five: Ninth Level of Qi Refinement

In an instant, Dao Sansheng, who had just quieted down, erupted into blazing flames. The quilt, still covered in frost from before, suddenly caught fire. The blaze grew fiercer, burning a hole right through the bed. Beside him, Chao Xiong quickly circulated his spiritual energy, conjuring a shield of spiritual power that enveloped Dao Sansheng entirely.

“Hurry up and help! I can’t hold on much longer!” Chao Xiong’s face was flushed with strain. Zhao Qianqian and Li Zihong immediately poured their own spiritual power into the shield, finally stabilizing the trembling barrier.

The fire did not last long; after an hour, it extinguished itself. By then, night had fallen. The three who had maintained the shield lay exhausted on the ground, fast asleep.

Within Dao Sansheng’s body, the outer layer of his meridians was coated in frost, yet inside, spiritual energy as red as molten lava surged through him. His body was bare, every hair singed away by the flames. The frost gradually spread from the surface of his meridians to the outer layers of his body, forming a suit of icy armor that covered him entirely, save for his head.

From his head, white vapor rose, though it was unclear whether it was steam or cold mist. The spiritual magma within him suddenly broke through its constraints, smashing through the next barrier in his meridians—and then another, unstoppable. But just then, the sky shifted, sun and moon alternating, light flickering. The barriers he had just broken through reformed, stronger and more resilient than before.

Blocked, the spiritual magma tried several times to break through, but to no avail. Eventually, it settled and precipitated within his meridians, its redness fading away. The spiritual energy began to circulate naturally, following the prescribed path of his cultivation technique.

Dao Sansheng’s breathing finally steadied.

At that moment, in the sea of consciousness within him, the Soul Jade who resided there saw the now-calm meridians. She reached out a delicate, jade-like hand, her fingers slender as scallion stalks, and gently tapped Dao Sansheng’s forehead.

The touch was tender and tinged with shyness. As her hand withdrew, Dao Sansheng, who had just been reliving his life in a dream, was abruptly pulled back to reality. All the beauty of his dream vanished, the scenes fading like bubbles.

Opening his eyes, Dao Sansheng saw before him a pair of clear, bright eyes, blinking at him. He realized that he had succumbed to a deviation in his cultivation, and it was the Soul Jade who had saved him.

“Master, you’re awake! You’ve just broken through—you’re now at the ninth level of Qi Refining. Go outside and see for yourself.”

The melodious voice brought Dao Sansheng fully awake. As he stood up, he was still entranced by the sound.

“Keep an eye on Chen Xiaofeng for me. I’ll deal with him after the trade fair,” he said, pausing his movements and opening his eyes.

The room around him was charred black. Three people lay on the floor—it was Chao Xiong, Li Zihong, and Zhao Qianqian. Dao Sansheng tried to get out of bed but found it difficult to move. Only then did he realize he was encased in a thick crust of frost, making movement awkward—and he had not a stitch of clothing beneath.

He reached for the hair tie at the back of his head, took out a change of clothes, and dressed. Then he used fire to melt away the frost on his skin.

“Wake up, all of you.”

Dao Sansheng tapped the floor. The three lying on the ground opened their eyes and slowly climbed to their feet.

“Hahaha…”

“Did you all study Beijing opera? You all look like Guan Yu, faces so black I can hardly recognize you!” Dao Sansheng’s laughter filled the room. The three looked at each other, then burst into laughter themselves, the entire room echoing with joy.

As the laughter subsided, the three turned to Dao Sansheng and pointed at him.

“Hahaha… Not only is your face black, but you’re bald in the front too!”

As Chao Xiong finished, Dao Sansheng reached up to touch his own head, eyes widening in shock.

“Today, the largest auction in the city, the Purple Gold Auction House, is holding the continent’s grandest auction. If we don’t hurry, we’ll be late!” Zhao Qianqian, after laughing for so long, finally remembered their plan.

The four of them hurried downstairs, tossed four premium spirit stones to the front desk, making the innkeeper grin from ear to ear.

“Please come again, honored guests!” the innkeeper called, sending a servant to clean their room. Soon, cries of surprise echoed from upstairs.

The four made their way towards the auction house, conveniently located nearby—one of the reasons they had chosen this inn in the first place. The city streets were bustling, most people heading in the same direction. This auction house was the largest on the continent and had once sold extremely rare cultivation materials, earning it a stellar reputation.

Rumor had it that this was the property of the Zi family, the only clan on the continent with the power and reputation to oversee such commerce. Sellers felt secure: whether it was black market goods or stolen wares, as long as it had no connection to the Purple Immortal Palace, everything could be auctioned here. Thus, the Purple Gold Auction House’s renown was unassailable.

Zhao Qianqian explained all this to his companions as they approached. Even before they arrived, they could see the massive domed building in the distance, resembling a great hill—its roof a perfect dome, its walls constructed from enormous, identical stone blocks stacked high. The seams between the stones were tightly joined, forming tiered steps that led all the way to the dome’s summit.

A great crowd had already gathered in front. The colossal stone doors, carved with strange and intricate designs, drew Dao Sansheng’s gaze. Several people in black robes stood at the entrance, their faces hidden behind masks.

Though the crowd was dense, those near the doors had formed neat lines, queuing in order. Many in the crowd also wore masks, just like the black-robed staff at the entrance.

Chao Xiong poked Zhao Qianqian. “Why is this so strange? Everyone’s wearing masks. And what’s with those bizarre carvings on the doors? Are you sure you’ve ever been here?”

Zhao Qianqian, caught off guard, coughed awkwardly before replying, “No, I’ve never been here. I was too poor before—even the tickets are expensive. I heard people wear masks because with so many important deals, people are afraid of being recognized if they buy something valuable. The staff wear masks too, since as enforcers, they might be targeted for revenge. And those doors—supposedly there’s a giant spiritual array on them. Even Foundation Establishment cultivators couldn’t break through in a single strike. When the auction begins, the doors will be sealed.”

He had not finished speaking when the sound of a spirit beast-drawn carriage approached from afar, the beast’s cry echoing through the crowd. The carriage stopped at the rear, and a richly dressed middle-aged man alighted, his posture straight, hands behind his back. He had a square face adorned with a small mustache and smiled as he walked to the front of the line. Two attendants followed, arms laden with goods, their entourage grand and imposing.