Three days had passed since the final strike of the auctioneer's mallet, yet the fervor gripping Black Tortoise City showed no signs of cooling. In the tea houses, taverns, and merchant plazas, cultivators from every corner of the Demon Immortal Continent spoke of only two things: the world-shaking twenty thousand High-Grade Spirit Stone bid by Black Tortoise Mountain, and the shadowy Grand Domain Smith known as Ashen Anvil.
While ordinary rogue cultivators buzzed with gossip, the atmosphere among the major sect delegations had grown noticeably tense. Foreign elders and disciples had not departed. Instead, the diplomatic lodges rented by Scarlet Sun Palace and Heavenly Sword Lake had become command posts.
Beneath the bustling streets, subtle undercurrents were in motion. Scarlet Sun Palace had quietly deployed several Spirit Manifestation cultivators around the commercial district, their spiritual senses attuned to any abnormal fluctuations of intense fire Qi. Not far away, scouts from Heavenly Sword Lake observed the exits of the Star River Merchant Hall with restrained, razor-sharp vigilance, watching every figure that crossed the threshold in hopes of catching a glimpse of the reclusive grandmaster or tracing the transfer of the astronomical payout.
Deep beneath the Star River Merchant Hall, far beyond the reach of external surveillance, a private chamber remained sealed behind thick basalt walls layered with void-isolation formations.
Inside the quiet room, a faint scent of calming sandalwood drifted through the air. Grandmaster Viserion, clad in his formal grey appraiser robes, sat on one side of a low obsidian table. Opposite him sat a figure shrouded in a heavy, charcoal-grey cloak that completely masked both face and physique. A faint, crushing density—resembling the ancient, unyielding aura of an archaic forge—subtly pressed outward from the cloaked figure, ensuring that even a seasoned expert like Viserion felt an instinctive urge to tread with utmost respect.
Viserion placed two dark violet spatial rings onto the polished tabletop, sliding them forward with both hands.
"Senior Ashen Anvil," Viserion said in a low, reverent tone, bowing his head slightly. "The twenty thousand High-Grade Spirit Stones from the regional coalition have been fully cleared through our alliance's treasury. As per our agreed five percent handling fee, one thousand stones were deducted. Within these two high-density spatial rings rest precisely nineteen thousand High-Grade Spirit Stones."
The cloaked figure—Fang Lin—did not speak immediately. He calmly extended a hand covered in a coarse grey sleeve and lightly touched the surface of the rings.
His Peak Mortal Will slipped into the storage rings effortlessly. Instantly, his consciousness was greeted by rows upon rows of glowing, crystalline rectangular stones, each radiating pure, unadulterated spiritual essence that hummed like a subterranean vein.
Nineteen thousand High-Grade Spirit Stones.
Beneath his heavy hood and unyielding master persona, Fang Lin's heart skipped a beat. Even with the ancient wealth left behind by Master Ou Yezi, physically inspecting nineteen thousand pristine High-Grade stones earned through his own craftsmanship filled him with a shameless yet deeply satisfying rush of delight.
*Look at that,* the Dark Flame Spirit's voice sneered in his soul sea, snickering with irrepressible mirth. *Nineteen thousand High-Grade stones! If that fiery little bird from Scarlet Sun Palace knew she screamed and bid herself hoarse only for your own sect to buy your mace and dump nineteen thousand stones straight into your lap, she'd probably cough up blood. And those foreign elders outside are still on the rooftops with their surveillance arrays, waiting to track an ancient grandmaster who doesn't even exist!*
Fang Lin maintained absolute stillness, silently suppressing the urge to smile. With a calm flick of his wrist, both spatial rings vanished beneath his sleeve, transferred instantly into his inner storage.
Viserion watched the 'grand master's' effortless composure with deepening admiration. Reaching into his robes, he produced a palm-sized jade medallion carved with a swirling river of stars and placed it on the table.
"This is the Star River Merchant Alliance's Paramount Elder Token," Viserion said with utmost humility. "With this token, Senior may commission any rare materials or access our private spatial transit arrays in any major city across the continent, with our highest priority and zero handling fees. Should Senior ever forge another piece or require rare ores, our alliance will gladly serve as your sole conduit."
"I shall keep it in mind," Fang Lin replied. His voice emerged low, rasping, and artificially rasped with age, carrying the detached weight of an ancient hermit who cared little for worldly fame.
He picked up the Paramount Token and stood up. "Is the departure array ready?"
"Naturally," Viserion responded immediately, rising to his feet and gesturing toward an arched stone doorway at the back of the chamber. "The spatial transit array connects directly to three randomized subterranean egress points across the outer city districts. Senior may choose whichever path pleases you."
Fang Lin offered a slight, measured nod of acknowledgement before stepping toward the arched doorway. As he stepped onto the stone platform, silver spatial runes ignited beneath his feet. With a soft hum that barely stirred the air, the spatial distortion wrapped around his figure, and he vanished from the underground chamber.
***
In an obscure, shadowed alleyway in the southern lower district of Black Tortoise City, space rippled faintly behind a stack of weathered iron-wood crates.
Fang Lin stepped out from the spatial distortion. The instant his boots touched the muddy cobblestones, his heavy grey cloak dissolved inward, vanishing into his storage ring. His posture softened, his simulated aura shifting instantly back to that of "Mu Tie"—an unassuming Early Core Formation disciple radiating the faint, ordinary heat of a common Fire Core.
Before taking a single step, Fang Lin's Peak Mortal Will subtly expanded outward like an invisible, weightless web, blanket-scanning the surrounding three streets.
Immediately, his senses picked up two distinct surveillance points.
A hundred yards to the east, atop a tiled roof, a Spirit Manifestation cultivator in dark red robes sat concealed within the chimney smoke, casually scanning the street with a heat-sensing formation plate—an elder from Scarlet Sun Palace. To the northwest, near the mouth of the alley, a cultivator leaning against a tavern wall carried a faint, concealed filament of sword Qi coiled around his fingers—a disciple of Heavenly Sword Lake.
Both were waiting for any sign of an unfamiliar grandmaster or high-level spatial emergence.
*Amateurs,* the Dark Flame Spirit scoffed lazily in his mind. *They think a couple of basic formation plates and hidden sword threads can catch an Ashen Anvil.*
*They are thorough, but their scope is too rigid,* Fang Lin noted calmly.
Without pausing or altering his pace, Fang Lin took a step forward. As he did, his *Shadow Breath* technique activated seamlessly. His physical presence, breathing, and Qi fluctuations folded directly into the natural shadow cast by the towering city wall. To anyone watching with the naked eye or divine sense, he appeared to be nothing more than a passing, tired sect junior carrying an ordinary tool pouch.
He walked past the alleyway right beneath the nose of the Heavenly Sword Lake scout. The scout's gaze swept across him for half a second before sliding away completely, dismissing him as an insignificant outer disciple returning from the market.
Fang Lin turned into a crowded thoroughfare, casually weaving through the stream of merchant carts and wandering cultivators. Within moments, he had cleared the southern gates of Black Tortoise City without triggering a single tracking mark or drawing a shred of suspicion.
Leaving the bustling city gates behind, Fang Lin ascended the winding, basalt-paved paths of Black Tortoise Mountain. The oppressive heat of the city gradually gave way to the steady, sulfurous breeze of the volcanic peaks. He passed several patrolling outer sect guards who offered respectful, routine bows to "Core Smith Mu," to which Fang Lin returned polite, slightly tired nods.
Continuing up the familiar rocky trails, he reached the quiet terrace of Peak 74.
The outer courtyard of his cave mansion was undisturbed, exactly as he had left it. Fang Lin walked up to the heavy stone slab entrance, pressed his identity token against the array groove, and listened as the massive stone door slid shut with a deep, grinding thud.
The defensive arrays activated, cutting off the outside world and enveloping the cave in quiet stillness.
Fang Lin let out a long, quiet breath, feeling the tension of the past few days ease from his shoulders. He did not immediately reach for his newly acquired spatial rings or begin any cultivation exercises. Walking over to the simple stone bed in the corner of the chamber, he sat down, leaned back against the cool basalt wall, and closed his eyes to rest.
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