The underground Black Market held no concept of day or night. A dim, eternal luminescence emanated from the ores embedded in the stone vault, casting an ethereal glow over the labyrinthine, filthy alleys. The air here was thick with the stench of cheap liquor, musty dampness, and a faint, coppery scent of blood that never dissipated. The rough stone walls on either side seemed steeped in the despair and cruelty of countless tales that had unfolded and concluded within this darkness.
This was a forgotten world, a perfect stage for blood-soaked tragedies.
And tonight, such a play was being performed.
A figure cloaked entirely in black from head to toe was executing a ghostly movement technique, gliding like a phantom through the winding alleys. This person moved with extreme agility and finesse, seemingly intimately familiar with the Black Market's complex terrain. Every turn, every leap over the piles of refuse was executed with pinpoint precision. This individual was the "prey"—the one who had just acquired the ancient map at the auction.
Yet, no matter how cunning the prey, the pack of starving wolves had already caught the scent.
From the makeshift rooftops, from the shadowy corners of the walls, dozens of other dark silhouettes silently gave chase. They moved methodically, slowly tightening their encirclement. Leading one of these groups was a man wearing a wolf-head mask, wielding a pair of razor-sharp twin hook blades. He was Bloodfang, one of the capable vice-captains under Scarlet Feather, who had been ordered to remain in the Black Market. His gaze, visible through the mask, oozed cruelty and greed.
"Fool," Bloodfang muttered. "Did you really think a few spirit stones would let you waltz out of the Black Market with a supreme treasure? In this place, the most valuable currency isn't money; it's the fist."
The hunt continued. The prey ahead seemed to have sensed the danger, increasing their speed. The wolf pack behind also accelerated, gradually closing the distance.
Elsewhere, upon an ancient stone bridge spanning a foul-smelling sewage trench, Elder Wei and Tran Kien stood, silently observing it all. They were like two spectators watching a theatrical play, completely untouched by the tense atmosphere below.
"Elder Wei," Tran Kien transmitted his voice. "That black-cloaked figure... their cultivation base isn't weak at all, and their movement technique is quite profound. Why are they acting so panicked? It looks as if they are deliberately baiting their pursuers."
Elder Wei nodded slightly, a gleam of approval flashing in his clear eyes.
"Excellent observation. You've seen through it. This person is not the prey. He is the bait."
"Bait?"
"Indeed," Elder Wei explained. "Whoever truly spent two thousand spirit stones would not be foolish enough to personally carry the treasure into such a lethal trap. This black-cloaked figure is nothing more than a sacrificial pawn tossed out to draw the attention of the starving wolves."
"Then the real map..." Tran Kien was astounded.
"Perhaps it was already transported via a different, far more secure route. Or..." Elder Wei paused, his gaze shifting toward the brightly lit Bloodshed Pavilion in the distance.
"...or it never left in the first place."
Just as Elder Wei predicted, the pursuit finally reached its climax. The black-cloaked figure was cornered in a dead-end alley, surrounded on three sides by towering stone walls. The only exit was blocked by Bloodfang and over twenty other demonic cultivators.
"Hand over the map," Bloodfang stepped forward, his twin hook blades gleaming under the dim light. "I can grant you a fully intact corpse."
The black-cloaked figure stood there, breathing somewhat heavily. He didn't say a word, only slowly reaching into his robes as if to retrieve the scroll.
But at that exact moment, the unexpected occurred.
Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!
From atop the stone walls on either side, dozens of emerald-green poisoned arrows suddenly rained down. However, they were not aimed at the black-cloaked figure, but squarely at Bloodfang and his men!
"An ambush! Watch out!" Bloodfang roared. His twin hook blades danced, forming a silver barrier that deflected the arrows hurtling toward him. But his subordinates were not as fortunate. Over a dozen men were struck by the poisoned arrows. They only had time to let out bloodcurdling screams before collapsing to the ground, their bodies convulsing as their flesh rapidly turned a purplish-black hue.
"Hahaha! You fools from the Black Dragon Stronghold," that familiar, languid voice from earlier rang out once more. This time, however, it didn't come from a VIP suite, but from the top of the wall.
A curvaceous silhouette slowly materialized. It was the same woman in the translucent red silk dress, wearing the silver fox mask. Yet now, the aura she emanated was no longer one of seductive invitation, but the frigid, deadly intent of a Foundation Establishment stage cultivator!
"The Phantom Illusion Pavilion!" Bloodfang gnashed his teeth, recognizing the silver fox insignia on her mask. "You dare to oppose my Black Dragon Stronghold?"
"In the Black Market, there are no friends, nor are there enemies. There are only interests," the fox-masked woman giggled. "Our Phantom Illusion Pavilion is also quite interested in this map."
Down in the dead-end alley, the black-cloaked figure had already discarded his cloak, revealing attire identical to that of the newly arrived archers. He had been a member of the Phantom Illusion Pavilion all along—a living component of the trap.
The mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind. In the blink of an eye, the Black Dragon Stronghold and the other predators had been transformed into prey. A blood-soaked melee instantly erupted within the narrow alleyway.
But Elder Wei and Tran Kien were no longer there.
The moment the chaotic battle began, Elder Wei had given a signal. The two silently departed the stone bridge, retracing their steps back toward the Bloodshed Pavilion.
"Elder Wei, we are..."
"The fisherman does not involve himself in the squabbles of shrimp and fish," Elder Wei said. "That grand play was merely to blind the masses. The real map remains in the Bloodshed Pavilion. The true winning bidder was neither the Phantom Illusion Pavilion nor the Black Dragon Stronghold."
They arrived at the side entrance of the Bloodshed Pavilion. The two brawny guards were gone, likely dispatched to manage the ensuing chaos. Elder Wei led Tran Kien into a dimly lit servants' corridor.
He stopped before an ordinary-looking stone wall, raised his hand, and tapped out a different bizarre rhythm. A secret stone door rumbled open.
Inside was a small chamber containing nothing but a single table and a person seated behind it. It was the ghost-masked old man, the auctioneer. He was currently in the midst of carefully packing the two thousand lower-grade spirit stones into a brocade box.
Seeing Elder Wei and Tran Kien suddenly appear, the ghost-masked old man showed no signs of shock. He merely let out a long sigh.
"Brother Wei, it has been a long time. Your eyes are as sharp as ever."
"Brother Li, you aren't so bad yourself," Elder Wei replied. "To orchestrate such a grand play, duping both the Azure Cloud Sect and the Black Dragon Stronghold, and hauling in two thousand spirit stones without expending a shred of effort."
"So, where is the real map?" Elder Wei asked directly.
The ghost-masked old man smiled bitterly. He retrieved a beast-skin scroll identical to the one auctioned off from his sleeve and placed it on the table.
"Here it is. The item returns to its rightful owner. I am simply keeping a small commission for my troubles."
Elder Wei nodded. He picked up the map without bothering to inspect it, then turned to Tran Kien. "Let's go."
Tran Kien was still reeling in shock. He couldn't fathom what had just happened. Only after they had exited the hidden chamber did he finally ask, "Elder Wei, what is going on here?"
"It's quite simple," Elder Wei replied. "The true winning bidder of the map was the Bloodshed Pavilion themselves. They placed the bid and bought it back. That chase scene outside was a joint production between them and the Phantom Illusion Pavilion, designed to cull the greedy and simultaneously conceal a singular truth: the real map never left their hands. One arrow, three birds. They acquired spirit stones, purged their rivals, and retained the supreme treasure. A rather decent scheme."
Tran Kien was dumbfounded. It turned out that within this game of chess, there was another game hidden deep within.
"Then why did they hand it over to us so easily?"
"Because they owe me," Elder Wei said, his voice entirely placid. "Thirty years ago, the master of the Bloodshed Pavilion owed me a life. That rusted coin was the token of that debt. As of today, this debt is considered fully repaid."
Tran Kien fell silent. He looked at Elder Wei, feeling that this old man was more unfathomable than the deepest ocean.
They quietly departed the Black Market, returning to the Pavilion of Ten Thousand Tomes. They left behind a blood-soaked night and undercurrents that continued to surge wildly.
The true fisherman had already hauled in his net.