WBICDPH Chapter 49

Chapter 49 — The Supreme Treasure Pavilion

Han Ao woke early to meet Lin Jin, but the moment he stepped outside, he was caught by Hua Nanzhi.

They argued for quite a while. He tried every excuse he could think of, but Miss Hua refused to believe a word and insisted on coming along. Unable to win, Han Ao finally gave in, thus leading to the current situation.

“Miss, we really aren’t going on a mission this time. We just want to visit Golden Scale City for the Treasure Fair. We’re seriously just going to have fun!”
Lin Jin sounded utterly exhausted as he explained.

“Don’t believe you!” Hua Nanzhi refused to trust even half a sentence.
“Hah—Senior Brother of Dongli? Dual-cultivation genius in talismans and formations? I’ve already heard the glorious stories about you practicing nonstop for hundreds of days without rest. And you expect me to believe you’re just going out to play? You two are definitely trying to sneak off to work harder behind my back—secretly studying, secretly training!”

Lin Jin found himself unable to argue.

He’d never imagined that a former lazy slacker like himself would one day become Misty Rain Mountain’s model of diligence—thanks largely to his merciless master who treated disciples like tireless machines.

As he pondered how to respond, Hua Nanzhi continued,
“But you mentioned the Golden Scale Treasure Fair… I’ve heard of it too and I’m quite interested. They say the auction items are priceless rarities you can’t buy anywhere else. You two poor guys—do you even have the money to bid?”

…That hurt.

Perhaps unwilling to endure the insult, Han Ao threw an arm around Lin Jin’s shoulders.
“Hey, don’t look down on us! I may be broke—but Lin Lin has money!”

“?” Lin Jin blinked. “Since when? Maybe check my pockets before saying that?”

Han Ao glanced at Hua Nanzhi and lowered his voice.
“Bro, you’re a talisman cultivator. Everyone knows talisman masters are loaded!”

That only made Lin Jin sigh.
“My master won’t let me sell talismans for profit. I can draw them, but only mid- to low-tier—fifth rank or below—and no more than five of each tier per month. Any more and I’ll get punished.”

“Why?”

“…Because drawing talismans is too easy for me,” Lin Jin admitted reluctantly. “Mass production would mess up market prices and hurt other talisman cultivators. High-tier talismans are already rare—if I started selling them in bulk, I’d either crash the market or attract people who want me dead. So my master put strict limits on me.”

…Even geniuses have their own troubles.

Han Ao fell silent.

“Hmph.”
Hua Nanzhi had grown impatient listening to their whispered conversation and cut them off with a cold laugh.
“Stop digging through your pathetic pockets for spare spirit stones.”

Han Ao bristled, fists clenched.
“I’m warning you—don’t think just because you have—”

He meant to say, “a little money,” but before he could finish, Hua Nanzhi spoke first:

“How about this? If you let me come along, I’ll cover all expenses in Golden Scale City today.”

Han Ao swallowed the rest of his sentence. His anger instantly transformed into eager flattery.

Before they could even agree, she added another condition:
“And each of you can pick one item at the auction—anything you want. I’ll pay.”

Deal! They’d probably carry her on their backs if she asked.

Insults to their pride suddenly meant nothing. Being rich really did let people do whatever they wanted.

Lin Jin immediately bent at the waist in an exaggerated invitation.
“Miss, this way please!”

Han Ao became equally sycophantic, massaging her shoulders.
“My apologies for earlier, Miss! Please don’t hold it against me. Is that sword heavy? Let me carry it for you!”

She shot him a sideways glance.
“Weren’t you about to warn me about something? Why didn’t you finish?”

“N-no, I just wanted to warn you not to be too charming or dazzling—or everyone might overlook your unmatched saber skills and your title as the world’s greatest Little Saber Immortal.”

“Hmph. That’s better. Though ‘Little Saber Immortal’ sounds awful—come up with a new title as punishment.”

She lifted her chin, pleased with her newly “purchased” attendants.

Originally, Lin Jin and Han Ao had worried whether they had enough spirit stones, but once their wealthy sponsor stepped in, all concerns vanished. With the promise that she’d cover everything, they toured Golden Scale City enthusiastically, competing to carry her shopping bags.

By the time the Treasure Fair began, the three of them followed the crowds into the tallest building in the city—the Supreme Treasure Pavilion.

Located at the city’s center, the tower was illuminated at night by thousands of lanterns, glowing so brightly it looked like a golden palace visible from miles away.

As Lin Jin walked through the crowd, he sensed chaotic spiritual energy mixed with strange demonic and ghostly auras—hardly surprising. During Treasure Fair season, nobles and cultivators from everywhere flooded the city, making it both lively and dangerously chaotic. Humans, demon cultivators, ghost cultivators, and demonic sect members all mingled, so guests typically wore masks or cloaks or used spells to hide their identities and avoid trouble.

Lin Jin’s group wore masks as well—but when he saw Hua Nanzhi’s extravagant, solid-gold mask, he struggled to comment.

Wasn’t it heavy?

After hesitating, he nudged her.
“Miss… do you know why we wear masks?”

“So people can’t recognize us,” she replied, puzzled.

“Right—but the real purpose is to stay low-key. Do you think that blinding gold mask counts as subtle?”

“Of course it does,” she said, touching it. “I have other options if you want to see.”

She pulled several more masks from her storage ring—one made from compressed top-grade spirit stones, another silver mask coated with powder from a heavenly-tier demon core, even more dazzling than gold.

“…Okay, okay. Put them away. My mistake,” Lin Jin groaned, squinting at the glare. Gold really was her most modest option.

Fortunately, wealthy patrons were everywhere, so she didn’t stand out too much.

Inside, the opulence was overwhelming: eighth-rank beast-fur carpets, gold-plated decorations, ancient artifacts lining the halls, and attendants wearing luxurious silk produced only three hundred bolts per year. Lin Jin and Han Ao wandered around wide-eyed, muttering “wow,” “whoa,” and “holy—,” amazed by everything.

At one point, Hua Nanzhi wondered if coming with them had been a terrible mistake—they were just too embarrassing.

While they gawked at a massive beast-head statue, she quietly approached an attendant and presented a token.

The attendant immediately bowed.
“An honored guest. Please follow me.”

Hua Nanzhi pointed toward the two clueless men.
“I’m bringing two inexperienced attendants with me.”

“Of course.”

Curious, Lin Jin inspected the token—a small palm-sized plaque with an iridescent black sheen.
“What is this?”

“The highest-rank Mo-Zhen token,” she explained. “My father arranged it before I came to Misty Rain Mountain. He told me to visit whenever I wanted to shop.”

Han Ao asked where he could get one. She smirked.
“To qualify, you need to spend five hundred thousand top-grade spirit stones here within a year.”

…They both fell silent.

The attendant led them to a private VIP suite—semi-open, separated by a magically enchanted silk curtain that allowed them to see the auction floor while remaining unseen. Rare desserts filled the table, and Han Ao lounged happily in a recliner while watching the bustling arena below.

Their suite was on the third floor—the highest level reserved for Mo-Zhen guests, with only two such rooms per event. Opposite them was the other elite suite, faintly visible through the curtain.

As Lin Jin gazed across the hall, the small creature tucked in his clothes—Qiuqiu—popped its head out and settled onto a soft chair, peering through the curtain as well. Though initially uninterested, it noticed shadowy figures entering the opposite suite.

Xiao Lanqi narrowed his eyes.

—

“Lord, this way please.”

Inside the opposite Mo-Zhen suite, a burly man bowed respectfully as a masked woman in black entered. Silver ornaments chimed softly from her ear as she took a seat before the curtain.

“The furnace vessel gifted by the Misty Pavilion went missing,” she said coolly. “Who was responsible for retrieving it? So much time has passed without news—since when did the Twelve Torch Guards become so useless?”

One attendant explained nervously that the agent in charge—Ming—had died months ago, leaving no clues behind.

“Ming?” she mused.

“He was a Heart-Painting Fiend—low-blooded, only admitted because the Supreme Lord insisted,” the man added carelessly.

Her tapping finger suddenly struck the armrest sharply, releasing a chilling pressure that forced him to kneel and beg forgiveness.

“Who are you to question the Supreme Lord?” she said coldly.

Then, mid-sentence, she paused—sensing something—and looked toward the distant suite across the hall.

“How interesting,” she murmured with a faint smile.
“To encounter an old acquaintance… one should present a grand gift.”