The two days following the auction were a period of intense, focused consolidation. The world outside, with all the ripples we had created, faded into the background. Our pavilion became a silent testament to our shared ambition, a fortress dedicated to forging our newfound power into something truly formidable.
My own progress was a quiet revelation. The boost from the Foundation Elixir was like upgrading a small stream to a steady river. My Dou Qi reserves were deeper, more robust, allowing me to practice the "Soul-Guiding Hand" for hours instead of minutes. The technique, fueled by this stronger foundation, blossomed. The single, wavering thread of spiritual energy I could once coax from the Valeflora leaf was now a tool of remarkable precision. I spent my mornings in deep meditation, weaving the gossamer strands of soul energy into intricate, glowing patterns in the air before me—loops, knots, and flowing figure-eights that danced to my silent command. Each movement was a lesson, each pattern a new verse in a language only I could speak. My synchronization with the more esoteric aspects of my templates climbed steadily, a quiet affirmation that this was my true path.
Ming's training was a far more visceral affair. He had taken his near-disastrous failure in the courtyard to heart. He finally understood that the power of Gojo Satoru wasn't just about overwhelming force; it was about an impossible level of precision. He abandoned his attempts to create massive, destructive vortexes and instead focused his efforts on a single, grey pebble he'd placed on a stone railing.
For hours, he would stand there, sweat beading on his brow, his entire being focused on that one small rock. He was no longer trying to violently yank it towards him. He was trying to persuade it. He was attempting to create a minute, perfectly controlled point of attraction, a gentle pull rather than a cataclysmic tear in reality. On the second afternoon, after countless failures that resulted in nothing more than a faint shimmer in the air, he succeeded.
The pebble wobbled. It lifted a single, trembling inch from the railing, hovered there for a breathtaking second, and then fell with a soft click.
Ming let out a whoop of triumph that echoed through the entire pavilion. It was a minuscule display of power, invisible to anyone but us, but it was a greater victory than shattering a thousand statues. It was the first step on the long road from being a demolitions man to being a surgeon.
With our foundations stabilized and our control sharpened, it was time to enact the next phase of our plan.
"We can't just wander into their territory unannounced," I said, as we sat down for our now-customary evening strategy session. "After the auction, the entire Xiao Clan will be on high alert for us. We need a legitimate reason to be there, an official invitation."
"And how do we get that?" Ming asked, idly balancing a teacup on his finger, a small test of his enhanced dexterity. "Send them a fruit basket?"
"Something a bit more formal," I replied, a plan already taking shape in my mind. "I am the daughter of the reclusive and mysterious Master Bai Zemin. It would be perfectly natural for me to want to establish a local source for common medicinal ingredients for my 'father's' work. It's a sign of respect, an attempt to foster good neighborly relations. It's the perfect cover."
Following my own logic, I spent the next hour composing a letter. The script was graceful, the language formal and impeccably polite. It introduced me, stated my purpose clearly, and subtly conveyed the status of my supposed father without being arrogant. We had one of the servants, a trusted woman whose discretion had been bought with a generous tip, deliver the letter to the Xiao Clan manor.
The response came sooner, and in a more direct form, than I had anticipated. The next morning, a steward from the Xiao Clan arrived to announce that the Great Elder wished to call upon us personally.
This was a test. They weren't just accepting our request; they were vetting us.
We received him in the main hall. The Great Elder of the Xiao Clan was an old man with a severe face, a neatly trimmed grey beard, and eyes that were as sharp and piercing as a hawk's. His body radiated the thick, heavy pressure of a Dou Shi expert, a level of power that would intimidate anyone in Wu Tan City.
He stood in the center of our hall, his gaze sweeping over the opulent furnishings, over me in my simple but high-quality robes, and finally lingering on Ming, who stood silently by the window.
"Young Miss Bai," the Elder began, his voice a low rumble. "I am Xiao Li, the Great Elder of the Xiao Clan. We received your letter. It is… unexpected. Your father, Master Bai, has been in residence for some months, yet has never seen fit to grace our city with his presence."
It was a probing attack, a question wrapped in a statement. I offered him a serene smile, inclining my head respectfully.
"My father values his seclusion above all else, Great Elder," I said, my voice soft and deferential. "His research is his life's work. He apologizes for any perceived slight, but his current project demands his absolute focus. He sent me to Wu Tan City for the quiet air, hoping it would aid my frail constitution. My desire to procure herbs from your esteemed clan is merely my own small attempt to be a good neighbor in his stead."
Every word was a carefully constructed truth wrapped in a lie. I could see him processing it. My appearance—beautiful but with an air of fragility—and my polite demeanor supported my story. The name of my 'father', a potential high-level alchemist, was a powerful shield.
The Elder's gaze shifted to Ming. "And your companion?"
Ming didn't speak. He simply inclined his head slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment that was neither subservient nor challenging. The Great Elder's eyes narrowed. I knew what he was feeling. A Dou Shi expert could sense the Dou Qi levels of anyone weaker than them. But when he looked at Ming, he would sense… nothing. A complete void. The Infinity, even in its passive state, acted as a perfect cloaking device, making him appear as nothing more than a common mortal. But no common mortal could stand so calmly and radiate such an aura of unnerving confidence in the presence of a Dou Shi. The contradiction was far more intimidating than any display of power.
After a long, tense silence, the Elder seemed to come to a decision. "Very well," he said, his tone softening slightly. "The Xiao Clan always welcomes friendly neighbors. We would be honored to host you at our marketplace tomorrow. A steward will be at your gate in the morning to escort you."
"You are too gracious, Great Elder," I said, bowing my head once more.
He gave a curt nod, his gaze flicking one last time towards Ming, and then he departed. The moment the door closed, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. The pressure he exerted had been immense.
"He totally bought it," Ming said with a triumphant grin.
"He bought it because he couldn't find a reason not to," I corrected. "He's still deeply suspicious. We'll be under intense scrutiny tomorrow."
"Let them scrutinize," Ming shrugged. "It'll make the show more interesting."
The following morning, true to the Elder's word, a Xiao Clan steward was waiting for us. Our arrival at the manor was a stark contrast to our last visit. We were no longer anonymous observers; we were invited guests. We were escorted past the outer training grounds and directly into the heart of their commercial district.
The Xiao Clan marketplace was a well-oiled machine. It was cleaner, more organized, and far more specialized than the public market. Every stall was run by a clan member, and every product, from low-level pills to Dou Techniques printed on cheap scrolls, was geared towards the singular purpose of cultivation.
Our presence caused an immediate stir. Whispers followed us like a cloud of insects.
"It's them… the ones from the auction…"
"Look at her! She's as beautiful as the rumors said…"
"Who is that man with the white hair? I can't sense any Dou Qi from him…"
I ignored them, playing my part to perfection. I stopped at stalls, inquiring about the prices of common herbs like an actual procurement agent. I used the knowledge from the alchemist's journal to make intelligent comments on their quality, earning surprised and respectful looks from the clan members running the stalls.
Ming was my silent, watchful shadow. His Six Eyes were a whirlwind of activity, absorbing every detail. He was mapping the layout, gauging the strength of the guards, tracking the flow of Dou Qi, and most importantly, searching for our true target.
We were Browse a stall selling beast cores when he finally spoke, his voice a low murmur. "Target acquired. Ninety feet to your left. Near the stall with the red banners. He's with his father."
I subtly shifted my gaze. And there he was. Xiao Yan. He looked even more gaunt and dejected than he had at the auction. His father, Xiao Zhan, was leading him through the market, a look of paternal concern on his face. This was it. The prelude to the test.
We continued our charade, slowly making our way through the market, always keeping them in our peripheral vision. Then, it happened. A commotion erupted near the stall with the red banners. A crowd was gathering, their voices rising in anger and confusion.
We drifted closer, drawn by the disturbance. At the center of the circle was a smarmy, rat-faced man I recognized from the novel's descriptions as a sycophantic clan member named Xiao Ke. He was in a heated argument with a burly mercenary.
"I'm telling you, this is authentic Fire-Red Grass!" Xiao Ke insisted, gesturing to a bundle of herbs on his counter. "Essential for healing fire-attribute Dou Qi injuries!"
"It looks right," the mercenary grumbled, "but the price is too high!"
I focused on the herbs. Even without my "Soul-Guiding Hand," the detailed descriptions in the journal made the counterfeit obvious. The color was too uniform, the scent too faint. It was common Sawtooth Grass, dyed with the juice of a Redflower Berry. It was worthless.
I glanced over at Xiao Yan. He was staring at the herbs, a deep frown on his face. His spiritual perception, gifted to him by Yao Lao, was clearly telling him something was wrong. But he hesitated. He was uncertain, lacking the confidence and the specific knowledge to call out the fraud. In the original story, Yao Lao would have given him the answer directly. But now, with his soul weakened by the lack of the Foundation Elixir, his guidance was likely a faint, confusing whisper. Xiao Yan was faltering.
The mercenary, grumbling but convinced, was reaching for his coin purse. The fraud was about to succeed.
This was the moment. An opportunity born directly from our interference. It wasn't about being a hero. It was about making a statement. It was about demonstrating value, inserting ourselves into the narrative on our own terms.
Ming caught my eye and gave a subtle, almost imperceptible nod. The stage is yours.
I took a calming breath, my heart beating a steady, determined rhythm. I stepped forward, my movement graceful and unhurried, parting the crowd with my mere presence. All eyes turned to me. My voice, when it came, was not loud, but it cut through the noise of the market with the clarity of a ringing bell.
"Excuse me," I said, my gaze directed not at the fraudulent seller, but at the mercenary. "I would advise against that purchase."
The mercenary froze, his hand hovering over his purse. The fraudulent Xiao Ke spun around, his face flushing with anger. Xiao Yan's head snapped in my direction, his eyes wide with shock. From across the marketplace, I could feel the sharp, piercing gaze of the Great Elder, who had been observing the entire scene.
I met the stunned silence of the crowd with a placid, unshakable calm.
"Those herbs," I declared, my voice echoing slightly in the sudden quiet. "Are worthless fakes."