The auction had ended. The grand hall of the Miteer Auction House was emptying, a river of silk robes and clinking jewelry flowing toward the exits. The air was still thick with the lingering excitement of bidding wars, smelling of perfume, sweat, and gold.
Yoriichi stood at the end of the line near the settlement counter. He waited patiently, his red robes hanging still around him, a stark contrast to the eager merchants pushing forward to collect their earnings.
Behind the counter sat Huo, the same appraiser yoriichi made deal with. He was a man with a greasy smile and wandering eyes. Currently, he was nonchalantly sliding pouches of gold across the marble surface to various sellers, barely making eye contact. His gaze was fixed firmly on the cleavage of the young female receptionist next to him, his mind already drifting to lewd thoughts of what he might do with his own commission later that evening.
"Next," Huo grunted, not looking up.
Yoriichi stepped forward. He placed his number plate—47—on the counter.
Huo glanced at the plate, then at Yoriichi. A flicker of recognition passed through his eyes—recognition mingled with the contempt he had been ordered to display.
"Xiao Ning," Huo muttered. He reached under the counter, pulled out a pre-prepared leather pouch, and tossed it carelessly onto the surface.
Thud.
The sound was wrong. It was too dull. Too light.
Yoriichi didn't pick it up immediately. He rested his bandaged hand on the pouch, feeling the volume of the coins inside.
"Light," Yoriichi analyzed instantly. "Based on the selling prices, the total was 12,000. Even with a 5% commission, it should be 11,400. This feels like... 6,000. Maybe less."
He looked at Huo. The appraiser was back to staring at the receptionist, picking his teeth with a fingernail.
"Mr. Appraiser," Yoriichi said, his voice calm but cutting through the ambient noise. "I hope you give me the remaining gold. This is only about half of what I expect."
Huo blinked, feigning surprise. He let out a short, dismissive laugh.
"Oh?" Huo waved his hand as if swatting a fly. "Young Master Xiao, you must be mistaken. This is the amount we decided before the auction started. After the Venue Tax, the Late Registration Fee, and the... Handling Fee. You readily agreed, didn't you? Haah... don't you remember?"
It was a blatant lie. A gaslighting attempt so transparent it was insulting.
Yoriichi didn't blink. "I agreed on a 4% commission. Even 5% is acceptable. But these extra fees were never mentioned. I have necessary needs for this money."
He didn't plead. He simply stated the facts. He needed that gold for the Star Iron. Every coin stolen was a delay in his blade's creation.
Huo's face darkened. He was getting frustrated. He had expected the "trash" young master to either storm off in a huff or accept it meekly to save face. Being challenged by a 9-Star Dou Disciple—a "Silk Pants"—felt beneath him.
"Heh, Silk Pants," Huo sneered, leaning forward, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "You really have the nerve to accuse me? A Miteer Auction House employee? This is not your Xiao Clan backyard where you can cry to your grandfather."
He wanted to continue his tirade, to belittle the boy further. But then, Yoriichi raised his head.
Their eyes met.
Huo froze.
Yoriichi's eyes were dead calm. They were crimson pools that held no anger, no fear, and no hesitation. It was the gaze of something ancient, something that looked at a man and saw only a collection of meat and bones.
A sudden, sharp chill raced down Huo's spine. The lewd thoughts vanished, replaced by an instinctual tremor of fear.
"What... what is this look?"
The fear bruised his ego instantly. He was an employee of the mighty Miteer family! Why should he fear a declined noble?
"Take it or leave it!" Huo screamed suddenly, slamming his hand on the table to hide his trembling. "Don't waste my time! Next!"
The sudden shout drew attention. People in the lobby stopped and turned.
Yoriichi remained silent. He didn't move to take the bag.
"Someone is targeting me," Yoriichi thought internally, his mind working rapidly. "This man is a pawn. His arrogance is borrowed. Is it the higher-ups or someone else?"
He kept gazing at Huo calmly. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.
This silence infuriated Huo. It felt like judgment.
"Guards!" Huo shrieked, his face flushing red. "Come fast! Remove this trash! He is disturbing the business!"
From the shadows near the entrance, two burly men stepped forward. They wore the silver-trimmed armor of the auction house security. Both leaked the aura of Mid-level Dou Zhes.
They marched up to Yoriichi.
"Young Master," one guard grunted, placing a heavy hand on Yoriichi's shoulder. "Please leave. Don't make us drag you."
Yoriichi looked at the hand on his shoulder.
He shifted his weight. A subtle, fluid motion.
He didn't shrug the hand off; he rotated his shoulder in a tight circle, breaking the guard's grip effortlessly while stepping to the side.
"I am waiting for my payment," Yoriichi said.
The guard grabbed empty air. He stumbled slightly, his face twisting in anger. Being made to look clumsy in front of a crowd was humiliating.
"You brat!" the guard snarled. "You want to do this the hard way?"
"Get him!" the second guard barked.
Both guards attacked simultaneously. They didn't draw weapons, but their fists were coated in the jagged, rock-like armor of the Dou Qi.
One punched at Yoriichi's cheek, intended to knock him out. The other aimed a vicious gut shot to wind him.
The crowd gasped. A Dou Disciple against two Dou Zhes? It would be a massacre.
Yoriichi sighed.
"Too slow. Too loud."
He didn't retreat. He stepped into the space between them.
He moved like a leaf caught in a gentle breeze. It looked easy—a simple tilt of the head, a small shuffle of the feet.
Whoosh. Whoosh.
The first guard's fist grazed Yoriichi's ear by a millimeter. The second guard's fist passed under Yoriichi's armpit.
Because Yoriichi had stepped into the profound gap between their attacks, the guards' momentum carried them forward.
CRACK. THUD.
The first guard's fist slammed into the second guard's shoulder. The second guard's fist buried itself in the first guard's ribs.
"GAAH!" "UGH!"
They groaned in pain, stumbling back, clutching their friendly-fire injuries.
The lobby went dead silent.
"Did... did they just hit each other?" a merchant whispered, rubbing his eyes. "That kid... he barely moved."
Humiliated and in pain, the guards roared. They flared their Dou Qi to circulate fully now. The air rippled with their anger.
"DIE!"
They attacked again. A flurry of punches and kicks.
Yoriichi stood his ground. He kept his eyes fixed on Huo, who was watching with his mouth agape.