Chapter Eleven: The Foolish Son

“Oh? So it was him.”

Jiang Lan was oblivious to what schemes the person opposite might be plotting, for her attention was entirely captured by a brown leather pouch lying beneath. Upon closer inspection, despite its battered appearance, the pouch was evidently no ordinary item; the opening bid alone started at three thousand taels. Aside from a character inked in the center with some unknown dye, outsiders would hardly discern any value in this shabby sack.

Even Xue Mingrui, known for his keen eye, failed to identify its origin, only learning from the seller that it was an artifact left behind by a Daoist master who had recently perished in a fierce battle against demons. Rumor had it, the pouch contained a universe within.

Listening to Xue Mingrui’s explanation, Jiang Lan refrained from ridicule, for the pouch did indeed contain something—though not a universe, but demons.

“Cousin, I want this,” Jiang Lan said to Xue Mingzhao.

Xue Mingzhao was taken aback for a moment. “What’s your lowest price?”

Seeing his intent to help her bid, Jiang Lan quickly declined. Across from them sat the wealthy and confrontational heir to the Prince of Anping; she certainly had enough money, but there was no need for her elder cousin to intervene.

“No need to trouble you, cousin,” she said, gesturing helplessly toward the opposite side, “I’ll go down to the first floor instead.”

Xue Mingzhao said nothing, merely instructing his personal attendant to lead the way for her.

Xi Chi wished to accompany her, but Jiang Lan refused; too many people would only complicate matters. Instead of heading straight to the main hall downstairs, Jiang Lan devised a way to procure two masks—by chance, one was a bull’s head, the other a horse’s face.

She took the bull’s head for herself without fuss, despite it being the crude work of a minor ghost deity, and gave the horse’s face to her cousin’s attendant.

By the time she arrived, the price had already soared to five thousand taels, making Jiang Lan, whose funds were limited, wince in pain.

Surveying her competition, she saw two figures on the first floor clad in black cloaks with low-brimmed hats, wrapped tightly and impervious to scrutiny, only their right hands occasionally lifting placards to raise the bid. Others might not see through them, but Jiang Lan knew well they were young disciples of the Daoist sect.

Upstairs, where wealth abounded, there was only one bidder; evidently, those with money and power had little use for such items.

This gave Jiang Lan confidence—it was only money, after all. Painful as it was, it was better to spend it than let someone else exploit the contents of the pouch.

Under the watchful gaze of Chunsheng, her cousin’s trusted attendant, she raised her placard and called out, “Ten thousand taels.”

The entire room was instantly thrown into disarray.

What!

Ten thousand taels!

Was this money swept in by the wind? Was she mad?

Amidst mingled looks of curiosity and scrutiny, Jiang Lan secured the pouch. Though she possessed no magical powers, she knew well that her three competitors all understood the pouch’s true purpose and were determined to win it.

Had she slowly increased the bid, they might have matched her, fighting to the end. Better to shock them outright; at least the original owner did something right, she thought—she still had some money left.

Upstairs in the private room, Xue Mingrui heard the price called below and felt a pang of sympathy for his cousin. Finally venturing out for a bit of fun and treasure hunting, only to be stunned by the reckless bidding of a wealthy fool from some landlord’s household—he tasted the terror of being dominated by sheer wealth.

Xue Mingrui was about to grumble to his elder brother when he saw his cousin standing at the doorway, pouch in hand.

His head was beginning to ache.