The huge pavilion rises at least two stories up at its highest point, its thick, purple cloth billowing gently in the morning breeze.

It’s been erected out on an open field a bit of a walk from town, and cultivators mill about in small groups, talking about cultivator things, I imagine.

I notice immediately the clear segregation of the groups, cultivation rank and phase playing a pivotal role in deciding who gets to hang out with what group. I can’t say I’m surprised, if there’s any group of people I ever expected to be classist and elitist, it’s cultivators.

Naturally, my arrival causes a bit of a stir, and I wonder if it’s because of my name, my history, or my power. Though, more likely, it’s thanks to all three.

People look and whisper, all while trying to not make it obvious that they’re looking and whispering.

“Guess even cultivators aren’t immune to the urge to gossip like drunk, old men,” I say to Meng Yi beside me.

Meng Yi smiles, a silent reply to my comment.

A man in fine purple clothing spots us and rushes over, his cultivation one of the highest that I’ve sensed so far in my casual scoping of the cultivators present.

“Young Master Xian Qigang,” he says, bowing to me and entirely ignoring Meng Yi’s presence. “Welcome. This one is Hong Li of Hong Emporium, and it is our honour to have you grace this event with your presence.”

“I’m happy to be here,” I say, trying to not cringe at his obvious brownnosing.

“Are there any items on the list that Young Master Xian is looking to get his hands on today?” Hong Li asks.

I shrug. “One or two things,” I say casually.

My main goal here is the Path of The Spider cultivation manual for Meng Yi, but I’m not averse to throwing around some money for the Ginde Pepper too.

Hong Li smiles like every salesperson since the beginning of time has managed to without any coaching. “In that case, Young Master Xian Qigang, I hope that your bidding is swift and true,” he says, bowing again, before excusing himself to approach other arrivals.

“They stand to make a lot of money today, don’t they?” I ask as we watch the man go, the question largely rhetorical.

Meng Yi replies with a nod nonetheless. “A few million gold at least.”

I turn to her, my eyes widening a bit at the sum.

“No wonder he’s all smiles,” I say. “That’s more money than even I have.”

“No, it isn’t,” Meng Yi counters flatly.

I blink at the young woman. “It isn’t?”

“Not remotely, Young Master.”

My mouth flaps silently for a few seconds, then I ask, for the second time in almost as many days, “How much money do I have?”

“A lot,” Meng Yi says, repeating the answer she gave the last time I asked that same question.

“And this is me in exile?” I wonder. “How much money does the Xian family have?”

“That, I’m afraid I can’t answer, Young Master,” Meng Yi says, yet again attempting to reply a largely rhetorical question.

Setting aside thoughts of fat bank accounts and obscenely wealthy families, I say, “Let’s find a seat.”

We head into the pavilion, comfortable chairs of rich wood and red upholstery arranged in groups of three to as many as ten.

There are yards of space between each cluster of seats, the idea clearly being to allow groups to seat together while maintaining their distance from others.

Some of the seats are occupied already, but there’s more than enough left, so Meng Yi and I head to a group of three near the stage at the front, and settle in.

“How long until we begin?” I ask Meng Yi.

I know the event starts at the ninth hour, or 09:00 a.m. as we said in my old world, but since I don’t have a watch or a phone or any other convenient means to tell time, I’m left asking my ever-capable manager.

Meng Yi fishes a small disc looking device from within her sleeves.

I steal a glance at it, but it likes more like a sundial than the clockfaces I’m familiar with.

“Ten minutes to the ninth hour,” Meng Yi announces, returning the little timepiece back into her sleeves.

This is the first time I’ve ever seen such a device, and it leaves me a little curious. How does it work? I sensed some qi in it, so what role does that play? Does it use gears? How did Meng Yi read it? Is it hard to learn?

Before I can voice any of my questions though, I feel a presence behind me, the most powerful I’ve ever felt besides Magistrate Qin Zedong.

More powerful than me.

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I turn.

A man in a pure white outfit walks into the pavilion, a retinue of two lower ranked cultivators following behind him.

He is tall, with thin, almost sharp, facial features and a piercing stare that is, without a shred of doubt, locked onto me.

‘Of course,’ I almost sigh. ‘Who else would he interested in? I mean, it’s not like there’s literal dozens of cultivators here right now.’

The man in white comes right at me, his steps so smooth he seems almost to glide over the floor.

“Do I know this guy?” I ask Meng Yi softly, and she shakes her head.

“He is not from Silver Springs,” she says with complete confidence.

I believe her. Not because she’s always right, or anything like that, but simply because, while this man is only at the peak of Sprouting phase, his cultivation is clearly sage rank, and I’m the only person living in Silver Springs above peasant rank.

As the man gets closer, I feel my heart beating just a tad faster.

What could someone from outside Silver Springs want with me? I wonder. I’ve never left town. Hell, I’ve barely even left my house. Why would anyone from so far away have reason to seek me out?

And then the obvious answer landed on my lap like a two-ton weight.

Could he be from my family?

Oh crap.

The man reaches me, his cultivation with the flavour of a jungle in the heat of summer, full to bursting in his chest.

This man isn’t just at the peak of Sprouting phase, he’s two qi pills away from breaking through into Qi Realm.

I swallow.

If I end up needing to fight this guy, I’m screwed.

To my eternal surprise though, the first thing the man does as he stops before me, is bow low to the waist, his retinue following in tandem.

“Young Master Xian Qigang, this Tang Shui pays his respects,” the tall man, Tang Shui, says, voice a deep, smooth baritone.

“Um…” I blink helplessly, looking to Meng Yi for an explanation.

She shrugs, more clueless than I’ve ever seen her.

Okay then.

“Nice to meet you, Tang shui,” I say, affecting a warm smile and affable exterior.

Whoever this Tang Shui is, it doesn’t look like he came here to make trouble, so, no reason to not be nice.

Tang Shui straightens, intense gaze on me, and, obviously fully aware that I have no idea who he is, he says by way of introduction: “My son is the idiot who broke his hand on your face two nights ago.”

I frown in confusion for a split second, before the memory of Hawk douche resurfaces.

“Oh! Right. Him… Is he okay? I offered to heal him, but he ran off.”

“He is well enough. He will heal,” Tang Shui says, not sounding very sympathetic to the pain his son must be in. Which must be a lot. I don’t think there are any bones in his hand that he didn’t break that night.

Tang Shui bows again, retinue mirroring. “I have come to make reparations for his behaviour, and to express my gratitude to you for forgiving his disrespect. A disappointment he may be, but he is still my son.”

The man sounds like he almost tacks on an “unfortunately” to that last sentence.

“Uh… you’re welcome,” I say. “And it’s fine, everyone makes mistakes.”

“Yes,” Tang Shui says. “Everyone.”

The man looks damn near fed up with his son’s BS, and watching him, I can’t help but wonder, is this what my mother had to go through dealing with old Qigang?

Apologizing and making amends every other day?

No wonder she kicked his ass out.

Hell, in her shoes, I’d probably have done worse.

…Maybe she should have.

“Someone told me once that it is the prayer of every parent that their children have good heads, kind hearts, and lucky feet,” I say. “I suppose I see now why that is the case.”

Tang Shui seems to consider my words for all of two seconds before discarding them. “It is my experience that the only currency in life that matters is power,” he says, and just like that, it hits me.

Not wanting to jump to conclusions however, I ask, “Do you know what caused the altercation between your son and I to begin with?”

Tang Shui shakes his head in the negative, wondering where I’m going with this.

“He was directing his killing intent at a little girl,” I say. “No older than ten. She looked two breaths away from a heart attack.”

And Tang Shui just keeps waiting for me to get to the point.

He doesn’t actually care about what his son did, does he? He doesn’t even care that his son hit me, I don’t think. The only thing he probably cares about is that I’m the one his son hit.

Me, someone strong. Someone with power.

His son could have done worse to that girl, and he probably wouldn’t care. Hell, he has probably done worse to people.

He’s not here to do the right thing, he’s simply dealing in the only currency he understands.

Guess I better start speaking his language then.

“You know, if your son had a good head, kind heart, or lucky feet, you would not be here right now dipping your head to someone who’s… what? Half your age?”

My insult isn’t missed, and Tang Shui’s already intense gaze sharpens.

I’m not done though.

“If power really is the only currency that matters, then your family must be quite poor then, don’t you think?” I ask conversationally.

One of the two unintroduced cultivators behind Tang Shui seems ready to throw hands with me at my words, but I’m not worried about his peasant rank bluster, so I keep my focus on the man who matters.

Perhaps it’s unwise to be antagonizing these people… Okay, fine, it’s definitely a dumb thing to be doing, but I can’t help it. People like these are the personification of everything that’s wrong with society. Both here and back on Earth.

I guess superpowers don’t change human nature, after all.

Tang Shui and I stare each other down for several seconds, my senses primed, waiting for an attack.

Not that I think he would actually attack me, but unlikely as I think it is, I know the chance is still not zero.

Finally, instead of an attack, Tang Shui dips his head again, much lower than before, I notice. “As apology for my son, please, permit me to cover all of your expenses for this auction,” he says. And without waiting to know if I find that acceptable or not, he turns and leaves, his retinue following after a couple nasty glances.

“I’ve just made an enemy,” I say as we watch them go.

“Yeah, you did,” Xiuying says from beside me and I start.

“Where’d you come from?” I ask.

Had I been so focused on Tang Shui that I’d missed her presence as she walked right up to me?

Apparently, yes, because paying attention now, Xiuying is impossible to miss. As is the change in her qi. Or the exhaustion ringing her eyes.

“Are you okay?” I ask, concerned.

Her spine straightens perceptibly, and she smiles cockily, eyes twinkling. “’Course I’m okay,” she says. “It’ll take more than that to knock me on my ass.”

I smile back. “Well, in that case, congratulations,” I say.

Xiuying dips her head. “Thanks,” she says, that single word carrying a lot more weight than I’m used to hearing.

I nod in acknowledgement.

Xiuying settles into the last empty seat beside us, putting her on my left and Meng Yi to my right.

“What’s the deal with that guy you just made an enemy?” she asks, and Meng Yi and I launch into the whole crazy story.

“You know what this means, right?” Xiuying asks when we finish, a wide grin on her face.

“What does it mean?” I ask, her grin making me a tad uneasy.

Xiuying’s eyes light up, grin somehow getting wider. “It means you can clear out the Auction on someone else’s dime,” she says.

My eyes widen as I realise that the crazy lady is right. I could do that.

But then, I hesitate. Do I really want to be that guy?

‘…the only currency in life that matters is power.’

Yeah, I do want to be that guy.

Besides, if power is the only currency that matters, then he shouldn’t miss a few (or, I guess, a lot of) gold.

A grin to match Xiuying’s splits my face and we cackle evilly together.

Meng Yi, sourpuss that she is, rolls her eyes and shakes her head.