The air in the Grand Jade Auction Hall hung thick with the scent of aged parchment and ambition, punctuated by the rhythmic thud of the auctioneer’s gavel. Lien Anh, her pale hair pulled back in a severe knot, stood beside Xu Ren, her posture rigid as the hammer fallen on the block boomed. "...and for this rare batch of Azurebloom Petals, essential for the Meridian-Cleansing Elixir, we have an opening bid of five tally coins!" Xu Ren leaned against a polished obsidian pillar, his gaze sweeping over the opulent hall, not at the bidding war, but at the faces of the bidders. His eyes, though stripped of their former depth, missed nothing. He noted the subtle shift in Elder Bao’s posture, seated in a prominent sky-box above, a thin, knowing smile playing on the Bao Clan patriarch’s lips. "Six hundred!" A voice from the middle tiers. "Seven hundred and fifty!" Another, sharper. Lien Anh’s jaw tightened. She watched, a knot of dread tightening in her stomach, as every significant lot of medicinal herbs, crucial for even the simplest cultivation or healing concoctions, was systematically outbid by proxies clearly acting for the Bao Clan. They were not just buying; they were cornering the market, bleeding the Xu Clan dry before it could even begin to staunch its wounds. Xu Ren, however, remained impassive. He watched the frantic bids for a bundle of Sunken Moonroot, then for a vial of Whispering Dew. Each time, the final bid came from a Bao proxy, Elder Bao’s smile growing wider with every acquisition. "Are you not going to bid, Young Master?" Lien Anh murmured, her voice a low growl of frustration. "At this rate, the clan’s dispensaries will be barren within a week." Xu Ren merely gave a dismissive flick of his wrist. "Let them have their weeds. A true alchemist does not bother with common garden herbs, Captain. They seek the roots of power, not its withered leaves." His nonchalance grated on her. She saw the sneering faces of minor clan heads, allies of the Bao, casting pitying glances at their corner. Their open sneers labeled the Xu Clan finished. She was supposed to be a spy, gathering information, but watching her temporary master allow his clan to be crippled felt like a betrayal of the alliance she’d unwillingly forged. “Next up!” the auctioneer roared, sweeping a wide sleeve. “A curious, if combative, offering! Lot 27, a crate of… Wyrm-Fire Powder!” Silence descended, quickly followed by a ripple of laughter and jeers. Xu Jie, Xu Ren’s cousin, seated a few rows down with a coterie of fawning sycophants, threw his head back and guffawed. "Wyrm-Fire Powder! Has this hall fallen so low as to peddle explosive trash?" Elder Bao, from his sky-box, merely arched an eyebrow, a flicker of genuine curiosity in his eyes, quickly masked. He knew the dust. Every mixer in Sunken Jade City considered it a worthless, dangerous byproduct of raw cinnabar mining, highly reactive and impossible to refine into anything useful. "Indeed, Young Master Xu Jie," the auctioneer conceded with a practiced sigh. "It is a known hazard, an unstable slag. However, our esteemed supplier insists there might be… potential. We start the bidding at one copper slug, for the entire crate!" More laughter. A copper slug barely paid for a coarse turnip. No one truly expected an offer. "One copper," Xu Ren’s voice cut through the derision, flat and clear, echoing across the sudden silence. He raised a hand, his index finger pointed upward with languid grace. Xu Jie choked on his own laughter, turning crimson. "Ren? Are you mad? That dust will blow your dilapidated alchemy hall sky-high! It’s useless!" Xu Ren offered his cousin a slow, cold smile that held no warmth. "Useless to a fool, perhaps. But then, not everyone possesses the eye to extract value from mere dross, cousin." Lien Anh stared at Xu Ren. Wyrm-Fire Powder. She knew its reputation. It was a fine, shimmering grey grit, gathered near seams of pure ember-stone. Reactive, yes, and in bulk, violently destructive. But Xu Ren’s certainty, his absolute composure amidst the general ridicule, unnerved her more than any threat. She recalled his impossible diagnosis, his casual dissection of her hidden ailment. This man was not mad; he was playing a game no one else understood. "One copper! Going once… going twice… Sold! To the esteemed Young Master Xu Ren!" The mallet fell with an echoing crack. The seller appeared eager to clear the floor, even for pocket change. Leaving the trade hall, the crate of Wyrm-Fire Powder clattered behind them, hauled by two grumbling clan porters. Xu Ren walked with a brisk step, softly humming beneath his collar. Lien Anh, however, tracked the ground in silence. Her report to Elder Bao would be difficult to frame: a box of slag taken for a copper piece while clan supplies drained elsewhere. Back in the crumbling alchemy hall, the scent of stagnant air and forgotten reagents hung heavy. The crate of dust was placed on a cracked stone table. Xu Ren dismissed the porters, leaving him and Lien Anh alone amidst the echoes of past grandeur. He drew out the slender pin Lien Anh had requisitioned. It gleamed against the grime of the masonry. Its tip was finer than a strand of spider silk, its shank etched with microscopic sigils humming in the dim air. He turned the metal between two fingers, observing its balance. "This is an Attuned Separator, Lien Anh. Forged from the calcified tooth of a Lunar Serpent, quenched in astral brine. Worth far more than the wilted greenery Elder Bao hoarded today." Lien Anh straightened. She knew of Lunar Serpents through bestiaries. A fang alone represented a fortune, let alone shaped into such an implement. Xu Ren carefully prised open the crate. Inside, the powder shimmered, fine grey particles drifting in the draught. He lifted a pinch between thumb and forefinger, inspecting the grains. "Raw and hostile, yes. Yet buried within this crude slag lies pure extract." He pulled up a wooden stool, setting the slender point into a clean porcelain dish. His gaze hardened, and a thread of pure intent spilled from his core. It was weak, fragile, yet utterly focused. He was not just using his new, feeble Qi; he was drawing upon the residual memories of his former power, guiding his brittle flesh with absolute precision. With unwavering focus, he began to work. The metal pin, guided by micro-currents of his Qi, flicked through the grey heap. He did not agitate the powder; he unwove it grain by grain. Lien Anh watched, mesmerized, as the dust began to change. Tiny, distinct piles formed in the crucible. One was a deep, resonant crimson, another a shimmering, ethereal gold, and a third, a vibrant, living emerald green. Each pile radiated a distinct, concentrated heat. This was no longer slag. These were pure catalyst grains, the concentrated marrow of elemental veins, isolated cleanly through forgotten arts. The red mound alone, no larger than a fingernail, held enough concentrated fire Qi to temper a fine blade or brew a dozen high-grade draughts. The emerald glowed with life-force, the gold pulsed with pure energy. Xu Ren finished without breaking his calm pulse, sliding the slender tool back into its velvet slot. "Wyrm-Fire Powder," he murmured, watching the divided heaps. "Not refuse, but an unclaimed hoard waiting for an artisan to sort it." Within the Bao compound, the elder unrolled Lien Anh's message across dark cedar. His intelligence network was efficient, if not always accurate. The report detailed Xu Ren’s peculiar purchase at the auction, the ridicule, the single spirit coin. He reread the notation regarding the Wyrm-Fire purchase. The powder's volatility and wastefulness were thoroughly documented. Elder Bao leaned back, a frown deepening on his shrewd face. He had heard Xu Ren’s words about discerning treasure from dross. Cold sweat prickled across the elder's neck. "No fool squanders coin on slag... unless the fool is playing us all."

An Auction of Dust and Dragons