The three thugs, mesmerized by the sapphire glow, stood frozen. Their faces, usually contorted in crude menace, now reflected a childlike awe. One man, the largest, extended a grimy finger, trembling, toward the pulsating light. Before he could make contact, a blur of dark fabric shot into the storefront. A heavy thud echoed, followed by a sharp crack. The thug’s outstretched hand met air as his body crumpled to the floor, a dark figure now standing over him. He Tingye. His presence filled the ravaged shop, a silent storm in expensive silk. He moved with lethal grace. The second thug, jolted from his stupor, lunged. Tingye sidestepped, his movement almost imperceptible. A low, guttural cry escaped the thug as Tingye’s elbow connected sharply with his temple. He dropped, unconscious before he hit the ground. The third man, the one who had unearthed the stone, fumbled for a rusty crowbar. Tingye met his gaze, his eyes like chips of obsidian, devoid of mercy. The crowbar clattered to the floor as the thug found himself airborne, thrown with surprising force into a pile of splintered wood. He didn't move. Zhitong stepped from the shadows, her pulse leaping against her ribs. The glowing stone still pulsed rhythmically, a beacon in the debris. Tingye turned, his sharp gaze softening infinitesimally when it landed on her. “Are you harmed, Ms. Ruan?” His voice was a low rumble, entirely at odds with the swift brutality she had just witnessed. She shook her head, her eyes still fixed on the stone. “The stone…” she began, her voice a whisper. As if answering her silent impulse, a surge of warmth spread through her mind, radiating from her inner courtyard. [Lost Fragment. Core restoration initiated.] A small, satisfied hum resonated in her consciousness. The sapphire stone pulsed brighter, then, with a gentle *thrum*, rose slightly from the floorboards, hovering for a moment before darting swiftly towards Zhitong. It passed through her blouse, settling against her chest, a comforting warmth blooming beneath her skin. The light dimmed, then vanished, leaving only a faint shimmer. Tingye watched the entire sequence, his expression unreadable. He made no comment, simply observed the faint, lingering glow on her shirt. He gestured to his guards, who had silently entered the shop and were now efficiently tying up the unconscious thugs. “The lock on your back door was tampered with,” he noted, his tone flat. “My men will secure the premises.” Zhitong’s hands trembled, a mix of fear and adrenaline. She hadn't even noticed the small scrapes on her knuckles from when she had gripped the doorframe. Tingye, noticing the slight tremor, took her hands in his. His touch was unexpectedly gentle, his thumb tracing the raw skin. “You’re bleeding,” he stated, his voice quiet. He pulled a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket and methodically dabbed at the small wounds. The close proximity, the scent of his cologne — cedar and something sharp and clean — tightened her gut. She felt the warmth of his fingers, the measured pressure. For a fleeting moment, she imagined confessing everything: the portal, the future, the desperate scramble for her children’s safety. The words almost spilled from her lips, a frantic need for understanding. But then, the image of Madam Fang’s sneering face, the gravity of her secret, and the sheer impossibility of his belief, clamped down on her. She pulled her hands back, a sudden flush coloring her cheeks. “I’m fine. Thank you, Mr. He.” Tingye’s eyes lingered on her for another beat before he nodded. “My pleasure, Ms. Ruan. Please, get some rest. My men will watch over the shop tonight. The grand opening can wait until tomorrow.” The next morning, the Qingshui Antique & Trade District buzzed with an unusual energy. Ruan Zhitong’s storefront, now freshly painted in a vibrant teal and gold, stood out amidst the faded grey brick. Banners proclaiming “Rui’an Curios – A New Era of Treasures” fluttered in the sea breeze. Inside, the shop had been transformed. Instead of chipped porcelain, clean glass display cases held an array of dazzling, perfectly cut gems in every conceivable color: emerald green, ruby red, sapphire blue, diamond white. These were not natural stones; they were the 21st-century synthetic gems, bought through her portal, now meticulously displayed as “rare, newly discovered mineral specimens from the deep mountains of Yunnan.” The auction began promptly at ten. The small shop was packed, a mix of curious townsfolk, established vintage-trade dealers, and a smattering of well-dressed figures from the burgeoning industries of Qingshui Port. He Tingye stood at the back, a silent, watchful presence, an imperceptible nod of encouragement passing between him and Zhitong as she took the makeshift stage. “Welcome, esteemed guests, to Rui’an Antiques’ inaugural auction!” Zhitong’s voice, though still soft, carried a newfound confidence. “Today, we present a collection unlike any other. These exquisite gems, recently unearthed, possess unparalleled brilliance and clarity.” She began describing the first piece, a brilliant, flawless crimson stone, its facets catching the light with blinding intensity. The bidding was spirited, people captivated by the gems’ perfection. Each synthetic gem fetched an exorbitant price, far beyond what any natural, locally sourced stone would command. Wealth flowed into Zhitong’s hands. Just as the enthusiasm reached a fever pitch, a shrill voice cut through the air. “This is an outrage! How dare this… this *widow* claim ownership of this establishment?” Madam Fang, flanked by a smirking Fang Jiali, pushed through the crowd, clutching a stack of yellowed papers. “This shop, this land, it belongs to *our* family! My son, her husband, acquired it before his untimely demise! These papers prove it!” Fang Jiali elbowed her way forward, waving a similar contract. “That’s right! She’s a thief! Trying to steal our family’s inheritance with these… these fake rocks!” She sneered at the glistening gems. A murmur went through the crowd. Zhitong, however, remained calm. Her gaze met Madam Fang’s, a cold resolve hardening her features. “Madam Fang, Jiali,” she said, her voice steady. “Always so eager to claim what isn’t yours. It’s a pity your forgeries are as shoddy as your morals.” She held up a pristine, officially stamped deed. “This is the legitimate lease agreement for this property, signed by the landlord himself, and dated two days ago. It clearly states Ruan Zhitong as the sole lessee.” She then pointed to Madam Fang’s trembling papers. “Those ‘documents’ you clutch so fiercely,” Zhitong continued, her voice rising slightly, “are crudely altered copies of a land deed for a derelict fish shack on the outskirts of town. Look closely, everyone. The seal is smudged, the characters are misaligned. A child could spot the fraud.” The crowd erupted in laughter. Madam Fang’s face, already crimson, turned a deep shade of purple. Fang Jiali shrieked, “You liar! You witch!” “Silence!” Zhitong commanded, her voice cutting through the noise. “Perhaps you should take your ‘inheritance’ and develop that fish shack. This shop, these treasures, and this prosperity are mine, earned through my own effort. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more business to conduct.” She gestured to two of Tingye’s guards. “Please escort these… disruptive elements from my premises.” With her head held high, Zhitong watched as Madam Fang and Jiali were unceremoniously marched out, their protests dissolving into impotent curses. The auction resumed with renewed vigor, the buyers eager to distance themselves from the scandalous scene. By the end of the day, Zhitong had amassed a staggering sum, far exceeding her wildest dreams. She paid the landlord’s representative in crisp, new bills, then stowed the rest, savoring the solid heft of cash in her hands. Her children’s future, she thought, was finally secure. She had beaten them. She had won. A sense of profound relief settled over her as she walked home through the fading evening light, the day’s triumph still warm in her heart. She imagined Xiaobo and Xiaoxue’s delighted faces when she told them about the new food, the new clothes. She arrived at her modest front door, a slight smile playing on her lips. But her smile vanished instantly. The door, usually sturdy, hung askew on its hinges, splintered wood around the lock. Fear, cold and sharp, pierced through her. “Xiaobo? Xiaoxue?” she called out, her voice trembling as she pushed the damaged door open. The small living room was a mess, overturned furniture, scattered toys. A faint moan came from inside. On the floor, near the overturned wooden table, lay Granny Yao, her eyes closed, a dark stain spreading on the simple cotton of her shirt. But Xiaobo and Xiaoxue were nowhere to be seen. The silence, where twin babble should have filled the air, was absolute. The pair, her entire world, were gone. She stumbled forward, her mind screaming in terror. The room swam, and the floor rushed up to meet her.

The Bidding War