A guttural roar ripped through the subterranean quiet, followed by an explosion that rattled the very bedrock. Dust, thick and acrid, billowed into the cavern, momentarily obscuring the crude opening in the wall. Through the swirling haze, a figure emerged, wreathed in flickering crimson Qi, a massive, flaming blade held aloft. Chu Tiankuo, the Azure Pavilion’s most volatile prodigy, had arrived.
He expected the stench of despair, the sight of a crumbling, tear-streaked ruin. He had imagined Ning Weiying, the once infamous Ice Jade Demoness, cowering in a dark corner, lamenting her fall from grace, perhaps clutching a tattered relic of her past hubris. He was ready to dissect her with a thousand scathing words, to bask in her inevitable humiliation.
What he found instead was a chamber carved with intricate, ancient runes, pulsating with a soft, ethereal glow. And in its center, on an elevated mattress of polished astral jade that shimmered with captured starlight, lay Ning Weiying. Her form was slight, draped in robes of pale jade silk, undisturbed. Her posture, languid and utterly devoid of fear, suggested she had merely been caught mid-nap. A single strand of dark hair had fallen across her face, contrasting sharply with her impossibly pale skin.
Her eyes, the color of twilight pools, slowly fluttered open. They held no surprise, no alarm, only a profound, almost aggressive weariness. She blinked once, then twice, fixing her gaze not on Chu Tiankuo, but on the new, jagged opening in her vault wall.
From beneath the pile of glittering gems, a creature resembling an oversized, wart-covered brass toad stirred. Tongban, its metallic skin glinting faintly, let out a croaking sound that was a bizarre mix of terror and avarice. Before Chu Tiankuo could utter a word, the toad sprang. It launched itself with surprising agility, a misshapen, projectile lump of brass, directly at the core of Chu Tiankuo’s flaming sword, its wide, toothless mouth attempting to engulf the weapon’s fiery heart.
“Insolent beast!” Chu Tiankuo bellowed, recoiling instinctively. The heat radiating from his blade intensified, forcing the toad to release its grip with a pained squeal, though not before it managed to chip a tiny, glowing fragment from the fiery edge. Tongban landed with a soft *thud* on a pile of mid-grade spiritual crystals, spitting a shower of sparks.
Weiying sighed, a sound barely audible above the residual crackle of Chu Tiankuo’s rage. “Tongban, that’s a grade seven artifact. Your stomach isn’t ready for it.” She paused, her gaze drifting back to Chu Tiankuo, her expression as flat as polished slate. “You just caused structural damage to my protected, private vault. And you frightened my… associate. Not to mention, you interrupted my meditation. This is going to be a costly visit, Chu Tiankuo.”
He stared at her, dumbfounded. Not weeping? Not cowering? Costly? His face flushed, crimson Qi flaring around him like an enraged halo. “Costly? You, Ning Weiying, dare speak of cost? You, who once reveled in tearing down others, who manipulated and schemed to hoard every scrap of power, every ounce of affection intended for others! You, who sought to sabotage the very path of the chosen one, merely out of petty jealousy! Did you think the Taiyuan Immortal Realm would forget your venomous heart? Did you believe you could simply hide away in your gilded cage after orchestrating the suffering of countless cultivators, all to satisfy your insatiable envy of—!”
Weiying slowly pushed herself up, her movements fluid but unhurried. The gems beneath her shifted, tinkling like countless tiny bells. She reached to a small, lacquered table beside her mound of wealth and, with deliberate precision, placed a crystal sandglass upon its surface. Fine, silvery sand began to trickle from the upper bulb to the lower.
She then produced a scroll, not of parchment, but of tightly woven silken fiber, pristine white. With a flick of her wrist, it unrolled, revealing neat, calligraphic script. She held it out to Chu Tiankuo, her arm extended, her expression unchanging.
“The Azure Pavilion’s revised rates for unsolicited conversation, Grade Alpha, Tier Three, effective last cycle,” she stated, her voice soft but clear, cutting through his impassioned roar like a fine steel blade through silk. “Three thousand supreme-grade astral gems per hour. Payment upfront.”
Chu Tiankuo’s mouth, which had been contorted into a snarl, snapped shut. His fiery aura flickered, momentarily doused by the sheer absurdity of her demand. He glanced from the glass vessel, where the silvery dust flowed relentlessly, to the pristine silken invoice, then to Weiying’s utterly serious, unblinking face.
Three thousand peak-tier gems. Per hour. For *talking*. It was an astronomical sum, enough to fund a minor sect for a decade, or purchase a pristine mid-tier spiritual artifact. His clan, the venerable House of Tiankuo, would blanch at such an expenditure for mere idle chatter.
His teeth grated together, fury warring with bewilderment. Was this another one of her twisted games? Was she trying to provoke him, to drive him to an even greater rage? He inhaled deeply, his chest expanding with frustrated power.
“Are you… mocking me?” he finally managed, his voice a low growl.
“Mockery implies emotional investment,” Weiying replied, tilting her head slightly, her gaze still fixed on the scrolling sand. “I assure you, I have none. Unless, of course, you fail to pay. Then my emotional investment will be quite substantial, leading to… further invoicing.”
Tongban, still on its crystal perch, let out a nervous gulp. It seemed to understand the gravity of the situation more than Chu Tiankuo did.
Chu Tiankuo let out a guttural sound, a strangled mix of disbelief and sheer impotent rage. He glared at her, at the trickling glass, at the mocking scroll. This was not the broken villainess he had sought. This was something far, far more infuriating. With a roar of pure frustration, he flung a small, embroidered pouch—a top-grade spatial storage bag—onto the glittering mound at her feet. It landed with a soft *thud*, its contents heavy enough to shift the glittering hoard.
Weiying’s gaze dropped to the bag, then back to the drained cylinder. The silvery sand had almost completely drained into the lower bulb. “Your time is up,” she said, her voice flat, devoid of triumph or satisfaction. “If you want me to care, buy another hour.”