Chapter 64: Wuyou Cave Auction Fair

Zhao Ti stared at the invitation map—the invitation being the monthly auction notice issued by Ghost Fan Tower, the map its underground schematic.

Ghost Fan Tower held an auction once a month; this invitation was the token of entry. The auction resembled a bidding sale but was not quite the same—precious items went to the highest bidder, while ordinary goods were simply marked for sale.

These items, of course, were not acquired legitimately—they were all seized by illegal means. Human beings were also sold; many women from brothels in the capital had been bought from Ghost Fan Tower. Even the daughter of that former Commandery Prince had been dragged straight to the auction and bid away.

The auction was never held underground—no one dared go there. Ghost Fan Tower’s reputation was vile; no one would dare enter their territory in person.

Instead, the auction was held on the surface, near some eight-shaped water outlet, so that if trouble arose, escape was easy. Those who obtained invitations through various channels felt secure—not inside Ghost Fan Tower’s domain, they feared no direct betrayal.

The date on this invitation was seven days hence; at that time, a guide would meet them at the location and lead them to a large courtyard or hall for the auction.

The map was not detailed, but it was more useful than the original blueprints left by the Ministry of Public Works. The underground had changed beyond recognition; the two could be cross-referenced and complemented.

The next day, Zhao Ti went to the Ministry of Public Works, and under the escort of a Ministry Langzhong , he toured each warehouse, hauling out barrel after barrel of goods to the military.

These were all fierce-fire oil—the crude oil of later ages.

To eradicate Ghost Fan Tower, flooding or burning alone would be ineffective, for their underground passages were too vast and interconnected. Only direct slaughter by troops, or smoke fumigation, might completely wipe them out.

Smoke fumigation had been used during the reigns of the Founding and Second Emperors, but only with ordinary firewood smoke—not fierce-fire oil. At the founding of the dynasty, fierce-fire oil was scarce, and many did not even know it was poisonous.

In such vast underground spaces, smoke and stagnant water could hide one’s presence—but when fierce-fire oil was used to generate smoke, it was different. Just two breaths of it would cause dizziness and suffocation; even those with martial arts could not withstand it.

Zhao Ti mobilized all the fierce-fire oil in the Jingji region. The palace guard’s military depots also held stocks of it, for it was both an engineering material and military supply—all were transferred to the Infantry Command.

Wang En, Zhong Pu, and others trained the soldiers. Even with fierce-fire oil, clashes were inevitable. The underground was mostly narrow passages, with few open spaces; long spears and cavalry sabers were useless. Short blades and crossbows were far more effective.

The purpose of having Shang Qi obtain the invitation was to strike from the eight-shaped water outlet near the auction.

The eight-shaped water outlet was a unique invention of this dynasty, facilitating water flow; nearly all entrances to the underground in Dongjing took this form.

Ghost Fan Tower members entered the underground through these outlets, but one could not simply pick any to probe, nor could one casually capture and interrogate them, for it was hard to determine whether they were important or how much they knew of the underground.

But this auction was different. The eight-shaped outlet beside the auction must be one of Ghost Fan Tower’s key passages, and those who presided over the auction were surely its core members. Once the auction was wiped out, they could follow the trail from this point.

The day of the invitation arrived. Zhao Ti had arranged everything at the command post and waited for nightfall to act.

At that time, all eight-shaped water outlets in Dongjing would be sealed, with focus on the one near the auction—attempting a raid to probe their strength, then fumigating with fierce-fire oil smoke.

As dusk approached, Zhao Ti, Zhou Dong, and Shang Qi arrived at Quyuan Street, following the invitation’s address. This invitation could not be bought with money—it explicitly permitted two attendants to accompany the bearer, to reassure guests, for even outside the underground, few dared go alone.

Quyuan Street was the last street in the southwest inner city, lined with large courtyards—many were brewing sites for official wine shops, others were grain merchants’ storage yards for refined rice and flour.

Normally few pedestrians passed here—only laborers and servants came and went. At night, even fewer appeared; the night watchman locked the courtyard gates, and the street remained silent.

Half a li into Quyuan Street, a black-clad man suddenly stepped out from behind a large tree, sizing up the three.

Zhao Ti waved his folding fan. Shang Qi understood and stepped forward to exchange a few coded phrases. The black-clad man nodded and said to Zhao Ti and the others: “Esteemed guests, follow me.”

This was a guide dispatched by Ghost Fan Tower—he would not speak unless the person matched the profile, and might even signal accomplices to attack.

As they advanced further, at a crossroads, three figures emerged from a side alley.

The lead figure was another Ghost Fan Tower guide; behind him walked an old man and a young girl.

The old man was stout, with white hair and white eyebrows, his face expressionless, eyes sharp as an eagle’s, gaze predatory as a wolf’s.

The girl wore twin buns, dressed in a pale green dress with white gauze, her features exquisite, her face veiled by a light silk mask.

The black-clad guide turned back and asked: “Won’t the esteemed guest cover his face?”

At Ghost Fan Tower’s auction, attendees could conceal their appearances to avoid recognition by acquaintances or being remembered by strangers.

“Master?” Shang Qi glanced at Zhao Ti.

Zhao Ti didn’t care—he planned to kill every last one who came tonight. He had no fear of being seen; he’d slaughter them all on the spot.

Those who came here were either bandits or wealthy merchants, and sometimes even officials.

In short, every one of them deserved to die.

Still, to avoid unnecessary complications, he covered his face. He glanced briefly at the girl with twin buns—her eyes gleamed brightly.

Zhao Ti felt a faint stir—he recognized her. She was the little maid he’d seen at the Duan Prince’s mansion. But why was she here?

If Zhao Ji had ties to Ghost Fan Tower or wished to buy something, he would never send a maid. And the white-browed old man radiated a martial aura—he didn’t seem like a Dongjing native.

The three followed the guide into a large courtyard. Externally, it looked ordinary—a place for grinding and storing grain—but after passing the front row of buildings, they revealed a vast, warehouse-like structure.

A new guide took over, leading them inside the warehouse. Inside, lights blazed brilliantly, the decor resembling a palace—utterly unlike the crude exterior.

Already seated were hundreds—perhaps a hundred or two—all masked, each with a small table beside them, steaming tea set out.

Shang Qi handed over the invitation, and the three found a table. After a while, more people arrived, then the great doors slowly closed.

At the front appeared a man dressed in colorful robes, his face painted with makeup, flowers pinned to his temples. He bowed to the crowd: “Esteemed guests, I extend my greetings. Since you are here, you know the rules of Wuyou Cave’s auction. No more words—let us begin with this month’s first item.”

He clapped lightly. Behind him came the sound of wooden wheels, and a cage was wheeled out.