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Chapter 21: The Art of Irritation
🕑 Added 2025-07-11 02:18:46 +0000 UTCFatty Meng's gavel resounded in the tense silence, a sound that was both an end and a beginning. “One million spiritual gold coins!”
The hall, which had quieted with the false promise of a treasure for all, exploded.
“One million, one hundred thousand!” shouted a voice from a private balcony, that of a prince from a vassal kingdom known for his harem of over three hundred concubines.
“One million, three hundred thousand!” a woman in a butterfly mask, clearly a collector of ancient Decrees, immediately countered.
“TWO MILLION!” roared the Elder of the Red Lotus Sect, his voice filled with a furious determination.
The bidding war was frantic, a storm of gold sweeping through the hall. Prices climbed in increments of one hundred thousand, two hundred thousand. It was a battle not just of wealth, but of prestige.
While all this was happening, Wei Feng was completely relaxed, leaning back in his chair as if watching a particularly entertaining play. He leaned toward Wei Yao.
“See the one from the Red Lotus? The one with a face like a shriveled raisin,” he whispered, his voice a mixture of amusement and analysis. “He’s bidding with the dowry money his disciples were supposed to receive. A truly unscrupulous man. I like him. He has principles, even if they’re the wrong ones.”
Wei Yao suppressed a laugh behind her mask. “You should take this more seriously. The price is already astronomical. Do we even have that much money?”
“Money is the tool of the unimaginative, my dear Yue'er,” he replied, stealing a date from her basket. “This isn’t an auction. It’s a study of human desperation, greed, and the fragility of the ego. It’s far more entertaining than any play. Watch and learn.”
The bidding continued, a free-for-all. The harem prince withdrew at four million with an audible sigh. The Decree collector gave up at five. The war quickly narrowed down to the three players Wei Feng had identified from the start: the Red Lotus Elder, the Matriarch of the Purple Cloud Pavilion—an imposing woman in a phoenix mask—and a silent representative from the True Jade Temple.
“Five million, eight hundred thousand!” cried the Purple Cloud Matriarch, her voice clear and firm.
“SIX MILLION!” roared the Red Lotus Elder, getting to his feet, his face flushed with effort and emotion.
An expectant silence fell over the room. The representative from the True Jade Temple simply shook his head and sat back down, conceding. The final battle was between the Red Lotus and the Purple Cloud.
The Purple Cloud Matriarch hesitated, consulting with her companions. Finally, with a sigh of resignation, she gave up. “Elder Fei has an… admirable passion. We withdraw.”
A triumphant, ugly smile spread across Elder Fei's face. He looked around, savoring his victory. “Ha!”
Fatty Meng, sweating profusely on stage, raised his gavel. “Six million going once…! Six million going twice…!”
Just as the gavel was about to fall for the third time, a lazy, almost bored voice echoed from the private balcony. “Six million… and one gold coin.”
The silence that followed was absolute. Total. So deep you could hear a mosquito buzz near a lantern.
Then, like a dam breaking, the hall erupted. Not in applause, but in a wave of confused murmurs and stifled laughter. Some people turned to stare at Wei Feng in disbelief; others, with a newfound, fearful respect.
Elder Fei’s face went from triumphant red to an apoplectic purple. He turned slowly, pinning his bloodshot eyes on Wei Feng. This wasn’t just a bid. It was a slap in the face. A deliberate and public humiliation.
“WHAT… KIND OF INSULT IS THIS?” he bellowed, his voice trembling with fury.
Wei Feng simply shrugged. “The esteemed auction master asked for a higher bid. I offered one. Is there a rule about the size of the increment?”
Fatty Meng wiped the sweat from his brow. “Uh… no, no, no rule, distinguished guest. The bid is six million and one gold coin.”
“SIX MILLION, FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND!” roared Elder Fei, foam forming at the corners of his mouth.
“Six million, five hundred thousand!” Meng announced. “Going once… going twice…”
Wei Feng waited until the last possible second, letting the tension cook, letting hope blossom in the old man’s heart. And then, just before the third strike of the gavel, he spoke again, his voice still lazy: “Six million, five hundred thousand… and one gold coin.”
“YOU!” the Elder shrieked, pointing a trembling finger. “YOU ARE TOYING WITH ME!”
“Not at all,” Wei Feng replied with infuriating calm. “I am simply a fiscally responsible man. I see no need to overspend.”
Wei Yao, beside him, whispered with a mix of anxiety and amusement. “Wei Feng, stop it already. You’re going to make his heart explode.”
“That’s the plan, my dear Yue'er,” he whispered back. “A cultivator who loses his composure and control of his Qi over money is not worthy of such an interesting Decree. I’m doing him a favor. It’s a free lesson in detachment and emotional control. He should be paying me for it.”
The psychological torture continued.
“SEVEN MILLION!” screamed the Elder.
“Seven million and one gold coin,” Wei Feng replied after an exasperating pause.
“SEVEN MILLION, THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND!”
“Seven million, three hundred thousand… and one gold coin.”
The crowd was no longer laughing. They watched in fascinated silence, as if witnessing a master snake charmer toying with a king cobra. They realized they were not watching an auction, but a deliberate, masterful, and utterly ruthless humiliation.
The Purple Cloud Matriarch, who had observed everything from her seat, shook her head with a half-smile. “That man…” she whispered to her companion, “isn’t bidding with gold. He’s bidding with Elder Fei’s pride. And pride is a resource that runs out much faster.” She stood up and, with an elegant nod toward Wei Feng, left her balcony, acknowledging that the contest was no longer about money.
The Red Lotus Elder, however, was too blinded by rage to back down. He began to make mistakes. “EIGHT MILLION!” he roared.
“Eight million and…” Wei Feng began.
“EIGHT MILLION, FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND!” the Elder shouted, bidding against himself. The entire hall choked back a collective laugh, and the old man’s face turned an impossible shade.
Finally, he broke.
Elder Fei, his eyes completely bloodshot and trembling with a fury that seemed about to make him combust, gathered all the breath left in his lungs. “TEN MILLION!” he shrieked, the number echoing through the hall like a death sentence. He collapsed into his chair, panting, his face pale. He had just compromised his sect’s finances for a century. He glared at Wei Feng with pure, murderous hatred, waiting, daring him to respond.
But Wei Feng did not respond.
The silence stretched on. Wei Feng simply smiled, a calm and gentle smile. He raised a hand and waved it softly in the air, a universal gesture of yielding, of withdrawing from the bid. For one glorious, fleeting second, Elder Fei thought he had won. An expression of exhausted, savage triumph appeared on his face. He had beaten the arrogant youth. He had defended his honor.
But the humiliation had been too much. The price was too high. The victory tasted like ash in his mouth. He realized, too late, that he had been manipulated from the start. Wei Feng had never wanted to compete in a bidding war. He had only wanted to push him to the brink, make him bleed, and then leave him to his costly, lonely victory.
With a cry of pure frustration that came from the depths of his soul, Elder Fei leaped to his feet, his chair clattering backward. “I WITHDRAW!” he roared, his voice cracking with rage and shame. “Keep your treasure, you arrogant youth! I hope you choke on your own greed and your clan’s bankruptcy!”
And with that, he spun around and stormed out of the hall, followed by the bewildered members of his sect. His withdrawal meant he was forfeiting his last bid, ceding victory to the previous bidder.
On stage, Fatty Meng looked like he was about to faint. But, professional that he was, he composed himself. He struck his gavel once. Twice. Three times. “Sold!” he announced, his voice trembling slightly. “To the distinguished guest in the private balcony… for the sum of seven million, three hundred thousand… and one gold coin!”
The entire room turned to look at Wei Feng. He stood up slowly. There was no triumph on his face, only an expression of solemn, exaggerated humility. He gave a deep bow to the room. “My sincerest apologies to the esteemed masters,” he said, his voice ringing with utterly false sincerity. “Especially to Elder Fei, whose passion and devotion to the arcane arts is truly admirable and an example to us all. I beg you to forgive the behavior of this humble art lover.” He paused, looking around with sad eyes. “I am a man of simple tastes. I understand nothing of power, nor politics, nor the complexities of the market. But when my eyes behold a piece of such fundamental beauty, an artifact that speaks directly to the soul… my heart compels me not to surrender. I hope you can forgive the stubborn passion of this old drunkard.”
The speech was a masterpiece. A final slap wrapped in the silk of the most exquisite humility. He told them all: I won, not because I am richer, but because my appreciation is purer than your greed. We were never in the same league.
He sat back down, the auction effectively over for him. The crowd stared at him with a new mixture of fear, respect, and profound confusion. Who was this man who could humiliate a Sect Elder with a smile and a single gold coin?
Wei Feng ignored their gazes. He slid an arm around Wei Yao’s waist, pulling her toward him in the small balcony. His hand began to idly stroke her side, an intimate gesture that made her shiver. “You see, my dear Yue'er?” he whispered, his voice returning to its lazy, conspiratorial tone. “Sometimes, the cheapest and most efficient way to win a war is to make your opponent defeat himself. It’s much, much less work. And far more entertaining.”
She looked at him, her admiration warring with the slight fear his brilliant, twisted mind inspired in her. He hadn’t just won the Decree; he had neutralized a rival, established his reputation as an unpredictable force, and had done it all while barely lifting a finger—all just to acquire a "textbook" for the personal lesson he planned for her.
As Wei Feng claimed his new Decree, a satisfied smile graced his face while he held her close. The scent of her perfume mixed with that of wine and victory, leaving her to wonder what kind of fascinating and terrifying monster the man who was now her master truly was.
