Inside the lavish, spacious banquet hall, the atmosphere steadily escalated.
To be honest, although the host maintained his usual impassioned tone while introducing the item, he himself had harbored doubts about this previously unseen sixth auction item.
He had hosted auctions for similar items before, but never one that required a pre-auction showcase in the form of an exhibition match. This sixth item was the first of its kind.
The decisive counterattack at the throat during the match—on any other item—would have been considered an accident, yet in the case of the sixth item, it unexpectedly delivered an unparalleled thrill to the audience.
They had expected to hunt a delicate, fragile fawn, only to discover instead a beautiful yet fierce young stag.
There was no need to elaborate on the item itself; the club typically labeled such auction items with symbolic names. This sixth item, naturally, was called the “White Mask.” But of course, what they were auctioning was far more than a simple mask.
The exhibition match and the close-up viewing allowed bidders to fully appreciate the item’s beauty, while the careful adornments made the sixth item—fresh from a bare-knuckle fight—particularly desirable for auction.
Wrapped in a snow-white sheer robe, the boy’s slender frame and faint bruises were partially visible. The club clearly understood human nature: a hint of exposure was far more enticing than outright display.
Beyond the robe, the sixth item was bound in a complete set of glittering gold restraints, the delicate chains contrasting against his pale skin, lending him an air of untouchable otherworldliness.
He was not the first item to be auctioned in such a manner, but prior items of the same category had used black leather restraints. Only the sixth item, with his fair skin, warranted gold chains. It was evident why—the more ethereal and aloof, the stronger the desire to desecrate that nobility, to assert dominance over that detached purity.
High-definition cameras slowly panned upward, projecting a close-up of the sixth item onto the massive wall screen. The boy wore the white mask, revealing only a delicate, pointed chin. Even under the scrutiny of HD cameras, his skin was flawless, smooth and fair, save for the bruises.
The reddened marks on his jaw and neck, left from Bear’s grip, blended into the gold collar, faintly tinged with purple, which contrasted vividly against his pale skin. One could only imagine how striking the bruises on his waist and thighs looked.
Injuries were common among fighters, but most appeared grotesque and painful to observers. His were different; his wounds provoked a subtle, almost irresistible fascination.
Having witnessed his ferocity in the exhibition match, the boy’s current fragility became part of his allure. Two contrasting qualities—strength and vulnerability—melded perfectly within him, creating a combination impossible to resist.
When pushed onto the display stage, the boy continued to struggle, but the effects of the drugs and the electric shocks had subdued his resistance; the remaining movements appeared, to the audience, as playful gestures.
His struggle caused slight redness and swelling around the gold-banded wrists and ankles. Even the delicate gold chains left marks along his arms and thighs, a testament to his extreme sensitivity.
Nonetheless, the host made a point of presenting these traits.
“Ladies and gentlemen, as you can see, the sixth item is extraordinarily sensitive, with unique skin. Even among the hundreds of items we’ve auctioned here, its sensitivity ranks among the very top,” he announced.
“Of course, this is not all. Building on the sixth item’s innate qualities, we administered the BS991 compound, meticulously over two full months, to completely transform him.”
The mention of the compound caused a slight stir among the guests, even among this distinguished crowd. Clearly, the BS series remained formidable.
The host smiled faintly. “I see many of you have heard of the BS series. Indeed, its administration is complex and slow-acting. The preliminary nurturing alone takes forty days, and the full course lasts two months, under guidance from our professional trainers.”
The camera shifted, highlighting the referee standing beside the sixth item on stage—the very professional trainer in question.
The host drew the audience back. “But as you all know, BS is a top-tier compound. The long wait ensures the most exquisite reward. You have witnessed the sixth item’s sensitivity firsthand; the full effects will surpass your expectations. Even the most demanding collector will find unimaginable pleasure in the BS series!”
He added mysteriously, “Moreover, BS991 has a unique property: it allows the subject to retain the memory of their first sensations. Everything else thereafter cannot be tolerated.”
Slowing his speech, he explained in a nearly seductive tone:
“In other words—from now on, the subject can only accept their first possessor.”
The hall fell silent.
Everyone knew this was no fairy tale; the BS series could indeed achieve such effects. Previous items treated with the compound had fetched astronomical prices, consistently exceeding expectations.
Hence, the sixth item commanded such attention. With superior innate qualities and two months of cultivation, this auction would undoubtedly break records.
The host continued, “Professional oversight is provided, and for those wishing to personally experience the item, we supply expert equipment—complete satisfaction guaranteed, no worries at all.”
A line of text flashed on the top of the giant screen—a question from the audience:
When will the mask be removed?
The boy froze, body stiffening under the query.
The host replied without hesitation, “That decision rests with the successful bidder of the White Mask; it is up to them whether the mask is removed on-site.”
The response seemed audacious, even slightly arrogant, as the mask could conceal imperfections. Yet no one objected. They trusted the club would never undermine its own reputation. The rule became a selling point, further whetting bidders’ appetites.
The starting price was announced—100,000. High, but modest considering the BS compound and the item itself.
The auction began immediately, with successive bids rising. Club rules mandated a minimum increment of 10,000 per bid, but even that did not satisfy the competitors. Within the first two minutes, each bid card raised represented an increment of 50,000. Occasionally, a 100,000 increment appeared.
Bids were typically called out by the host, unless someone raised more than 5 million at once. Despite the growing tension, the hall remained orderly and silent, the host the sole voice reporting bids. The cold order and calm contrasted sharply with the merciless bidding, amplifying the unease.
Under the barrage of bids, the sixth item began to struggle again. The referee, acting as professional trainer, set the control to medium.
Bang!
The display jolted. The boy, bound in gold chains on the cold metal frame, curled into a fragile ball. His slender back arched beautifully, forming a delicate semicircle. The spine beneath the thin robe rippled subtly with each involuntary shiver, eliciting an urge to cradle him gently, fingers tracing each curve.
The electric shock lasted thirty seconds as a warning.
Meanwhile, the fierce bidding had already shattered previous records, rapidly approaching astronomical sums.
Five minutes in, the total exceeded six million.
Ordinarily, six million would match the price of a fine jade piece. Yet for a special auction item like the White Mask, it was extravagant—previous top bids had hovered around two to three million.
Although each bidder acted independently, there were natural limits to price escalation. As the total surpassed six million, the pace of bids slowed. The host repeated the current price to prolong the auction, awaiting the next surge.
“Six point seven million! Six point seven million, first—six point seven million, sec—”
A low, magnetic, hard-edged voice suddenly interrupted.
“Raise by ten million.”
The hall went silent in shock.
All eyes turned to the back, where a tall, imposing young man stood beside a banquet table, emanating a chilling aura. He ignored the gazes converging on him, fixed solely on the bound auction item.
His chest rose and fell slightly; stray hair fell across his forehead but did not obscure the piercing pale eyes, cold as a predator’s.
Recognizing him, Jiang Sha at the front table frowned.
He leaned to his manager, voice lowered despite the surrounding guests, the darkness in his tone unmistakable:
“Who let Pei Yusheng in?”
Pei Yusheng’s name was not on the invitation list. During the opening speeches, Jiang Sha had not seen him, nor had he been informed of the man’s arrival. How had he entered unnoticed?
Jiang Sha’s gaze shifted to another side; his heart sank.
He could tolerate a personal grudge with Pei Yusheng, but seated nearby were members of the Fang family. The Jiang family’s influence was strong, and the Fang family was a major pillar of their power.
The ongoing tension between the Fang and Pei families was an open secret. Pei Yusheng’s sudden appearance here could provoke serious consequences if the Fang family took offense.
The manager, noticing Jiang Sha’s concern, wiped cold sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief and whispered, “Sir, I also received no notice. But the paddle he holds is genuine; it corresponds to the table where he stands. His bid is valid.”
Auction paddles bore encoded marks and hidden patterns; only the invited guest could hold one, not companions. The implication was clear: although Pei Yusheng concealed his identity, he had entered through proper channels, making his bid legitimate.
Jiang Sha’s face darkened further—proof that the club’s intelligence and security had failed to alert them even to the entry of a single, living bidder.
The thought made his gaze toward the manager even colder; if it weren’t for the many guests surrounding him, Jiang Sha would have kicked the poor manager straight away.
But before the trembling manager could suffer further, the person Jiang Sha feared most spoke up.
“All right, young Jiang, no need to make a fuss.”
It was a middle-aged man, surname Fang, called Fang Wu, a bit on the plump side. Uncle Fang naturally had a smiling face, and even now he spoke warmly, “Young people, after all, just here to have fun—visiting isn’t a big deal. Doors are open to guests.”
The message was clear: Jiang Sha could not send Pei Yusheng away.
Recently, Jiang Sha had been deeply displeased with Pei Yusheng. Just before the auction, he had even received intelligence that Pei Yusheng was attempting to move against properties under his control. Were it not for the family’s injunction against rash action, he would have sent someone to teach this grandson a proper lesson.
Still, Jiang Sha’s temper aside, he had spent years building his reputation in the field, and this auction hall was meant to expand the family’s network. Many high-profile guests were present, including Uncle Fang Wu, whom Jiang Sha had personally invited. He could not risk offending so many just because he disliked Pei Yusheng.
Moreover, his greatest concern was that the Fang family might misunderstand the Jiang-Pei relationship if they saw Pei Yusheng and take offense. With Uncle Fang’s approval, Jiang Sha reluctantly suppressed his anger.
“All right, if Uncle Fang says so, I’ll abide by it.”
Fang Wu kept smiling, looking every bit the kind, benevolent elder.
Jiang Sha scoffed inwardly. That old coot—just a moment ago, hinting at how to get the sixth item, now pretending to be proper.
Jiang Sha knew that, like himself, Fang Wu had initially regretted not acquiring the sixth item first. Jiang Sha had set aside the thought for the sake of the auction; Fang Wu’s attention had shifted because of Pei Yusheng. For him, finding a weakness in Pei Yusheng was far more enticing than the auction item itself.
After instructing the manager quietly, Jiang Sha finally lifted his wine glass, took a sip, and looked at Pei Yusheng not far away.
A cold sneer crossed his face. Damn fool—how could he have the audacity to show up after all this? Since he insisted on coming, Jiang Sha would ensure he entered standing upright but left on his side.
Under auction rules, only a single bid increment of five million allowed the bidder to call out a price themselves. The first five items had been warm-ups, not top-tier, so this bid was the first of the auction where attention snapped sharply to the bidder.
Pei Yusheng’s sudden raise doubled the total to sixteen million seven hundred thousand, nearly twice the previous total. The auction hall erupted in commotion; many had not expected such a brazen, forceful move.
Pei Yusheng was still new to S City, so most did not recognize him. A few, however, did, and once his identity was known, their surprise shifted from frustration at the skyrocketing price to bewilderment.
For most, spending on rare items was a leisurely indulgence. But this young master of the Pei family appeared utterly serious, even willing to pay astronomical sums to secure the item.
From his commanding demeanor, anyone unfamiliar might assume the item on stage was a Pei family treasure itself.
The host quickly recovered, showering the generous bidder with compliments while repeatedly emphasizing the total, ensuring all bidders heard the staggering sum before resuming the bidding calls.
Yet before the host finished, another paddle shot up from the previously quiet bidders.
“Oh… very well! Another bid—sixteen million eight hundred thousand!”
The auction did not stop; the total resumed its slow climb.
Astute observers knew that raising ten million for this type of item was already at the upper limit. Subsequent bidders, though appearing willing to spend, were in reality showing deference to Pei Yusheng.
Partly because he was unfamiliar in S City—rarely appearing, with no known solid backing. The Pei family’s main base was far away in B City. Had this auction been there, such a scenario would have been impossible—no outsider could dominate the field. Strong dragons cannot easily suppress local serpents.
Thus, the auction proceeded slowly within the tens-of-millions range, even with Fang family representatives placing a single counterbid.
For those in the know, this was expected. With Fang family members present, there was no way Pei Yusheng could casually claim the sixth item. Many eyes stayed on him, curious how the young man, so extravagant yet unsuccessful in one bid, would react.
Surprisingly, the imposing young man did nothing impulsive.
He even pulled out a chair, sat down naturally. Most had not noticed his sudden arrival; his movements were seamless, as though he had been seated there all along.
Once bidding slowed, the host repeated the total, awaiting the gavel:
“Seventeen million, second call! Seventeen million, third…”
Only then did Pei Yusheng raise his paddle again.
Unlike the other paddles, clearly marked with amounts, his was blank—signaling that he would declare the bid himself.
And declare he did:
“Raise by twenty million.”
His voice was calm, measured, and icy.
Yet this cold, quiet decree hit like molten oil into the crowd.
The auction hall froze, then erupted.
His tone was not aggressive; he did not stand to call the bid aloud as before.
Yet unspoken, it resounded in every ear:
This auction, this item, would be his.
The boy on stage was already Pei Yusheng’s.