After everyone in the ledger had been drawn, the man spoke, his voice thin and cold.
"To dare covet the Sect Leader—even flaying alive would be letting you off lightly."
As he spoke, his gaze fell upon the last living person on the stage.
The portly man clad in brocade and embroidered silk now wore a pale face, his legs giving way as he crumpled to his knees.
His eyes were vacant and lifeless—clearly, the massacre had already left him stupefied with terror.
All he could do was beg pitifully for mercy, again and again.
"Mercy, my lord! Please, grant mercy!"
The blue-robed man sized him up, a sneer flickering on his indifferent face.
"Spent one hundred thousand taels in gold leaves to have the Sect Leader serve you for a night? You have some nerve."
As soon as the words fell, the blue-robed man's blade flashed—one of the man's hands was severed there and then.
The wretch screamed in agony, so frightened he wet himself.
Perhaps driven by a desperate desire to survive, he shook his head frantically.
"N-no, it wasn't me! I wasn't the one who bought that person!"
Clutching his bleeding stump, he collapsed to the ground; his speech was barely coherent, yet he still tried to explain himself.
The blue-robed man paused, lowering his gaze and turning the ledger in his hands, one page at a time.
This ledger held the names of everyone who had participated in today's vile auction.
All others had been killed—only this man remained.
The blue-robed man's brows drew together in a frown.
"Not you?"
Hearing this, the man seemed to glimpse a thread of hope for survival,
and hurriedly said,
"It was a woman! A woman was the one who bought him!!"
After hearing this, the blue-robed man flipped through the ledger from start to finish; every recorded name was that of a man, and all the dead were men.
No woman had appeared.
The blue-robed man glanced at the ledger, his expression frigid as he inquired:
"Which woman? Name and family?"
But how could this man have known? He had only come to participate in the auction.
He'd only heard the voice—a woman had spent one hundred thousand taels in gold leaves.
The man shook his head anxiously.
"N-no, I do not know."
The blue-robed man's face remained impassive, his eyes narrowed.
Within sight, corpses lay everywhere.
In this courtyard, even the stewards of Spring-Welcoming House from above, and that damned Madam, were all slaughtered.
For the first time, he felt a twitch of regret for having killed so swiftly.
Deep in thought, he heard footsteps approach.
The blue-robed man turned his head toward the newcomer.
Dressed in azure garments, his visage gentle—this was none other than Fei Chen, who had long served at the Sect Leader's side.
Behind Fei Chen, Su Qing appeared—clad in crimson robes, bare feet treading step by step through pools of blood.
Such a stunning, unparalleled man, holding a white handkerchief, appeared especially conspicuous here.
At his arrival, all the black-clad assassins present fell to their knees in unison, their voices thunderous,
"We welcome the Sect Leader."
Hearing them, Su Qing raised his head—phoenix eyes sweeping across all present, taking in everything at a single glance.
The atmosphere nearly solidified with tension.
The Sect Leader despised most when others stared at his face.
And now, to have been so blatantly auctioned—he was likely revulsed beyond measure.
Yet, after they had waited for so long, all they received was a languid command:
"Clean up thoroughly."
He even tolerated the woman who had bought him, issuing no order to have her slain.
The blue-robed man, Fei Han, immediately accepted the command:
"Yes!"
In less than the span of an incense stick, a great fire rose, flames engulfing all, spreading even to the connected Spring-Welcoming House above.
Su Qing stood amid the inferno, that white handkerchief twisted between his fingertips again and again.
The Lycoris radiata at his eye corner shimmered in the firelight, enchanting and wickedly beautiful.
Fei Han and Fei Chen exchanged a glance at his side.