Chapter Twelve: The Bidding War

After the reconnaissance was over, Ling Tian led his team to cautiously withdraw to a cluster of hidden rocks. This spot was the perfect hiding place, akin to a cave, with only a single opening about a meter in diameter. Not to mention at night—even during the day, it would be nearly impossible to discover such a concealed spot amid the chaotic jumble of reefs.

“Boss, we should split into pairs, form five teams, and spread out to take control of key positions,” suggested one of the older bodyguards, glancing around at the damp rocks, still unsure of Ling Tian’s intentions. Everyone huddling together in a single spot was completely against the usual protocol.

The others also voiced their opinions, all believing Ling Tian’s approach was wrong. Some even drew their weapons: military knives, electric batons, tranquilizer guns, flashbangs, and smoke grenades. Their equipment wasn’t particularly advanced, but it was quite comprehensive.

When Ling Tian saw the tranquilizer gun and electric baton, he couldn’t help but feel both amused and exasperated. Firearm regulations were far too strict domestically—these bodyguards didn’t even carry guns.

Abroad, in many countries, as long as one held a firearms license, carrying a gun was commonplace. In the United States, guns were even sold in supermarkets.

What Ling Tian remembered most vividly was his first mission in the Middle East. When he visited a nearby black market, he was astonished to find street vendors openly selling all sorts of military hardware—classic AK-47s were as common as cabbages at a roadside stall, and buyers even got free ammunition with their purchase.

Ling Tian was intimately familiar with firearms from all over the world—so skilled, in fact, that given enough materials and a lathe, he could assemble a gun in a short time. Of course, manufacturing bullets was a different story. Ammunition was the most challenging part; its precision requirements were extremely high. These days, many countries, especially for sniper rifles, had to import their bullets.

If gun control wasn’t so stringent here, sellers or greedy third-party groups would have already arranged for snipers to lie in wait, ready to eliminate anyone as soon as the goods were counted.

But this was home, not abroad, so Ling Tian had a different plan.

“Flashbangs are useful—give them all to me. As for the tranquilizer gun, forget it.” Ling Tian collected ten flashbangs. The rest of the weapons he returned to the bodyguards. On missions, Ling Tian had always been adept with guns, but rarely used them.

The bodyguards were dumbfounded. What on earth did their employer intend to do?

Ling Tian said coolly, “You all stay here. After the deal is done, I’ll come back for you. If you don’t follow my orders and the mission fails, not only will you get no pay, you’ll have to compensate us for any losses.” With that, he ignored their reactions, exited the hideout, and rolled a massive boulder in place to block the entrance.

The bodyguards felt a wave of despair. Who was protecting whom here? What broke them most was that the stone blocking the entrance, though roughly round and able to roll, would still require four or five hundred pounds of force to move—and Ling Tian had handled it alone.

The already pitch-black entrance was now sealed off from the world. In the narrow space, pressed together, none of them could move. They had no choice but to sit quietly and rest with their eyes closed. After all, being a bodyguard was inherently dangerous work—if it weren’t, who would pay for protection? Now, they didn’t need to risk their lives; they just had to sit here and get paid. Why complain?

By the time Ling Tian was ready, it was already 9:55 p.m.—the seller had yet to appear.

He concealed the flashbangs inside his loose tracksuit. They were compact, and unless one looked closely, it was impossible to tell he was carrying ten of them. Ling Tian also picked up several smooth pebbles by the riverbank—more useful to him than bullets.

At ten o’clock, a speedboat appeared on the river, shrouded with a black tarp. Under cover of darkness and moving slowly, it was impossible to make out details.

The boat docked against a large reef, and after securing it, a short, monkey-like middle-aged man led his group ashore, dragging two black cases.

Seeing them arrive, Ling Tian silently emerged from hiding, stepped onto the rocks, hands clasped behind his back, and faced them.

Clearly, the newcomers hadn’t noticed when Ling Tian appeared. When they looked up, they saw an extra figure before them.

There was no question—at this time and place, anyone present was surely there for the deal.

“Friend, the tower subdues the river demon,” the other party whispered.

“Cabbage with chili,” Ling Tian thought to himself, rolling his eyes at the ridiculous code phrase—who came up with something so tacky? “Friend, I’ve brought the money. Where’s the merchandise?” he asked in a deep voice.

The short man grinned. “You’re bold, coming alone to a deal. Aren’t you afraid I’ll double-cross you?”

Ling Tian scoffed, “If you lack the skills, don’t take on delicate jobs. But first, I want to inspect the goods.” As he spoke, he took a few steps forward. Suddenly, he sensed a faint mental fluctuation—an immediate surge of excitement. Could it be…?

At that moment, the short man drew a pistol and aimed it at Ling Tian. “You’re not the only buyer. You’ll have to wait until all the others arrive. Whoever offers the highest price gets the goods. For your own safety, I advise you to step back.”

Hearing this, Ling Tian’s expression darkened—it was just as he’d feared. These damn sellers were not to be trusted. If it had been ordinary merchandise, he wouldn’t have cared. At worst, he could simply walk away; with his skills, even against guns, escape would be easy.

But this time was different. He’d felt a subtle surge of energy—something that resonated with his spiritual sense. Yes, Ling Tian cultivated his spiritual sense, a unique path among martial practitioners and more useful than any radar, though his power was currently weak. His range of perception was somewhat far, but the area covered was small—about a meter or so.

If he could advance further, he’d be able to extend his spiritual sense over the case and see what was inside.

Though he couldn’t yet be sure what the case contained, one thing was certain: there was something precious inside, and Ling Tian had to have it. As a cultivator, especially on resource-scarce Earth, one had to seize every opportunity for advancement.

He had to get it—even if it meant taking risks!

Resolving himself, Ling Tian chose to bide his time for now. He stepped back two paces, standing at the edge of the rocks, and looked around.

On the shore, four cars appeared, their headlights dazzling in the night.

Judging by their formation, there were four factions—all in black suits, looking quite professional. Each group of four carried large black bags and marched straight onto the reef, bowing slightly to the seller. “We’re ready to begin.”

Impressive—the seller was playing a real auction, contacting four buyers besides himself.

After all, the value of something depends entirely on demand. If someone wants it enough, even a common brick can fetch a high price.

Ling Tian sized up the newcomers—four groups of four, all clearly skilled. As for the sellers, including the short man, there were eleven people. Only the short man visibly carried a gun, but the others likely had weapons as well.

“Rest assured, gentlemen, I’m a businessman. Tonight is purely for profit—there will be no double-crossing. Here are the rules: whoever offers the highest bid gets the goods. We start the bidding at one million,” the short man said with a beaming smile, already picturing the cash flowing his way.

A starting price of one million? Ling Tian only had that much on him—there was no way he could compete. He decided to sit back and observe for now.

“One and a half million.”

“Two million.”

…

As the prices kept rising, the short seller was grinning ear to ear.

In less than a minute, the price had soared to three million. The last bidder, a young man, looked proudly at the others. “The Gu family has never failed to acquire what we desire.”

“Gu Feng, others may fear you, but I, Nangong Ye, do not. I bid three million one hundred thousand,” retorted a scholarly-looking man.

So this was Gu Feng of the Gu family?

Now that he knew, Ling Tian studied him carefully: about 1.75 meters tall, decent-looking, but with an air of arrogance that was distinctly off-putting. The one who called himself Nangong Ye was likely a young master from the Nangong family, one of the city’s four great clans, with the look of a scholar.

Two of Yunhai City’s four great clans had shown up. Why hadn’t the other two appeared?

The other two groups must not be from the four great clans—they were silent, and when the price hit two million, they gave up. Clearly, they couldn’t compete financially with the Gu and Nangong families, and perhaps the merchandise wasn’t crucial to them.

“You? You want to compete with me? You’re not worthy,” Gu Feng sneered, immediately raising the price to three million five hundred thousand.

Nangong Ye’s face turned green with rage. His family’s limit was two million, but in a bout of rivalry with Gu Feng, he’d gone up to three million one hundred thousand—only for Gu Feng to jump straight to three and a half million.

Ling Tian coughed softly and said, “If the seller could betray our Qincheng Group, there’s no reason he couldn’t betray you as well. Aren’t you afraid of being double-crossed?”

If the sellers hadn’t intended any double-crossing before, as the bids soared ever higher, the lure of enormous profit would surely tempt them. People aren’t afraid of risk—they just need to see if it’s worth it.

With the bids on the table, if the sellers wiped out the buyers, they could walk away with millions in cash—a fortune by any measure. After all, what is the black market business about, if not money?