The grass leaves were slender and pale purple, with rice-grain-sized flowers blooming at their tips. Their stamens were golden, glinting faintly beneath the sunlight.
"This is Purple Cloud Grass."
The old man introduced it.
"It grows in the Extreme North Icefield, gaining only an inch every thousand years. This one has grown for a full three thousand years."
Someone below the stage sucked in a sharp breath.
Three thousand years.
To ordinary mortals, that was the span of dozens of lifetimes.
Even for cultivators like them, it was not something to be taken lightly.
"Even if this old man says nothing of Purple Cloud Grass's effects, I'm sure you all know them. Upon consumption, it can grant ten thousand years of cultivation. Moreover, it has no side effects and will not damage one's foundation."
Ten thousand years of cultivation!
Those four words were like stones cast into a placid lake, stirring ripple after ripple.
The audience immediately erupted.
What did ten thousand years of cultivation mean?
It meant saving ten thousand years of bitter training, breaking through bottlenecks directly, and taking a full step ahead of others on the path of cultivation.
For cultivators who had been stuck at a certain realm for years, this was simply a treasure they had dreamed of.
"What's the starting price?"
Countless people asked in unison.
The old man raised five fingers. "Fifty thousand Fortune Stones. Each bid must increase by no less than two thousand."
"Fifty thousand!"
"Fifty-five thousand!"
"Sixty thousand!"
"Seventy thousand!"
The price shot upward like mad.
A white-haired old man squeezed to the front, his voice aged and urgent. "Eighty thousand!"
"Ninety thousand!" A middle-aged woman immediately followed with a higher bid.
"One hundred thousand!" Veins bulged on the white-haired old man's forehead.
"One hundred ten thousand!" The middle-aged woman