CHAPTER 562: THE SLAVE DISTRICT

Han Yu had briefly considered joining that division. Yet he knew his control over Ju Fan’s identity was still fragile. The wrong move would expose him. Seeing his friends in such a broken state might shatter his composure, and the slightest emotional slip could doom him.

He had to be careful.

He had to plan.

He had to be patient.

Which was why he had waited until now, when he finally had a believable reason to inquire. Han Yu had seen numerous alchemists accompanied by slaves, not only to assist in pill processing but also to use as test subjects.

Alchemy killed many slaves every year. They were cheap, expendable, and always in high demand. If he pretended to want one for alchemy, nobody would doubt him.

Han Yu still prayed none of his friends had already been used for such a purpose.

He traveled for an hour across the sect, weaving through courtyards, bridges, and narrow paths as he headed toward the Slave District. His expression remained cold and unreadable, the standard Ju Fan glare that made disciples step aside instinctively.

He finally arrived before an enormous compound surrounded by tall black iron gates reinforced by several layers of arrays. A thick stench of sweat and despair hung faintly in the air even before he entered.

A line of disciples stood before the gate, some chatting casually, some looking bored, and some staring with unsettling hunger.

Jiangshis guarded the entrance. Two of them towered near the gate, one at the Nascent Soul realm and one at the Core Condensation realm. Their dead eyes glowed faintly beneath their visors.

Han Yu approached without hesitation and presented his token.

A formation circle lit up beneath him, scanning the token and his Qi signature. The zombies turned their heads in eerie synchronization, confirming his identity. The gate opened silently.

Han Yu stepped inside.

The administrative building was the first structure he saw. It was not fancy like the Merit Hall or the External Alchemy Hall. Instead, it was worn down, with dark floors and walls stained by years of questionable activity. The air felt heavy, thick with unspoken suffering.

Disciples walked in and out casually.

Han Yu saw no slaves here. This building was for business and transactions only. The actual slave compounds were elsewhere, hidden behind formations.

Han Yu walked to the nearest counter. A disciple lounged behind it, leaning back with his feet propped on a drawer. He had a narrow face, sharp features, and greasy hair tied in a thin ponytail. His eyes were half lidded, but when he saw Han Yu approaching, they sharpened.

"Welcome to the Slave District," he said with a slow grin. "What kind of slave are you looking for fellow disciple?"

Han Yu did not answer immediately. His gaze remained steady and cold.

"What options do you have?" he asked.

The clerk grinned wider. "Ahh, a man of taste. We have everything. Crude labor slaves. Skilled slaves good for formations, alchemy, or forging. Guard slaves. And of course..." he leaned closer, lowering his voice, "...bed slaves."

Han Yu’s expression did not change.

"I need a slave for alchemy assistance."

The clerk leaned back again and laced his fingers behind his head.

"Of course you do. Most alchemists here get slaves. They are useful. Some die. Some explode. Some go mad from poison. But that is life."

Han Yu kept his face impassive. Inside, he felt disgust twist in his chest.

He asked, "What is the price?"

The clerk laughed.

"Price? There is no fixed price. If you want something, you bid for it. The Slave District does not sell trash. Everything is auctioned."

He waved his hand. A formation screen appeared in front of Han Yu. Rows and rows of images loaded one by one.

Full body photos of slaves.

Men. Women. Seniors. Children. Mortals. Qi refining cultivators. Core condensation cultivators.

Each picture had a list of details beside it.

Age. Cultivation. Skills. Condition of the body. Any limbs missing. Branded or unbranded. Trained or untrained. Obedience rating. Personality score. Physical adaptability. Pain tolerance.

And on the far right, a constantly shifting number.

The current bid.

Han Yu felt cold inside.

He swallowed hard before he forced his mind to steady itself. He scanned each image carefully, searching for familiar faces. Searching for anyone from his sect. Anyone from the Twin Leaf Peak. Anyone from the Great Continent.

His heart pounded faster with each image.

He whispered inwardly, almost desperate.

"Please... be alive... please..."

The clerk watched him with amused interest.

"You are free to browse all sections," the clerk said. "Some slaves are fresh from training. Some are already conditioned. Some are... broken."

Han Yu’s jaw tightened.

The clerk continued speaking, unaware of the storm behind Han Yu’s silent eyes.

"If you like someone, tap their name. The bidding will open. There is a minimum bid for each category. A good slave can cost you anywhere from a few hundred to a few thousand merits."

Han Yu barely heard him.

He continued scrolling through the images.

Searching.

Searching.

Searching.

Every face he did not recognize gave him a small spark of relief.

Every face he recognized would break him.

His eyes flicked rapidly through the screens.

Hundreds of slaves.

Dozens of categories.

Cultivators. Mortals. Broken. Trained. Drugged. Half conscious. Freshly captured.

His hand trembled once.

Only once.

He clenched it tightly, forcing it still.

He could not break here. He could not show emotion. He could not slip. He needed to remain cold, calm, expressionless.

He needed to be Ju Fan.

The clerk, still watching him, smirked and said, "Take your time. Choosing a slave is an important decision."

Han Yu did not reply.

He kept scrolling.

Searching desperately...

Hoping...

Fearing...

And praying he would not find a familiar face among the damned.

After an hour of browsing through all the slaves, Han Yu let out a faint breath of relief. But to the sleazy clerk, it seemed different.

"What? Too expensive? Or did you not find anything to your liking?" The clerk asked.