Game Era – Lost Odyssey

Splash! A scoop of icy water hit Xia Feng’s face, jolting him awake with a shiver. The moment he came to, a silvery voice rang out beside him: “Step right up, come and buy! Fresh stock just in!”

Though the voice lacked its former ladylike charm, now brassy and bold, Xia Feng instantly recognized it as Ji Xuanxuan’s.

Looking toward the sound, he saw her perched atop a wooden post over a man’s height, hands on hips, hawking loudly like a vegetable peddler.

Yet even in this crude task, her demeanor remained adorably captivating. Tied to her post was a filthy, disheveled man, his expression blank and dull.

Xia Feng quickly realized he, too, was shackled to a post, hands and feet bound. There were seven or eight others like him—all sturdy men.

Ahead lay a grimy little square, shabby in the sunset’s glow, sparsely trafficked.

But at her call, people swarmed over. Some shouted greetings: “Xuanxuan Sis, you’re something else—new stock this fast!”

Others teased loudly: “Xuanxuan Sis, got any with bedroom skills? I’ll take one for breeding!”

The crowd erupted in lewd laughter.

Unfazed, Ji Xuanxuan shot back with a grin, “Screw you! Bring your wife to pick—she’d know!”

Amid the guffaws, she rolled up her sleeves and got serious: “Don’t just gawk—buy! This batch is top-notch. Look at these builds, these muscles—prime labor! Fair price too, twenty gold coins each, first bid picks. Except this one—he’s fifty gold minimum.”

Her whip pointed at Xia Feng’s head.

Curious, the crowd sized him up, puzzled. “He looks scrawny—what’s special about him?”

“You’ve seen plenty of work slaves, but a poetry-making slave? Ever met one?” Ji Xuanxuan scanned the crowd smugly. “I’ve handled tons of slaves—this is my first poet.”

“Real or fake? Let’s hear a poem!” The crowd hooted. Seeing their doubt, she jabbed Xia Feng’s head with her whip. “Poet, show ‘em what you’ve got!”

“Let me go, you wretch—I’m no slave!” Xia Feng thrashed, earning a lash. A burly man pointed his whip, barking, “You dare defy my lady’s orders? Poem—now!”

Xia Feng noticed several menacing thugs behind him—none looked friendly. Never in this situation before, he swallowed more curses, opting to avoid immediate trouble.

“Be nice to poets,” Ji Xuanxuan waved the thug off. He slunk aside obediently. She flicked her whip at Xia Feng with a smile. “Recite those poems you told me—sell yourself well, or that amulet I bought you was a waste!”

Feeling the aquamarine amulet still around his neck, Xia Feng burned with shame. He’d thought himself a suave ladies’ man, always nailing the chase—yet this girl had played him, and now she’d sell him off!

Glaring at the sly beauty, he demanded, “What did you do to me?”

“Simple!” She flashed a dimpled, toothy grin. “Just a little special seasoning in your bowl.”

Xia Feng blinked. “I didn’t see anything!”

“You were too busy staring at me to notice,” she mocked.

Humiliation flooded him—he wanted to crawl into a hole. Unwilling to let it go, he snapped, “You drugged me with knockout powder! Isn’t there law here? Aren’t you afraid of the authorities charging you with trafficking?”

“Trafficking?” She paused, then giggled. “Poets sure talk fancy. Forgot to mention—I specialize in what you call ‘trafficking.’ It’s licensed by Eastern Ling City’s Lord Abelard, my uncle. Get it, outsider?”

Xia Feng choked, speechless.

This continent wasn’t reality—no lawyers to bail him out. A city lord here was a local king, law and power incarnate.

Depressed, he fell silent—and took another lash to the face. Ji Xuanxuan scolded, “Poem—now! My patience has limits, and I’ve been plenty nice to you, poet!”

His cheek stung, rage boiling inside. Never in his life had he faced such whipping and disgrace.

Xia Feng feared neither death nor bloody brawls, but this helpless flogging was new. Weighing his options, he decided to deal with the threat now and plot revenge later.

Thankfully, he’d memorized some Tang poems as a kid. He rattled one off: “The sun sets behind the mountains, the Yellow River seeks the sea. To exhaust the sights in a thousand li, ascend yet one more floor.”

“Sounds catchy, but it’s gibberish—what’s a Yellow River?” The crowd grumbled. Ji Xuanxuan lashed him again. “Do it over—make it simple!”

Realizing elegant ancient poetry was lost on these barbarians, Xia Feng figured they’d prefer pop lyrics or cheesy Qiong Yao-style verses. He picked a favorite song, reciting with flair: “Today, I watch snow drift in the cold night, my chilled heart floating afar. Chasing in the storm, shadows blur in the fog, the vast sky and sea—will you and I ever change…”

A few lines into Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies, the crowd cut in: “This poem’s crap!”

Ji Xuanxuan whipped him. “That’s way worse than what you told me—are you even a poet?”

“It’s not the poem—it’s the delivery,” Xia Feng snapped, stung more by their disdain for his favorite singer than the lash. Forgetting his plight, he sang it out loud.

Honed in karaoke lounges, his voice carried some of the original’s soul. The crowd hushed; even Ji Xuanxuan melted into the song’s soaring melody: “…Forgive my wild, unruly love for freedom, though I fear falling someday. Anyone can abandon ideals—but I dread a day with only you and me…”

When he finished, the crowd lingered in the tune’s spell. Someone gasped, “This… it’s the ancient chant of Atlantis’s bards! Only Great Western Empire and Eastern Xuan Kingdom nobles have heard such recitals! Even merfolk would envy that voice. Fifty gold—I’ll take him!”

“Sixty!”

“Sixty-five!”

“Seventy!”

…

Bids soared, hitting a hundred gold coins in moments, when a clear shout rang from afar: “Two hundred gold!”

Silence fell. A bard was rare in this backwater, but ten times a normal slave’s price stunned them.

Eyes turned to the bidder—a man of twenty-five or six, in military garb, ramrod straight like a javelin. His face wasn’t imposing, even plain, but an icy, commanding aura made folks avert their gazes.

The crowd parted, some bowing obsequiously: “Young Master Axel, greetings!”

Ignoring them, Axel strode to Xia Feng. Ji Xuanxuan’s face stiffened, forcing a smile. “Cousin, why’re you stirring trouble?”

“I should ask you that!” Axel eyed Xia Feng, then faced her. “Is he a slave?”

“Of course!”

“I’m not!”

She and Xia Feng spoke at once. Seeing Axel’s frown, Ji Xuanxuan thrust out a document. “Look, I’ve got his voluntary slavery contract—I bought him from a Bian City merchant.”

Axel studied it, then nodded at Xia Feng. “Show me your right thumb!”

Puzzled, Xia Feng extended it. Axel compared it to the paper, inspecting closely. Catching on, Xia Feng blurted, “That sneaky girl knocked me out with drugs—she could’ve pressed my thumb a dozen times!”

“Is that so?” Axel turned to her. She waved her hands innocently. “No, no—this contract’s legit from that Bian City trader! Don’t listen to this crafty slave!”

“I’m no slave, and I don’t know any Bian City merchant!” Xia Feng protested. Axel pocketed the contract, eyeing him skeptically. “You say you’re not a slave—got any ID? Family or friends to vouch for you?”

Xia Feng faltered, mute. Axel pressed, “You’re not local. Where’re you from? Why’re you in Eastern Ling City? Any companions? If anyone can prove you’re free, I’ll release you.”

“I’m from Lo…” Xia Feng stopped, realizing no one here knew Luo City—or would believe he was from another world. Lying wasn’t his forte, so he clammed up.

“You don’t look like a slave—especially your poetry, rivaling even the famed bard Changda. But without proof, I can’t help you.”

Axel shook his head regretfully, then turned to Ji Xuanxuan. “I’m buying him. I’ll send the two hundred gold later.” Tucking the contract away, he moved to unchain Xia Feng from the post.