A Worthless Vase

Kaelen deliberately slowed his pace amidst the chaotic, shouting crowds of the Relic City antique market. He released his grip on the small, soot-covered case he had touched moments prior, knowing it was merely a distraction. The blinding light filling his vision shifted, pulling his gaze toward a dusty, unassuming corner stall. He forced his eyes to rove expertly over the scattered items—rusted coins, tarnished brass mirrors, and broken jade pendants—perfectly concealing the burning intent flaring in his chest.

He narrowed his focus.

He masked his shock behind a blank expression. The source of the blinding energy field—the most robust, ancient aura in the entire market—was an ordinary-looking, 24-inch ceramic vase. It sat discarded near a pile of iron tools. The glaze was uneven, the painted patterns uninspired. To the naked eye, it possessed zero historical value. Yet, through Kaelen's unique perception, the vase hummed with a dormant, earth-shattering power.

Behind the makeshift table, the vendor watched him. The old man leaned back, a flicker of disappointment crossing his tired features as he noticed Kaelen eyeing the ceramic vase. The vendor knew exactly what that item was: a contemporary replica. The craftsmanship was laughably poor, making it impossible to scam anyone with a functional brain. The vendor feebly hoped the young man wouldn't ask about it, dreading the loss of a potential sale on better items.

Kaelen casually pointed a finger at the ugly ceramic shell. "What's your starting price on this?"

The vendor's eyes darted. Greed flared, overriding his earlier hesitation. If this guy wanted to ask, he could pay. "500 dollars! I'll give you the original price. It cost me 500 when I collected it. Sure, the craftsmanship is a bit rough, but anyone with discerning eyes can tell it has character!"

Without a single word of negotiation, Kaelen turned on his heel. He took a long stride away from the stall, his posture screaming pure disinterest.

Panic seized the vendor. The prospect of losing a prime sucker shattered his composure. "Hey! Hey! Don't go, young man!" he shouted, waving his arms frantically over the table. "Why are pulling such an unconventional approach? At least give me a counteroffer to work with!"

A few onlookers browsing nearby stalls turned their heads. They glanced at the ugly 24-inch vase and chuckled, whispering among themselves about the vendor trying to rip off another tourist.

Kaelen paused, tossing a dismissive glance over his shoulder. He waved his hand with feigned impatience. "80 dollars! I'll take it if it's a deal!"

The vendor physically balked. His jaw dropped in shock at the steep lowball offer. "80 dollars?! I offered 500, and you hit me with 80?! Young man, that is not the right way to haggle!"

"I'm only interested in buying this vase because I think it's big enough for me to store my pickles," Kaelen added casually, his tone deadpan. "It's fine if you don't want to do business. I'll just go buy some smaller containers down the street."

"But the price you gave is too low," the vendor grumbled, his face scrunching in clear discontent.

Kaelen shrugged, maintaining his flawless facade. "Although I'm a mere layman regarding antiques, I can still tell this is nothing but a defective product. The shape is uneven. The paint is fresh. If it weren't for the fact that I can use it as a container for my pickles, I wouldn't even bother looking at it."

Laughter erupted from the surrounding crowd. The onlookers openly mocked Kaelen, pointing at the oversized, gaudy vase.

"He wants to put pickles in that piece of junk!" one tourist wheezed.

"What an idiot," another muttered, shaking his head. "Buying a crappy replica just to hold food."

The vendor grit his teeth, sensing the crowd turning the transaction into a public joke. "Make it 200! 200, and it's yours!"

Kaelen took another aggressive step away from the stall, his tone turning cold. "I thought you would give me a discount, yet you still want to hike up the offer? Keep it. You can store your own pickles in it."

The crowd dissolved into louder laughter.

"Hey! Come back! Take it! Take it!" the vendor begged helplessly, leaning over the table. "Final offer 80! No more, no less!"

"Can't you give me a few dollars discount?" Kaelen pressed.

"80! I won't sell it to you for a penny less. I'd rather break it!" the vendor snapped impatiently.

Kaelen sighed, pretending to be reluctant. He pulled out his wallet, counted out 80 dollars in cash, and slapped it onto the dusty table. He grabbed the heavy 24-inch vase by the neck, hoisting it up. "This should be able to fill up to 178 ounces of pickles," he muttered aloud for the crowd's benefit.

The onlookers continued to snicker, cementing Kaelen's status as a total fool in their eyes.

Meanwhile, the vendor secretly rejoiced, his hands trembling as he pocketed the cash. He had just turned an eight-dollar piece of modern junk into a massive profit margin.

Only Kaelen walked away with a hidden smirk. He felt the intense, unimaginable mystery radiating against his side, shielded by the cheap ceramic shell. He had secured the prize.

The moment Kaelen crossed the threshold into the Vale residence, the atmosphere shifted from triumphant to hostile. He kicked off his shoes, adjusting his grip on the large vase and the stack of translated traditional medicine texts tucked under his arm.

Brielle stood in the center of the living room. Her posture was rigid, arms crossed tightly over her chest. The moment her gaze landed on the items Kaelen carried, her face scrunched into a deep, disappointed frown. She ignored the vase; her eyes locked onto the titles of the books.

"Didn't I tell you to buy two beauty-centric books?!" she demanded sharply, her voice cutting through the quiet house.

Kaelen paused, feeling the immediate weight of her judgment.

"Why are you still buying books about traditional medicine?!" Brielle continued, taking a step forward. "What's the matter? Are you still dreaming of becoming a traditional medicine practitioner? Do you honestly think saving Mr. Preston was anything more than a fluke?"

"I'm just more interested in traditional medicine," Kaelen replied in a perfectly amicable, unbothered tone. He offered a small, neutral smile, refusing to rise to her bait.

Before Brielle could escalate the conversation, the front door rattled. Martha stormed into the room, her presence bringing a suffocating wave of toxic energy. She was fresh off losing a massive sum of money at her afternoon poker game, her face flushed red with pent-up rage. Her bloodshot eyes darted around the room, searching for a target.

They landed squarely on Kaelen.

"Brielle gave you money to buy books—not some random junk!" Martha screamed, her voice shrill and grating. She stomped toward him, pointing a manicured finger at the large ceramic vase in his hand. Her face twisted with unadulterated disgust. "What is that thing?! A defective vase? Why did you buy it? Do you think we're made of money?!"

Kaelen held the vase steady, his expression unchanging.

"You good-for-nothing man!" Martha shrieked, unleashing her vile fury onto him. Spittle flew from her lips as she closed the distance. "You only know how to waste our family's money! Not only are you unable to help share the burden, but you waste away doing nothing! Look at Madam Westbury's son-in-law! He gives her gift cards worth thousands of dollars during every festive season! And you? I haven't gotten a single penny out of you!"

The verbal assault echoed off the living room walls. Brielle watched in silence, her frown deepening.

Martha gestured wildly at the ugly 24-inch vase. "Pretty? You think that ugly piece of trash is pretty?! If you can't tell me the reason you bought this, then get the f*ck out of this house!"

"Tell me, you brainless trash!" Martha demanded hotly, stepping right into his personal space.

Kaelen stood his ground. Unbothered by Martha's malicious, screaming rage, he remained silent. He stared at her blankly, his eyes devoid of any reaction or fear. He knew the truth about the immense energy field hidden within the ceramic shell, but he had no intention of explaining it to them. They wouldn't understand. They couldn't understand.

His absolute refusal to verbally defend himself only served to deepen Brielle's profound disappointment. She looked at him standing there—a man clutching an ugly fake vase and useless medicine books, taking verbal abuse without a shred of dignity.

In her eyes, he looked more and more like a loser.

Frustrated that Kaelen insisted on living in his own delusional fantasy of being a miracle doctor and an antique collector, Brielle turned her back on him. She couldn't stomach the sight of him anymore. She retreated heavily toward the stairs, her footsteps thudding against the wood. As she walked toward her bedroom, she fought the rising urge to call a lawyer, legally settle things, and divorce him once and for all. This farce of a marriage was draining the life out of her.

Ignoring Martha's continuously echoing obscenities, Kaelen walked past his screaming mother-in-law and headed straight for his cramped bedroom. He shut the door softly, cutting off the screeching tirade from the living room.

He set the traditional medicine books on his small desk and carefully placed the large ceramic vase on the floor. The moment he let go, he could feel the thick, humming energy field filling the tight confines of the room. It was a sensation of raw, ancient power, at odds with the cheap, painted exterior.

Kaelen sat cross-legged on the floor in front of it. He closed his eyes, centering his breathing, and extended his internal energy toward the object. He needed to find the mechanism, the hidden layer, or the seal containing the artifact inside.

Minutes turned into hours. Kaelen subjected the ceramic shell to intense, careful observation. He probed every inch of the glaze with his meridians, searching for a crack or a weak point in the energy field. He traced the base, the neck, and the interior.

Nothing.

The energy resisted his probing, acting like a solid, impenetrable wall. He failed to decipher the true source of the strange aura. It was as if the cheap ceramic itself was mocking him, hiding a secret too ancient for his current level of cultivation to break open.

Exhaling a long breath, Kaelen finally opened his eyes. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. Pushing it further right now would yield no results. He stood up, leaving the enigmatic vase sitting untouched in the dimly lit corner of the room.

Meanwhile, the afternoon sun cast long shadows over the bustling pathways of Relic City.

An anxious young man sprinted desperately through the crowded antique market. He bumped into tourists and knocked over a small display of wooden beads, ignoring the angry shouts trailing behind him. He was dressed impeccably in a tailored, charcoal-grey suit, his polished leather shoes kicking up dirt and dust with every frantic step. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his chest heaved as his eyes darted from stall to stall.

He rounded a corner, his gaze locking onto a specific, small, dusty stall.

It was the exact location Kaelen had visited hours prior.

The young man skidded to a halt. Spotting the old vendor sitting behind the table, lazily counting a wad of cash, the young man's frantic face lit up. A bright, desperate smile broke across his sweating features.

He lunged toward the table, rejoicing aloud as he stared at the vendor.

"Finally, I found you!"