An Auction of Souls

Genres: Young Adult; YA Action & Adventure; YA Fantasy; YA Historical Fantasy

Synopsis

A start to a new duology from Of Jade and Dragons author Amber Chen, this sweeping fantasy full of magic and danger follows a girl and her two unlikely companions on an adventure through fantastical lands in pursuit of answers to a centuries' long mystery.

Meng Lingxi and her grandmother run a legendary auction house, Meng Wu—the House of Dreams. But when a mysterious traveler arrives bearing a fragment of a soul, all that Lingxi knows changes in an instant. Her grandmother mysteriously vanishes, and restless spirits descend upon Meng Wu.

Then two unlikely allies—Yan Jun and Yan Shan, guardians of hell itself—come to Lingxi's aid, revealing a shocking secret about the only home she's ever known: Meng Wu sits upon the gateway to hell, and her grandmother serves the god of the underworld himself.

Soon, Lingxi joins her two companions on a perilous journey to find her grandmother and unravel the mystery behind the dangerous fragment of soul. Along the way, the trio must outsmart humans, gods, and demons alike who try to stand in their way—before hell is let loose on earth.

Release date: October 20, 2026

Publisher: Viking Books for Young Readers

Print pages: 480

Sample

Auctions at Meng Wu ran swiftly, because time was money and there was nothing that Lingxi hated more than wasting money. In less than two hours, the auction list of over two dozen items had dwindled down to only one.
“We are nearing the end of today’s auction, and we have but one final item left to offer. This extremely rare item has not been seen across the kingdoms since the elusive God of Physicians disappeared over fifty years ago, and no other physician has been able to reproduce it since.” Lingxi held up a small sandalwood box on the palm of her hand, keeping perfectly still for one dramatic moment. Then she flipped open the lid to reveal a deceptively ­ordinary-​­looking brown pill sitting on its velvet cushion. A subtle fragrance of flowers wafted into the air, and the eyes of dozens of patrons widened when the scent drifted past their noses. “Ladies and gentlemen, you are looking at the cure to any illness in the world, an escape from certain ­death—​­the Hundred Flower Pill. The starting bid will be ten thousand gold taels.”
An audible gasp went around the room.
Before the Hundred Flower Pill took to the stage, the most expensive item, a pair of twin swords forged by the late sword master Leirong, had only fetched eight thousand gold taels. Ten thousand was almost equivalent to one year of an entire kingdom’s ­taxes—​­who would be able to afford that?
“Ten thousand!” a soft, squeaky voice called out from above. The princeling from the Kingdom of Snow eagerly held out his wooden paddle through the open windows of the Coral Room.
Lingxi chuckled inward, imagining the coffers of the kingdom emptying into her own vault.
“Ten thousand from the young man up there. Do we have any other bids?”
“Fifteen thousand!” someone else shouted. The bid came from a group of burly men on the balcony, wrapped in animal furs with tattoos of tigers covering half their faces. Pugilists from the Nanshan clan, one of the wealthiest in the jianghu.
The prince waved his paddle once more. “Twenty thousand!”
“Twenty-​­five.”
“Thirty!”
“Thirty-​­five!”
“Fifty thousand!” the prince yelled, his youthful face red with agitation.
The entire auction hall fell silent, all eyes resting upon the competing bidders from the Nanshan clan. The pugilists bowed their heads in discussion for a brief ­moment—​­and their paddle stayed down. The leader of the group slammed his heavily inked fist against the table, shooting a bloodthirsty glare at the young prince.
Fifty thousand taels? Lingxi’s eyes lit up. The kid must be desperate to save his mother.
Fifty thousand was not at all a bad deal. In fact, it was already higher than what she had been aiming for. But now?
Lingxi had been carefully observing the faces of the Snow prince’s entourage while their young master raised his hand to the tune of several years’ worth of their kingdom’s revenue. Not a single one of them so much as batted an eyelid. What did this mean? It meant that there was more gold, possibly much, much more, where that fifty thousand was coming from.
She raised a hand to her face, using two fingers to scratch the slight dent in her nose bridge just below her eyes.
Right on cue, a new voice joined the fray, coming from another private room on the top floor, directly across from the Snow prince. The windows to that room were shut, so no one could see who exactly had spoken or how many people were actually in there.
“Seventy thousand,” the voice called, its gravelly tone grating against ears.
A furor erupted from the crowd, arched necks and pointing fingers directed toward the room in question. The Snow prince blanched, falling back onto his seat. Behind her scarf, Lingxi’s lips twitched in a smile.
She cleared her throat and raised her ebony gavel into the air.
“Seventy thousand gold taels for the Hundred Flower Pill, going once, going ­twice—­”
“Wait!” the prince cried. He came forward, half his slender frame leaning out the window. “Please, I need the Hundred Flower Pill to save a life. I can give you fifty thousand gold taels for it today, and promise you a favor from the Kingdom of ­Snow—​­will you accept my offer?”
Lingxi scoffed. A favor? A favor was worth nothing, and promises were too easily broken.
“The rules of Meng Wu are clear,” she said, gesturing toward the large wooden board hanging near the entrance that listed out the auction rules. “Silver and gold taels are the only currency accepted for bids. We do not allow for any trades involving ­items—​­or ­promises—​­regardless of the assumed value of said items.”
Desperation was written all over the boy’s face, his clear blue irises clouding with distress. He turned to the steward sitting beside him, as if to ask if there was any more they could offer, but the elderly man merely shook his head.
“How about if we deliver the money later?” the prince burst out. “I can double my bid to a hundred thousand taels, but I only have fifty thousand with me now. If you’ll allow me some time, I can have the remaining half sent over later.”
The smile that Lingxi was hiding stretched a little farther.
“In that case, perhaps you might want to return for our next auction. We may have another Hundred Flower Pill then,” she replied. The first rule of Meng Wu was that payment had to be made here and now. There was no way she was letting any of her items leave the premises without having been paid for in full.
“No, please, my mother might not be able to wait till next time!” the prince shouted in dismay. “I’m begging you. I’ll do anything you ask of me, as long as you let me have the pill. Please!”
“The Hundred Flower ­Pill—​­going once, going twice, gone! To the man in the Cinnabar Room, for seventy thousand gold taels.” Or to the bird in the Cinnabar Room, to be precise.
Ignoring the pleas from the Snow prince, Lingxi slammed her gavel against the wooden board on her auctioneer’s stand with a flourish.
“This brings us to the end of today’s auction. Thank you, one and all, for your enthusiastic participation, and do look out for the notices for our next auction, which should be happening in the coming moon cycle. Meng Wu looks forward to welcoming all of you again soon.” With a bow, Lingxi retreated behind the curtains and quickly headed upstairs while the guests began flooding out of the auction hall.
In the Cinnabar Room, ­Liu-​­shu was waiting for her, perched upon a ceiling beam.
“Pulling the same stunt twice in a row,” he commented, looking about as reproachful as a bird could be. “Someone might see through your little ruse soon.”
“You could have refused to play along,” Lingxi replied with a grin. She threw off her cloak and scarf and swung herself onto a chair, propping one leg up in a most uncouth manner. Reaching for the bowl of melon seeds on the table, she rapidly deshelled a few and popped them into her mouth.
There was no mysterious customer in this room offering to pay seventy thousand taels for the miracle ­pill—​­only the two of them playing out this set piece to raise the profitability of their auction items. It had worked on the Jiangbei merchant and the moon ­pearl—​­the man ended up buying it for a whole five hundred taels more than what he’d offered the previous ­time—​­and it would undoubtedly work again with the Snow prince. Scarcity drove desire, raised value.
“I am but a servant of Meng Wu,” ­Liu-​­shu replied. “I’m not yet prepared to lose this roof above my head.”
“Liu-​­shu.” Lingxi frowned. “You know that I don’t like to hear you say things like that.”
Ever since before she could remember, ­Liu-​­shu had been by her side, watching over her dutifully as she grew up. He was once an ordinary fabric merchant from Haidong, a port city in the Kingdom of Wind. Unfortunately, he had offended an enchanter by refusing to sell the latter a bolt of liquid gold, one of the rarest and most beautiful fabrics across the kingdoms, which shimmered with the glow of the sun, and was then cursed to live out the rest of his existence as a crow. Popo had found him on the doorstep of Meng Wu, severely dehydrated and mind addled by both magic and heat, and taken him in, perhaps thinking him a useful pawn to offload an unwanted grandchild upon.
Liu-​­shu rarely talked about his past, and Lingxi never asked, knowing better than to prod at the man’s wounds. In any case, this was his home now, and he had a far greater presence in her life than the only blood relation she had ­left—​­her grandmother.
Liu-​­shu cawed, the equivalent of a chuckle. “If you say so, child,” he said patronizingly. “It was a risky move, though. What if the Snow queen doesn’t make it till the next auction? Then they won’t be coming back for the pill, will they?”
Lingxi wagged her finger in disagreement. Even though she’d never left the confines of Meng Wu, she still made it a point to keep a finger on the pulse of the ongoings across the kingdoms through casual chatter and artful eavesdropping whenever auction days came around. It helped to know, because knowledge could easily be mined for gold.
“This illness that’s struck the Kingdom of Snow is extremely bizarre. It leaves its victims unconscious, slowly draining them of their life force. Like a ­slow-​­acting poison. Trust me, they can wait another month,” she said. Her eyes glinted greedily. “When that prince comes back, I’m sure he’ll bring even more than the hundred thousand taels that he promised.”
Besides, she didn’t have to sell it to the Snow prince. When word ­spread—​­and it certainly ­would—​­there might be other clients willing to pay even more for the chance to evade death.
“Making use of a child’s desperation to save a loved one. You are truly heartless.”
“Thank you for the compliment,” she replied with a wink. With the flick of her wrist, she tossed a melon seed up into the air, and the bird caught it in his beak. A reflection of their effortless coordination. She stood back up. “I’m going to deliver today’s auction report to Popo. Remember to pay the tribespeople their wages before you send them off.”

Meng‑­po’s workshop was located underground, directly beneath the auction hall. Lingxi ran down the flight of steps, clutching her book of accounts excitedly in one hand. Today’s auction had yielded record-high profits, even without the sale of the Hundred Flower Pill. The steady growth of their auction business was the fruit of her labor, and each time she came down here to deliver these reports, she harbored the same hope of receiving a pat on the shoulder and a small line of praise.
“I’m proud of you.”
A few simple words to show that her grandmother saw her.
She reached for the door handle to push it open, then changed her mind, using the brass knocker instead.
“Come in,” a hoarse voice echoed from inside.
Lingxi opened the doors and stepped gingerly across the threshold, taking care not to make any sound with her footsteps. Popo hated the slightest bit of noise and would give her a ­dressing-down if she “moved like a buffalo.”
Dressed in her usual ­earth-​­tone robes, her grandmother was standing in front of her giant bronze cauldron, stirring the murky brown liquid bubbling within. The old lady’s graying hair was pinned behind her head in a tight bun, held together by a single bone hairpin with a ­pale-​­green jade flower at its tip. A bitter stench of herbs permeated every corner of the room, filtering through the shelves of worn books and scrolls and racks of rusty ladles and crucibles.
Lingxi didn’t know what concoction her grandmother was brewing and why she seemed to be constantly making it even though there was no one in Meng Wu to feed it to, but she had learned not to ask questions. Several years ago, she had tried to steal a sip of the mixture, only to be caught by her grandmother and given the worst scolding she had ever endured. She would never forget that day. Popo had taken a bamboo cane to the backs of her legs, whipping her again and again until her skin broke and blood began trickling down her calves. She had cried, begged, and even ­Liu-​­shu had helped plead for mercy, but Popo carried on as if she couldn’t hear or see any of it.
Like now, when Popo didn’t even turn to look at her when she entered, or say a single word to acknowledge her presence.
Standing here, Lingxi felt like she was shriveling up, that she had regressed into that teary child who had been abandoned by her parents as a baby, the child whose greatest mistake was to simply exist.
“Popo, here’s today’s accounts,” she said meekly, holding up the book. “We’ve broken the previous record by eight thousand taels.”
Her grandmother hummed with disinterest, continuing to stir her brew. “Leave it on the table,” she said.
Lingxi shuffled over to the long wooden table against the wall, setting her book down amidst an array of bowls and glass receptacles containing an assortment of unrecognizable herbs. She picked up a ceramic bowl filled with dried purplish petals and took a whiff. It smelled like mushrooms. She often wondered where all these strange herbs and grasses came from, because they hardly seemed to be of this world, but again, she knew better than to ask.
“Don’t touch anything,” Popo’s stern voice came barking.
When Lingxi turned, she found the old lady glaring at her, reproach filtering through her cloudy cataracts.
“If there’s nothing else, then you can go. Don’t make yourself a nuisance.”
Lingxi set the bowl silently back down, the familiar sourness and resentment rising up inside her. Her fists clenched by her sides, wrinkling the black cotton fabric of her trousers. Despite everything, she was still only a nuisance in her grandmother’s eyes. A burden that Popo had been saddled with against her will.
Maybe I should leave. Explore the world. Find a place where I belong.
That thought had run through her head dozens of times before, but still she remained here. As much as she hated to admit it, Lingxi didn’t have the courage to venture into uncharted territory. Meng Wu was all that she had ever known. From the entrance of Meng Wu, the boundless Lihuang Desert stretched far beyond what her eyes could see, as frightening as it was beautiful. Before she could even reach the border of one of the three kingdoms, she’d have to cross a dangerous, lawless expanse of scorching sand, overrun with poisonous scorpions and hungry wolves, infested with bands of thieves and murderers who’d been banished from their old kingdoms for crimes too terrible to speak of.
This was her home, and Popo and ­Liu-​­shu were her only family.
She turned to leave her grandmother’s workshop, but a fluttering of wings came rushing down the other way, blocking her exit. ­Liu-​­shu flew right past her and over to her grandmother.
“Meng‑­po, we have a visitor who wants to speak with you. He claims to have something that you might be interested in,” the crow said, worry lacing his tone.
Lingxi frowned. Anyone wanting to trade with Meng Wu always spoke to her, ever since she had taken over the running of its day‑­to‑­day operations. “I’ll take care of it,” she declared.
“Lingxi, wait,” Meng‑­po said. She set down her ladle and dried her hands on the apron around her waist. “What has this visitor brought?”
Liu-​­shu hesitated, his silver eyes taking on a peculiar shimmer. Then he said: “A soul. He claims he’s brought a soul.”