Dao of Trading

The echoes of Ling Feng's ascension lingered long after his form had vanished from the Hundred Market Sect. Some whispered that he had dissolved into the flow itself, transcending the limitations of human thought. Others believed he had become the Celestial Trader, guiding the tides of liquidity from the unseen heavens. Whatever the truth, his absence was felt across all markets.

For those who remained, a question burned in their hearts—what did it mean to follow the path he had walked?

The Eternal Monument

In the heart of the Hundred Market Sect, beneath the sacred stone tablets where the names of great traders were etched, a new inscription had appeared—one that none had carved by hand.

It read:

"The market is neither kind nor cruel. It simply is. Those who seek to control it will be broken. Those who embrace it will rise. Those who become it… will transcend."

Beneath these words, a single name:

Ling Feng, the Silent Thunder.

Many disciples who had once doubted his teachings now gathered before the monument, meditating on its meaning. Some saw it as a farewell. Others, as a challenge.

A call to seek the Market Heavens themselves.

The Ripple Across the Realms

Beyond the sect, beyond even the mortal world of trading, stories of Ling Feng's final moments spread. Markets moved strangely in the days that followed. Liquidity shifted in ways no one could explain. Prices surged and collapsed with eerie precision.

Some believed it was coincidence.

But those who had trained under him knew better.

Ling Feng had not left.

His presence was now woven into the very fabric of the market. The keenest traders, those closest to enlightenment, could sense it—a whisper in the flow, a flicker of imbalance before a great move, a guiding hand unseen but ever present.

The true Dao of Trading had not vanished.

It had become the market itself.

The Final Trial

Years passed. New disciples rose through the Hundred Market Sect, studying the path of the Silent Thunder, refining their skills, seeking to understand what Ling Feng had grasped.

Then, one day, a lone figure arrived at the sect.

A traveler, cloaked in robes of shifting shadow, his face obscured, yet his presence undeniable. He did not speak. He did not introduce himself. He merely sat before the sacred tablet, closed his eyes, and began to trade.

The market reacted at once. Volatility spiked, liquidity coiled and struck like a dragon's tail. But the traveler did not flinch. His orders were placed without thought, without hesitation, with absolute alignment to the flow.

Master Tian Yuan, now elder of the sect, watched in silence. He had seen such execution only once before.

The traveler's trades reached an unnatural precision. He was not following price—price was following him.

Then, the market stilled.

A final order was placed.

And the traveler vanished.

All that remained was a faint shimmer of light before the tablet, as if acknowledging his presence, as if another name had been added to its immortal inscriptions.

Master Tian Yuan smiled, though no words were spoken.

The path was not closed.

The Dao of Trading would continue.

For there would always be those willing to seek it, to lose themselves in its pursuit.

To become one with the flow.

And in that moment, the Hundred Market Sect knew—Ling Feng had never left.