‘Each day, he journeyed on, yet the path’s ultimate destination remained shrouded in mystery.’
That Yin Cunxin was the sister of Yin Chunhui, whom the East Bamboo Immortal had accidentally slain, was a revelation Ren Du had never anticipated.
For some inexplicable reason, this question plagued his thoughts throughout his journey back.
Were he in such a position, he would never pledge himself as a disciple to the killer of his own blood kin, even if the act had been unintentional.
Yet, this bizarre transformation of a blood feud into a master-disciple bond had undeniably manifested itself right beside him.
He could not fathom Yin Cunxin’s true intentions.
Did she simply disregard her brother’s murder?
Had she truly forgiven the East Bamboo Immortal?
Or was she compelled to this path, seeking the East Bamboo Immortal’s protection out of necessity?
He held no answers, nor would he ever dare to seek them.
Suddenly, his thoughts turned to Director Ji.
How would Director Ji react if confronted with such a situation?
Based on his observations, Director Ji would most likely weigh the advantages and disadvantages, prioritizing ‘maximizing profit.’
In all probability, he would remain utterly indifferent to his brother’s demise, instead choosing to become the East Bamboo Immortal’s disciple.
Furthermore, should an opportunity arise to betray the East Bamboo Immortal for even greater gains, Director Ji would undoubtedly seize it.
The mere thought filled Ren Du with a profound sense of vexation.
This, precisely, was why he loathed individuals like Director Ji—those who relentlessly pursued maximum gain, resorting to any means necessary, utterly disregarding the consequences.
Upon his return to the small courtyard, the others were still awaiting him.
Without uttering a single word, he gestured for everyone to retire for the night.
Fenghu and Yunlong, concerned for Polaris, resolved to take turns standing guard outside the courtyard.
Ren Du knew these two elders were unwavering in their decisions, and any attempt to dissuade them would prove futile, so he offered no objections.
Mr. Ji, however, did not join Wan Ren and the others in rest.
Instead, he found a suitable spot to sit, gesturing for Ren Du to join him.
“Mr. Ji? Is something amiss?”
“Must there be a purpose to share a cup of tea?”
Mr. Ji chuckled, producing two teacups from seemingly nowhere, followed by a teapot.
Witnessing the tea pour from the pot, a vivid blue, like some potent toxin, Ren Du found himself momentarily unable to bring the cup to his lips.
“Heh heh! My tea leaves are rather humble, certainly not top-grade, and incomparable to any renowned brew.
I apologize for making Manager Ren laugh.
Come! I shall penalize myself with a cup.”
Mr. Ji lifted a corner of his face covering and promptly drained the cup.
Seeing his composure, Ren Du decided there was no need for undue suspicion and drank as well.
Observing that Mr. Ji’s cup was empty, the leaves consumed along with the liquid, Ren Du followed suit.
As he set down his own cup, Mr. Ji spoke.
“Manager Ren, how do you find the taste?”
“It possesses a bitter astringency, yet also a refreshing crispness.
This is my first time tasting it; I’ve never encountered such a tea before.
How should one refer to it?”
“I concocted it myself.
It has no name.”
“How was it made?”
“Merely, I steeped Blue Sand Bamboo leaves, dried them after soaking them in Hundred Wither Spring water, and then used them to brew this tea.”
Ren Du immediately felt the tea he had just consumed lose all its appeal.
To his knowledge, Blue Sand Bamboo, native to the ‘Mist-Shrouded Mountains’ in the southern East Continent, was a highly poisonous plant.
Its stalks shimmered with a bluish-green hue, and within a radius of a dozen meters, no other vegetation could survive.
Should one accidentally ingest it, they would descend into uncontrollable hallucinations, their body writhing and limbs flailing until they succumbed to exhaustion and perished.
The Hundred Wither Spring, conversely, was a spring located in the Lin Hai Dao region of the northern East Continent.
Though called a spring, it was, in fact, a volcanic crater hundreds of meters wide, a remnant of an ancient eruption.
Ancient texts mentioned it, though not by its current name, but as the ‘White Bitter Spring.’
This spring transformed into the dreaded, avoided Hundred Wither Spring only after the advent of players, when numerous environments across the world underwent peculiar changes.
The Hundred Wither Spring was one such instance; its waters exhaled scorching steam, laden with a lethal poison, ensuring no blade of grass could ever sprout around its perimeter.
Should any person dare to drink from it, their flesh and blood would utterly desiccate, leading to an agonizing death.
Both of these were highly toxic substances.
Why, then, would Mr. Ji use them to prepare tea?
“Manager Ren, there is no need for alarm.
The tea you consumed has lost its toxicity; it is nothing to be concerned about.”
“What prompted Mr. Ji to conceive of brewing tea from such potent poisons?”
“Merely a sudden whim!
First, I ventured deep into the Mist-Shrouded Mountains to gather Blue Sand Bamboo leaves, then traveled north to Lin Hai to collect water from the Hundred Wither Spring.
This, ultimately, yielded this tea.
Manager Ren, Blue Sand Bamboo leaves induce madness and hallucinations, a poison of cold, damp yin.
Hundred Wither Spring water causes skin to crack and flesh to dry, a poison of hot, scorching yang.
Both are highly toxic, and their natures clash.
However, when properly prepared, their toxicity vanishes completely.
Though harmless, it is only natural for someone with your knowledge to feel a certain apprehension upon drinking it.”
Ren Du gazed at the remaining bluish residue in his cup, contemplating that had he not been certain Mr. Ji harbored no ill intent, he would never have consumed such an enigmatic brew.
“Since they are bamboo leaves, then this cannot truly be called tea, for it is not of the same plant family.”
“It’s merely a colloquialism!
Manager Ren, if that cup of tea truly contained a potent poison, you would, even now, have fallen into my trap.
It would have been exceedingly perilous!”
Mr. Ji regarded Ren Du, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“You might poison me, but to make me betray Nandou Star is an impossibility.”
“Indeed!
Human will can be fragile and yielding, or it can be resolute and unyielding.
For someone like Manager Ren, poison may harm the body but cannot break the spirit; blades may wound the flesh but cannot shatter the resolve.
But can such an iron will withstand a myriad of shifting schemes and stratagems?”
“Is Mr. Ji implying something?”
“When one path proves impassable, the vast majority often choose another.
Only a rare few, stubborn in their conviction, persist in traversing that very dead-end road.
Manager Ren, which kind of person do you believe Director Ji of Polaris to be?
And where, precisely, lies the entry point to this ‘other path’?”
Ren Du’s gaze sharpened, as if a sudden realization had struck him.
“Blue Sand Bamboo leaves and Hundred Wither Spring water are both highly toxic, their poisons inherently antagonistic.
Yet, when properly steeped together, their toxicity vanishes entirely, allowing them to coexist harmoniously within this cup.
For the Blue Sand Bamboo leaves and the Hundred Wither Spring water, did they benefit from this reconciliation, or were they harmed by it?”
Ren Du offered no reply, rising instead and walking towards Yi Ranchén’s room.
“I shall go check on Miss Yi.”
Mr. Ji remained seated, his gaze fixed on Ren Du, a faint smile playing on his lips.
Ren Du did not need to vocalize his stance; comprehension alone sufficed.
As the manager of Nandou Star’s Jianwu Department and the plenipotentiary in charge of this East Bamboo expedition, he alone possessed the authority to make decisions for Nandou Star’s interests.
Ren Du knocked on the door, but no one answered.
It was to be expected.
A proud scion of a renowned sect, publicly humiliated in such a manner… anyone would find it difficult to bear.
Ren Du recalled Yi Ranchén’s state when he brought her back; her will to die had, presumably, faded.
In any case, choosing not to seek death was a positive development.
“Miss Yi, please eat something!
How can you go a whole day without food?”
There was no reply.
“No matter what trials you’ve endured, you must still eat properly!”
Still, no answer came.
“Whether you seek vengeance or aspire to grow stronger, how can you find the strength for either without sustenance?”
Silence persisted.
Ren Du could have been more forceful, perhaps commanding Yi Ranchén with an unyielding tone.
‘Yi Ranchén! By seniority, I am a generation above your master.
You heard your master’s instructions before we departed; you must obey me throughout this journey.
My authority here is equivalent to your master’s.
I demand that you eat immediately.’
Yet, such an approach would be futile.
Forcing a grieving soul to yield to command was not his way.
“Could… could you talk to me?”
Ren Du’s brow furrowed.
He was at a loss for words, unsure of what Yi Ranchén might wish to hear, and he was hardly adept at offering comforting platitudes.
“What would you like to hear?”
“Anything…”
“Very well!
Since you refuse to eat, I shall recount a story about eating.”
Ren Du leaned against the doorframe, gazing up at the night sky.
“It was a long time ago, when I still roamed the jianghu as a street performer, barely scraping by on meager tips.”
“I harbored no grand ambitions.
From the moment I came into this world, my sole focus was the daily grind of survival, leaving no room for lofty aspirations.”
“One day, my tips were stolen.
I tried to reclaim them—it was a day’s worth of food!
But their strength was overwhelming.
They knocked me down with just a few blows, leaving me bruised and swollen, like an inflated balloon.”
At this point in his story, Ren Du heard a faint, soft laugh from Yi Ranchén.
He, too, couldn’t help but smile, though the mirth on his face was swiftly replaced by a wistful melancholy.
“Penniless, unable to buy food, I could only huddle in a corner like a rat.
That day, a heavy rain fell, soaking me to the bone.
Then, I encountered a beggar… a very old… ‘old-timer’.”
Ren Du’s eyes dimmed, as if lost in the depths of bygone memories.
“He offered me a steamed bun, but I refused.
I had no money; how could I accept a bun from someone without payment?
The old man told me, ‘Child, just eat it! No matter what, people must eat! You can’t go hungry!'”
Mr. Ji, who had been preparing to retire, turned his gaze slightly, scrutinizing Ren Du.
Clearly unaware of this particular episode from Ren Du’s past, he seemed intrigued and inclined to listen for a while.
However, deciding that hearing about Ren Du’s history might not be to his advantage, he quickened his steps and returned to his rest.
“Still, I wouldn’t take it.
I thought about how old the man was, living as a beggar, never knowing where his next meal would come from, with chaos rampant across the mortal realm.
Who knew how many peaceful days he had left?
So I told him, ‘I have no money; how can I accept a bun for free?
Besides… you’re so old; you should eat it yourself!'”
“The old man pressed the bun into my hand, saying, ‘Child, my age matters little to me.
I have nothing, and these old bones are good for nothing; everyone despises me.
But you, you mustn’t refuse to eat!
You are still young!
There are so many things you have yet to accomplish!
So you eat it!
You don’t need to thank me.
If you truly wish to show gratitude, then go and help those who cannot even afford a single meal!'”
“The old man departed… I never saw him again.”
Ren Du sighed deeply, gazing heavenward, his eyes filled with a profound sense of helplessness, which then hardened into grim resolve.
“From that moment on, I believed that as long as I lived, I should ensure everyone could eat every single day… every single day.
That is why I joined Nandou Star… though back then, it was known as Taiyin Star.”
“Therefore, no matter what hardships you face, you must eat.
Only then will you have the strength to accomplish the things you have yet to complete.”
With a brief, soft scrape, the door opened.