At the foot of Funiu Mountain.
In Jiang Youyu’s small courtyard.
Liu Yan was stirring a pot of thick paste. He had no idea what was being cooked inside, only that Shui Duopo had instructed him to pour in red beans, mung beans, a handful of salt, and a dozen or so strange roots and tree barks, resulting in a pot of oddly scented bean paste.
And this "medicinal broth" was actually meant for Pu Zhu’s bath. Liu Yan had never seen such a bizarre bathing concoction. By his common sense, no matter how many rare medicinal ingredients were in this paste, it was unlikely to have any effect on Pu Zhu, who was suffering from a severe poison.
But Shui Duopo insisted it would work, and after much doubt, Liu Yan ultimately chose to believe him.
Pu Zhu didn’t look well—he was growing thinner by the day. Shui Duopo and Mo Ziru were arguing over which type of poison they should feed him. Shui Duopo insisted on feeding him venomous snakes, while Mo Ziru stubbornly pushed for lizards. In the end, Pu Zhu refused both—he abstained from meat.
Yet after being poisoned, a vegetarian diet only worsened Pu Zhu’s condition day by day.
The bean paste Liu Yan was cooking, according to Shui Duopo, was an attempt to detoxify Pu Zhu. Yu Tuan’er crouched by the stove, feeding it firewood. She had already mastered Liu Yan’s golden needle technique for brain stimulation. But of the three hundred disciples Jiang Youyu had arranged to learn the antidote-making method, most still hadn’t grasped the golden needle technique, much to Yu Tuan’er’s disdain.
They all knew that the Central Plains Sword Assembly and Fengliudian had exchanged victories and losses—Kuang Lan Wuxing was dead, Yu Konghou severely injured, but Ren Qingchou and Zheng Yue had also died, while Cheng Wenpao and Gu Xitan were gravely wounded… On the surface, it seemed the Central Plains Sword Assembly had the upper hand. But without a cure for the Nine Hearts Pill, it remained a deadlock.
Moreover, beneath Fengliudian, the undercurrents of "Hudeng Ling" still surged. And behind "Hudeng Ling" and "Fengliudian," who was truly pulling the strings? Who commanded Chai Xijin? Whose orders did Wang Lingqiu follow? And who was the "Gui Mudan" that had appeared at Shaolin Temple?
Were they so confident about the Nine Hearts Pill that, after Tang Lichen and Liu Yan parted ways at Shaolin Temple, they no longer pursued the antidote?
Liu Yan stared blankly at the bubbling paste in the pot.
He had a vague feeling… this was merely an unspoken truce.
"Gui Mudan" and his ilk hadn’t found this place yet, perhaps only because Shui Duopo and Mo Ziru were here. Jiang Youyu’s courtyard was easy to locate, and with so many people coming and going, how could anyone with ill intent fail to find him?
Perhaps he was merely under someone’s protection, oblivious all this time.
But how long could the lingering influence of Shui Duopo and Mo Ziru deter "Gui Mudan" and his followers? The antidote or cure for the Nine Hearts Pill was something everyone was desperate to obtain—wherever he was, it would inevitably become a storm of bloodshed. The only question was—when would "Gui Mudan" uncover the true limits of Shui Duopo and Mo Ziru’s power? And what exactly was Tang Lichen’s next move in all this?
Perhaps… A’Li was exploiting this precarious peace to allow him time to recover, to train as many disciples as possible. Liu Yan watched the scorched paste churn in the pot and thought… This was the only purpose left for his existence.No matter where he went, he had always been the recipient of kindness and protection. He had once basked in endless, undeserved favor, yet... in the past... he had neither accepted nor truly acknowledged this world. He never regarded the people of this realm as human beings, drowning instead in his own resentment and sorrow. But in truth, no matter what kind of world it was... a world was still a world.
The people in this world... were all human.
Alive.
With joys and sorrows.
With partings and reunions.
No one was nobler than another.
Not even Ali.
Joys and sorrows.
Partings and reunions.
No one was nobler than another.
The medicinal paste before him had burned to a crisp, and Liu Yan suddenly understood—for him, realizing this wasn’t difficult.
But for Ali, it was nearly impossible.
"Kid! It's burnt!" Shui Duopo's voice came from behind, yet he wasn’t angry. Instead, he cheerfully said to Mo Ziru, "This time, I win again." He pointed at Liu Yan. "I said this kid would definitely believe my bean paste could cure poison. If you boil bean paste for too long, it’s bound to burn, right? Once it’s charred, it can be used for medicine—so in the end, I wasn’t tricking him..."
Mo Ziru stroked the three wisps of long beard he had just pasted on—having transformed himself from a refined scholar into a sharp-faced advisor. "Win or lose, what does it matter? We weren’t even betting money just now..."
Their usual nonsense had only just begun when Liu Yan remained lost in thought. Suddenly, from outside the courtyard, came dozens of sharp twangs in rapid succession—over twenty fire arrows, carrying inextinguishable tar flames, shot toward Jiang Youyu’s small courtyard from all directions.
In an instant, flames erupted everywhere in the courtyard, thick smoke billowing. The three hundred young disciples, still in the midst of learning from one another, panicked and scattered in chaos.
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