Chapter 34: The Bitter Taste of Tea

Lu Mingyi’s trip to the Secret Realm had been bountiful. In the days since emerging, she had lived in considerable satisfaction.

“Miss, are you sure you want a spear?”

In the forging workshop, the matron wiped the sweat from her face with a cloth. She eyed the stunningly beautiful woman before her, her features even more radiant in the glow of the furnace flames.

“Most folks these days practice the sword. Spear arts are rare nowadays,” the matron said kindly, concerned that this pretty young thing might be too naive about the world.

“Mm, a spear it is. Just follow the blueprint I drew,” Lu Mingyi confirmed with a smile and a nod.

“Got it!” The matron barked the order, summoning her workers to begin.

With the Icefield Wolf’s bones as prime material for a superior magic tool, and the herbs she’d picked at the Spiritual Spring fetching a fine price when sold, Lu Mingyi’s coffers were now flush. At last, she could commission refined iron to forge her new magic tool.

But when it came to selecting the tool, Lu Mingyi hesitated a bit.

In the Cultivation World today, sword arts reigned supreme. Every sect offered swordsmanship classes, no matter the style. By contrast, other cultivator paths—like saber, zither, or spear—were far scarcer, and their associated spells had dwindled accordingly.

No doubt, forging a new immortal sword would be the most straightforward choice for her.

Yet in her previous life, Lu Mingyi had practiced the Crimson Sky Sword Art for a century. Even in the Secret Realm, the moment she’d gripped a blade, her instincts had kicked in with that technique.

The art was too distinctive, too tied to the people of her past. Lu Mingyi truly had no desire to wield it again.

Everything was starting anew anyway—why not choose a new immortal tool as well?

Mulling it over, Lu Mingyi sketched the form of a long spear onto her blueprint.

Spears weren’t foreign to her. Her mother—Jing Yu—had been a spear cultivator. In her faint memories, her mother’s dashing figure lingered.

The more she thought, the better forging a spear seemed. Handing over the blueprint, materials, and deposit to the workshop, Lu Mingyi departed in high spirits. She headed to a teahouse, ordered a pot of Jiangxia Cloud Mist, and settled by the window to admire the Great River’s flow.

Now, with a new immortal tool on the way and her cultivation breaking through to the fifth layer of Foundation Establishment, her mood was one of rare ease.

“Have you heard? Taiqing Sect took the top eight spots in this Nine Provinces Grand Competition!”

Teahouses were always abuzz with gossip. Lu Mingyi hadn’t sat long before the next table erupted in excited chatter.

“This is huge! We used to say Taiqing Sect held ‘half the territory’—now it’s gotta be ‘most of the territory’!”

“Facts prove Taiqing Sect’s foundations run deep. When they expanded enrollment, so many thought it’d be their downfall!”

“Hold up, don’t get too hyped. I’ve got big news from my family’s clinic,” one man lowered his voice. “Word is, tons of disciples from the sects in the Nine Provinces Grand Competition got hit with Spirit-Devouring Gu!”

“What?!!”

Amid the chorus of shocked gasps, Lu Mingyi nearly spat out her tea.

Spirit-Devouring Gu afflicting the Grand Competition’s disciples would be a devastating blow to the righteous path—these were the cream of the new blood. Once infested, forget rising to prominence; survival odds were slim!

“Don’t spread lies! How could something like that be faked?” his friend said, face paling in alarm.

“I’m not making it up! Every clinic in Jiangxia’s been stripped of herbs these past days. The sects are rushing antidotes overnight to suppress the Spirit-Devouring Gu!”

Lu Mingyi listened in stunned disbelief. Had the Demon Sect slipped into the Secret Realm to poison people with gu?

But how?

With so many entrants—prodigies, scions without number—how had they dosed them so stealthily on such a scale?

Ears perked for more, she froze as someone sat across from her.

The newcomer wore a form-fitting crimson robe, her jet-black hair bound by a red cord. Her features were bold and vivid, rivaling Lu Mingyi’s own, if just a touch less striking.

But Lu Mingyi’s expression soured at the sight. “What wind blew the esteemed Shen Young Mistress my way?” she said coldly.

Shen Mingzheng furrowed her brows at her, body rigid as if exerting immense effort not to reach out. “I know who you are. Stop pretending!”

“Oh? And who might that be? Don’t tell me Shen Young Mistress is here to frame me?” Lu Mingyi chuckled lightly, though inwardly she wondered: Gu Li already reacted—why is Shen Mingzheng still clinging so stubbornly?

Shen Mingzheng snorted coldly, poured herself a cup from Lu Mingyi’s pot of Jiangxia Cloud Mist, and downed it in one gulp. Her eyes reddened slightly as she gritted out, “No need to fool me! This tea’s flavor… only your hand could brew it!”

Seeing her like this, Lu Mingyi kept her face impassive, but anger flared within. Even if she knows my identity, what’s her angle now? Planning to drag me to Shen Pianchen’s bed to apologize?

She tugged her lips into a fleshless smile. “I haven’t a clue what Shen Young Mistress means. If you’re looking for someone, you’ve got the wrong girl!”

“Lu Mingyi!”

Hearing her name shouted like that, Lu Mingyi’s hands on the table clenched abruptly.

The fragile wall of calm she’d forcibly built around her heart shattered under Shen Mingzheng’s urgent gaze.

Suppressing the painful memories surging up, a chill grew in her eyes. “Who? Oh, right—a disciple who dropped dead at Taiqing Sect 180 years ago. No idea what happened to her in life to die there!”

Shen Mingzheng’s pupils shrank, as if recalling that scene from back then, her face paling. But she soon gritted her teeth. “Your sharp tongue hasn’t changed…”

“Shen Young Mistress’s upbringing could use work. Don’t interrupt people next time they’re enjoying tea!”

Seeing the complicated look on Shen Mingzheng’s face, the pent-up emotions in Lu Mingyi’s chest grew heavier. She rose to leave.

But she still instinctively struck at Shen Mingzheng’s sore spot—”upbringing.”

The words slipped out. Shen Mingzheng froze a beat, then couldn’t hold back. She grabbed Lu Mingyi’s wrist. “I know I was too impulsive back then, but we clearly…”

Her words cut off. Feeling the vigorous pulse in her palm, her phoenix eyes widened slightly. “You… you’ve reached Foundation Establishment?!”

Hearing that, Lu Mingyi let out a few hollow laughs.

She laughed at herself—for that instant when Shen Mingzheng grabbed her, she’d actually wanted to stop and hear her out. She’d thought maybe this woman had finally realized what the real problem was back then!

But even after 180 years, Shen Mingzheng’s first reaction upon touching her was…

Still obsessing over talent and cultivation! Not even letting her death slide!

Was she, the Shen Family Young Master, somehow inferior?

A flicker of resentment rose in Lu Mingyi’s eyes. She mobilized her spiritual energy through her meridians and shook Shen Mingzheng off with a burst.

Where Shen Mingzheng had gripped her wrist, red marks now bloomed from Lu Mingyi’s own tightening.

Staring at those marks, Lu Mingyi slowly clenched her fist. The old scars Shen Mingzheng had carved into her heart now felt corporeal.

Gazing at those clear amber eyes now brimming with turmoil, Lu Mingyi felt a bitter hatred. She gathered another pulse of spiritual energy to shove her back, tossing out, “Shen Young Mistress, after 180 years, you’re still the same sorry self!”

Shen Mingzheng’s mind reeled.

Instinctively, she reached to stop her, but Lu Mingzheng had already leaped out the window and vanished.

With her Nascent Soul Stage cultivation, pursuing wasn’t hard. Yet the cold hostility in that woman’s eyes, and the spiritual energy she’d been struck with—mild as it was—pierced like ten thousand arrows.

“I…”

Shen Mingzheng looked at the hand that had held hers, now trembling violently.

That was Foundation Establishment spiritual power—and at the fifth layer, no less.

She’s progressing so fast. Last we met, she was at Qi Refining Great Perfection. Even back then, she wasn’t this quick.

But even so, she shouldn’t have blurted it out!

What she’d meant to say was…

“Um… fellow Daoist, a-are you alright?”

Someone recognized her status and approached solicitously.

“Get lost!” Shen Mingzheng snapped, rising unsteadily while clutching the table. But dizziness hit her hard.

“Young Master!”

As she collapsed, her ever-present guards rushed forward to catch her.

Shen Mingzheng felt her spiritual energy roil wildly—clearly, anger had overwhelmed her heart!

Before blacking out entirely, she gazed at the brilliant lights outside the window and finally recalled what she’d meant to say:

She’d wanted to say, Your pulse feels off. You should see a medical cultivator.

—

Jiangxia’s summers were rainy. That night, all of Jiang City lay shrouded in downpour.

Lying in bed, Lu Mingyi found sleep unusually elusive.

The teahouse confrontation still echoed in her ears. She’d half-expected Shen Mingzheng to give chase, even prepared for a fight.

Against Nascent Soul Stage, she had no chance of winning—but leveraging Jiang City’s terrain, she could land a few hits and escape.

Shen Mingzheng hadn’t pursued. Lu Mingyi couldn’t say if that relieved her or just left her anger festering.

Meeting old acquaintances repeatedly only harms my temperament!

Such were her melancholy thoughts. Once her immortal tool was ready, she’d tour the Nine Provinces.

Running into so many here in Jiangxia was pure bad luck, coinciding with the Nine Provinces Grand Competition!

Tossing a while, drowsiness crept in, and she drifted off.

Rain pattered outside. Suddenly, her bedroom window creaked open from without. Two figures slipped in, damp with mist.

“This medicine… sigh, it’s so precious. The other kind would suffice!”

“No matter. Check her quickly.” A clear, elegant female voice replied.

Lu Mingyi lay insensate on the bed as someone took her wrist. Moments later, the voice reported, “Young Master, it’s… Spirit-Devouring Gu! But this gu seems odd… like it’s dormant!”

Shen Mingzheng’s breath hitched. Staring at that familiar yet estranged face, her own breathing grew labored. After a long silence, she asked, “Dormant, you say? Any effects?”

“Well… if dormant, it’ll awaken someday when conditions are met.”

Shen Mingzheng stood motionless a while longer, then rasped, “You, out.”

“Eh? Young Master, you…”

“Out!” Shen Mingzheng urged.

Rustling filled the room. Soon, candlelight cast only two shadows.

Shen Mingzheng shed her cloak. Rain-slicked strands clung to her face, disheveled in the dim glow—lending her an uncharacteristic softness.

Her pale eyes gleamed amber in the firelight as she drew near the bed.

With Lu Mingyi’s vigilance, ordinary pills wouldn’t work. Thus, Shen Mingzheng had fetched a First-Grade Illusion Pill from the family vault—even Soul Transformation Stage cultivators might not resist.

A perfect chance. Lu Mingyi slept soundly. Just take her back to Lin’an…

Shen Mingzheng’s gaze deepened.

But the daytime flash of hatred in Lu Mingyi’s eyes halted her hand.

Would dragging her to Lin’an really restore the past?

Once, Shen Mingzheng had been certain. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

No matter.

They’d been so close, inseparable—even today’s quarrel carried echoes of old habits.

Returning to those days was just a matter of time.

And she needed to make a gesture.

Lowering her head, Shen Mingzheng inhaled Lu Mingyi’s scent, nearly lost in it.

Her gaze, laced with deep longing, roved before settling on the slender wrist.

The room fell profoundly still. Their shadows on the wall drew closer, merged at last.

Shen Mingzheng gently kissed Lu Mingyi’s wrist. The soft, warm touch soothed 180 years of loneliness and chill.

As she rose to her feet, her dazed gaze gradually sharpened into resolve. From her Storage Ring, she drew a short dagger and sliced open both their wrists.