There really weren't many fools in this world, especially among elderly people who had weathered life's storms.
Back when the square dancing had started up outside Feng Jun's door and the crowd had kept growing, it hadn't been mere herd mentality.
Some people had keenly felt the benefits of it.
After Feng Jun moved away, the atmosphere there had worsened. It wasn't just one or two people who felt that way.
Put it this way: among the elderly residents of Peach Blossom Valley, there were plenty who could identify the variety of tea just by taking a sip with their eyes closed.
Among them, some could even tell where the tea had been produced, whether it had been picked before Qingming or before Grain Rain, and whether the person who roasted it had been a young man or an old man.
Was that amazing? Amazing! Was it fantastical? Not really. Some people really could do that.
If you didn't believe it, ask tea roasters. Once they passed fifty, they absolutely couldn't roast tea anymore. The decay in their bodies would seep into the leaves and affect the tea's fragrance.
—All right, maybe that was nonsense. Some said tea roasting required both physical strength and focus, and older people simply couldn't do the job to perfection.
All that was meant to explain one thing: some elderly people's senses were truly too sharp.
They knew that ever since Feng Jun had moved out of that villa, everything had gone back to how it used to be—just as it had been before he moved in.
At first, the feeling hadn't been very obvious, but the longer time passed, the clearer it became.
Few people living in Peach Blossom Valley were slow-witted, so someone quietly inquired about Feng Jun's whereabouts and learned that he