Zhao Wen

The following few days, Li Tui lived an exceptionally routine life.

During the day, he followed at the side of Zhao Yuanchong, visiting the school, the Martial Arts Arena, and the banquet hall; he did not miss a single place he was expected to be. He spoke little but handled matters thoroughly, whether it was pouring tea, grinding ink, or tidying up belongings. Occasionally, when Zhao Yuanchong engaged in verbal sparring with others, he could even interject with a perfectly timed, inconsequential remark to steer the conversation away.

Zhao Yuanchong did not bring up the matter of the West Suburbs again, though occasionally, Li Tui could feel that gaze resting upon him, carrying both scrutiny and a certain indescribable interest.

Li Tui simply acted as if he did not notice. The wound on his left arm had mostly healed; the scab was hard and itchy, a sign that new flesh was growing. Every night during his meditation, the sluggishness in his meridians caused by forcibly opening his acupoints was also slowly fading. Everything pointed toward recovery, at a speed that was somewhat unreasonable.

He knew where the root cause lay.

At the hour of the Rat, all was silent.

Li Tui bolted the door and listened to the movement outside the corridor for a moment. Confirming no one was there, he took out the coarse cloth pouch he had hidden.

The dark red tumor lay in his palm, warm to the touch and pulsing slightly, like a sleeping heart. Under the dim light of the oil lamp, the patterns on its surface flowed with a ghostly luster, appearing indescribably eerie.

He walked to the window and lifted the tile covering an earthen jar, inside which were a few scurrying woodlice.

Using a thin bamboo splinter, he pierced the carapace of one woodlouse. Green bodily fluid seeped out, and the insect's legs struggled violently. Afterward, he used another sharpened thin wooden stick to scrape a tiny, almost invisible speck of dark red gelatin from the surface of the tumor, gently smearing it onto the wound.

At first, there was nothing unusual.

But within three to five breaths, the woodlouse's struggling intensified sharply. Something seemed to be wriggling beneath its carapace, and what seeped from the wound was no longer green fluid, but a turbid, pale red plasma. After another moment, the woodlouse stopped moving, but its carapace hardened and darkened at an unnatural speed, as if it had instantly undergone several days or even weeks of desiccation.

Li Tui's brows locked together.

This was not healing; it was overdrawing. It was a certain power frantically stimulating life force in exchange for brief vitality, followed by rapid decay.

He tried again, this time letting the tip of the wooden stick touch the surface of the tumor extremely lightly before dabbing it onto the back of another healthy woodlouse. The woodlouse first spun violently in place, then attempted to flap its wings, its speed more than doubling. But in less than half a cup of tea's time, it suddenly stiffened and died, its carapace similarly shriveling rapidly.

"So that's how it is..."

The Earth Lizard Demon's abnormal ferocity and somewhat stiff movements were perhaps precisely because this thing was embedded in its body, continuously and tyrannically stimulating its aggression and strength until it went mad.

This tumor could indeed stimulate vitality and heal wounds, but its essence was more like an incredibly tyrannical, potent drug, or a double-edged sword. Used well, it might save a life; used carelessly, it would hasten death.

He recalled the eerie speed of his own wound's healing and felt a chill in his heart. He had come into contact with much more than what he had smeared on the woodlouse, so why had he not shown such obvious signs of overdraw? Was it because he possessed spiritual roots and had stronger life force? Or was there another reason?

The questions grew more numerous.

He wrapped the tumor tightly again, layering it heavily with cloth and lime-dried soil, stuffed it into the jar, sealed it, buried it back in the hidden compartment, and piled debris on top.

The oil lamp flickered like a bean, reflecting on Li Tui's calm face.

He spread his palm; his five fingers were thin and long, the knuckles slightly enlarged from labor, his palms covered in thin calluses. These were the hands of a low-level tenant farmer, and they were also the hands that had grasped the Samsara Mirror in this lifetime.

However... he was too weak.

Li Tui spread his palm and slowly clenched it again. His finger bones emitted a faint, crisp sound.

The current situation was like walking on thin ice. Zhao Yuanchong's suspicions had not vanished, and the mysteries of the West Suburbs were layered deep. With his meager cultivation and limited knowledge, he was truly too frail to be in such a vortex. If he could not grow stronger quickly, let alone uncover the truth or lay plans for the future, even self-preservation would be difficult.

This tumor was the only known possibility to quickly break the stalemate.

Li Tui took a deep breath, his eyes sharpening.

Three days later, in the afternoon, Li Tui was ordered to go to the outer courtyard steward's office to collect the newly arrived spiritual tea.

On his way back, passing by the well near the side corridor of the West Courtyard, Huang Bao was hunched over, laboriously carrying a large bucket of clear water. The wooden bucket was heavy, and the well rope dug deeply into the thin, coarse cloth on his shoulders. Seeing Li Tui approach, his eyes darted around before he quickly lowered his head, his movements slowing down until he was almost dragging his feet in place.

Li Tui's pace remained steady. As their figures were about to cross, Huang Bao's extremely low voice drifted over, mixed with the sound of the bucket bottom scraping against the bluestone:

"Big Brother... the person you asked me to keep an eye on... there is someone very strange."

"Speak." Li Tui did not look aside, only a single syllable escaping his lips.

Huang Bao swallowed, his voice dropping lower, filled with fear: "A kid from the branch family, named Zhao Wen, only ten years old. Last month, his home caught fire in the middle of the night. The fire was wickedly large, and his whole family... they were all gone. The old servant who brought him back whispered that when they found him, he was curled up in his mother's arms, and his mother's body was already... but other than being scared silly, he didn't even have a scratch on him."

A fire, a family wiped out, only the young child survived.

"Continue."

"The even stranger part is later." Huang Bao's voice trembled. "The clan tested his spiritual roots, and the light from the Spirit Testing Jade suddenly exploded, bright enough to be terrifying; he was definitely a top-tier talent. But not two days later, the narrative changed... they said he had a hard fate, was a disaster star, and had cursed his whole family to death. They claimed the light of his spiritual roots was likely just evil fire and couldn't be trusted. Now, he's been shoved into the most remote courtyard in the southwest corner; aside from delivering food, no one pays him any mind."

A family destroyed, talent suddenly revealed only to be quickly stigmatized and suppressed. A ten-year-old child, falling from the clouds into the mud overnight, bearing the name of a "disaster star."

This fit the criteria of "abnormal" far too well. It was even so abnormal that it felt deliberate, as if an invisible hand were impatient to pull this seedling out of the soil...

Li Tui's pace slowed slightly. "The courtyard in the southwest corner... keep an eye on who approaches him and what he does himself. Especially at night."

"Yes, Big Brother."

Li Tui said nothing more. His sleeve moved slightly, and a small package wrapped in oil paper slid silently into the gap of the empty wooden bucket Huang Bao was carrying. It had significant weight, and it felt warm and strange to the touch.

"Take it, and cultivate well." As they brushed past each other, his low voice grazed Huang Bao's ear.

Huang Bao clutched the oil paper tightly, his chest heaving, his eyes stinging. This little bit of resources meant nothing to a real cultivator, but to him—an outsider struggling on the edge of drawing qi, who could be cleared out at any moment—it was a treasure that could truly help him stabilize his breath and buy him time!

Li Tui continued forward with a calm expression. Giving Huang Bao spiritual rice was merely a casual act. If Huang Bao could hold on for a few more days because of it and keep an eye on more news for him, it would be worth it. If not, this small loss was not worth mentioning.