After they left that street, Little Pond City remained a splendid profusion of blossoms.
The cries of vendors beside the street stalls rose and fell.
At that moment, Su Jiu, Su Mianmian, and Jin Chen stood before a stall, watching the old man in front of them draw sugar paintings with syrup.
Perhaps this craft was nothing remarkable in the eyes of cultivation practitioners, but to mortals, it was extraordinary.
After all, cultivation practitioners could use their divine sense to make every movement precise.
The old man before them clearly possessed no such thing as divine sense. He relied entirely on habits and experience accumulated over many years.
To Su Jiu, any mortal who could persist in doing one thing year after year was remarkable.
After all, this sort of work required even greater patience and perseverance.
The skill to create such exquisite sugar paintings could never be mastered overnight.
Su Jiu could not help feeling moved. Even a mortal knew to work this hard. Cultivators like them, who enjoyed innate advantages, ought to work even harder to live up to their talents.
Before long, the sugar painting was finished.
"Sir, how much is this sugar painting?" Su Mianmian was the first to speak.
Cultivation practitioners could hardly use age to determine how they addressed others anymore, so they usually addressed elderly mortals as "sir."
The old man raised his head and saw the young people before him.
"You're cultivation practitioners too, aren't you..." His voice was aged and hoarse.
Su Mianmian was slightly surprised. She was absolutely certain that this gentleman was an old man with a bone age of over seventy. There was not a trace of spiritual qi anywhere in his body, so he was undoubtedly a mortal. But how could a mortal tell that they cultivated?