In the stone pavilion, the lingering mist from the Spirit Tea had yet to fully disperse.
After venting the resentment he had bottled up for nearly two hundred years, Ding Buxing seemed drained of all strength and staggered back onto the stone stool.
Once he had vented, a wave of belated fear rose in his heart, bringing cold sweat to his palms.
Hearing Ding Buxing's latter words, Qing Chen's killing intent gradually faded.
He fell silent for a moment, then, for once, actually stood up, picked up the jade pot again, and poured Ding Buxing another cup of clear, emerald Spirit Tea.
"Brother Ding."
Qing Chen's voice was steady. "Consider this cup of tea my apology. We have known each other for two hundred years, and we can still sit here together. What a bond of fate. Let us stop dwelling on everything that happened before and turn the page."
He pushed the cup over.
Ding Buxing froze. He stared at the gently rippling Spirit Tea for several breaths before reaching out to take it and draining it in one gulp.
The tea flowed down his throat, turning into a gentle stream of spiritual energy that spread through his limbs and bones. The uncontrolled agitation on his face subsided with it, and he returned to his impeccably deferential manner.
He straightened the cuffs of his Python Robe and, without keeping Qing Chen in suspense, sent his voice into his ears. "Marquis, did you know that Wu Gui has sent an envoy into Heavenly Abyss Pass to negotiate peace?"
Qing Chen's hand, holding the teapot, abruptly froze in midair.
"Negotiate peace?" He raised his eyes, his gaze like lightning.
"Yes." Ding Buxing met his gaze and lowered his voice further. "You must have heard of Compiler Dongfang, the newly successful metropolitan