According to the agreed date, Meng Qi once again arrived at Jiangdong Tower.
Duanmu Bei led him into the previous room and then calmly brewed water and tea. Meng Qi, likewise unimpressed, sat on the opposite chair, gently rubbing the armrests, appearing utterly relaxed, not uttering a single word regarding the cauldron.
The two were engaged in a patient contest, as if whoever spoke first would lose composure, become impatient, and thus fall at a disadvantage in the upcoming transaction.
Steam rose, spreading the fragrance of tea. Duanmu Bei poured the emerald green liquid slowly from a small teapot into the cup before him, smiled, and flicked his sleeve. The teacup flew toward Meng Qi: “The water is as green as bamboo, the tea buds resemble tiny curled leaves; drinking it calms the heart and soothes the spirit.”
Meng Qi extended his right hand flatly, catching the cup without the slightest ripple.
“Excellent tea! Bitter upon entry, sweet upon aftertaste—truly the gentleman among teas,” Meng Qi exhaled slightly, subtly channeling true energy to stir the heavens and earth, testing for toxins, before sipping and closing his eyes to savor it. After a long while, he finally praised it, still not mentioning the cauldron.
Sighing, Duanmu Bei said, “I had thought after being confined in Bomi for nearly twenty years, you would have become impatient regarding any chance for improvement or breakthrough. Yet, you remain as composed as an old monk, possessing serenity and Zen-like calmness, even more composed than this old man.”
He couldn’t hold back anymore and got straight to the point.
“Bomi is perilous, vision limited. Sometimes, to gain something, one must remain motionless for days or even months. After enduring such experiences, patience naturally improves,” Meng Qi patted the armrest, his expression calm.
This patience and willpower were forged during the slaying of the Wolf King—what did it have to do with an old monk?
Understanding suddenly dawned on Duanmu Bei, “So that’s how it is. This old man has never been to Bomi and has only heard secondhand accounts, inevitably leading to misconceptions.”
Pausing briefly, he chuckled, “Regarding the matter of the cauldron, I’ve already inquired from the owner. She claims there are many things she desires, and back-and-forth communication is troublesome. If you truly have sincerity, you may speak face-to-face.”
He hadn’t even settled the cauldron matter, merely delivering a message. Therefore, even if he spoke first, he wouldn’t genuinely fall into disadvantage. How could one fall into disadvantage over something that didn’t exist?
What a sly old fox! Earlier, he was merely feigning, testing Meng Qi’s composure!
Mentally cursing a few times, Meng Qi’s expression remained unchanged, still giving the impression of being unfathomable:
“If a face-to-face meeting is possible, that would be best.”
This aligned perfectly with his true intention. The matter proceeded more smoothly than anticipated—the reputation of the Poisonous Hand Devil Monarch indeed proved useful!
Slightly disappointed that Meng Qi hadn’t shown any emotional fluctuation, Duanmu Bei composed himself and said, “Three days from now, several Left Path cultivators will gather for a transaction at the Fire-Burning Lake in Red Maple Mountain. She will also attend. I shall accompany you there.”
Red Maple Mountain lay within a county subordinate to Yingcheng, renowned for its beautiful scenery. It was famous for its maple trees covering the hills. In autumn, the forests turned crimson, the lake reflecting the fiery hues, creating a breathtaking spectacle that attracted many tourists. However, it was still early spring now, not yet the season to display its enchanting beauty, so the mountain was nearly deserted, with birdsong echoing in the tranquil hills—an ideal venue for a Left Path assembly.
“Fine,” Meng Qi replied calmly, nodding in agreement, further deepening Duanmu Bei’s uncertainty about his true depth.
Didn’t he even care who the Left Path cultivators were? Was he really so confident in himself?
…
Beside the Fire-Burning Lake, within Cian Temple.
A Buddhist hall contained a dozen or so meditation cushions, most occupied. At the head sat a fat, large monk, his heavy flesh rippling with each breath like successive waves. His eyes were kind, deep wrinkles lining his face. His hands, interlaced and resting before him, were covered in red robes, clearly the abbot of Cian Temple—”Anfa.”
To his left sat a white-robed scholar, around thirty years old, his face pale and beardless, his appearance refined and elegant. His aura resembled a deep ancient well, his half-closed eyes exuding an eerie allure, seemingly capable of ensnaring souls, making most present dare not meet his gaze directly.
On the right cushion of the abbot sat a middle-aged woman. Her eyes and brows bore no wrinkles, exuding a mature charm surpassing youthful beauty. Though not exceptionally beautiful, her glances stirred hearts, evoking fantasies.
The others were all extraordinary individuals, including Shen Yue of the “Zhaoying Sect.”
“You say the Poisonous Hand has left Bomi and reappeared in the martial world?” The white-robed scholar’s eyes remained half-closed.
Shen Yue respectfully nodded, “Yes, Senior Zhuihun’s perception is impeccable. This junior dares not deceive.”
This white-robed scholar was none other than Zhuihun the Devil Monarch, Motiange. Upon hearing this, he revealed a sinister smile: “An old friend, meeting again in the Jiangzuo region during the blooming season—truly a delightful occasion.”
The other Left Path cultivators frowned. The Poisonous Hand Devil Monarch had returned to the cultivation world—was he not afraid of being pursued and hunted by the Luojiao Sect, Miantian Sect, and the Beggars’ Sect?
What was his current strength? Did he still possess the might to challenge the Black List?
“Bomi is no place for cultivation. After twenty years of stagnation, the Poisonous Hand must have fallen behind you, Zhuihun. Truly, he brings destruction upon himself,” the abbot of Cian Temple sighed. “In his prime, he was unstoppable. He was on the verge of crossing the first heavenly threshold, with the potential to become a Grandmaster. Whether righteous or Left Path, everyone regarded him with wary respect—even those far superior in cultivation and strength had to consider his potential and value…”
His words identified him as a Left Path cultivator, starkly contrasting with his red robes and serene, monk-like aura.
The middle-aged beauty covered her mouth and laughed, “Could it be you are referring to the esteemed Linghu Senior himself?”
Cian Temple was quite renowned in Jiangdong, considered a famous monastery. Its abbot was actually a figure from the Black List—”Liujizhenmo” Linghu Tao!
Linghu Tao chuckled but did not pursue the topic, instead turning to Shen Yue: “You encountered the Poisonous Hand. Did you manage to gauge his depth?”
All eyes turned to Shen Yue, awaiting his reply.
How could he reveal the torment that had nearly driven him to madness? Mentally cursing, Shen Yue composed himself: “This junior could not discern the Poisonous Hand’s depth. From his demeanor, speech, and escape techniques, I roughly estimate he’s still lingering at the third heavenly realm.”
Only by saying so could he incite conflict!
“Indeed,” Zhuihun sighed. “The Poisonous Hand was once radiant, exuding the aura of a Devil Monarch. This seat has always admired him, but unfortunately…”
He left his words hanging, filled with regret, as if the current Poisonous Hand was no longer worth comparing or taking seriously—even lacking the interest to humiliate him.
Except for Shen Yue, the other Left Path cultivators nodded in agreement. Throughout history, few who had hidden in Bomi managed to break through and reappear in the cultivation world.
As Zhuihun finished speaking, Linghu Tao suddenly spread his long eyebrows: “Duanmu Lord has arrived. Hmm…”
At the entrance of the meditation hall, Duanmu Bei’s figure appeared—his skin smooth, his hair half-white. He stepped in slowly, followed by a middle-aged man in a green robe, his temples frosted, wearing a soft cap. His demeanor was refined yet weathered, his gaze calm, his entire presence so deep and restrained that he seemed almost invisible.
It was precisely because Linghu Tao hadn’t sensed him until he was near that he had uttered the “Hmm!”
“Poisonous Hand…” Zhuihun’s eyes suddenly flew open, glowing with eerie light, directly targeting the soul.
The Poisonous Hand Devil Monarch? Each Left Path cultivator turned to scrutinize him carefully.
Meng Qi slightly nodded toward Zhuihun and Liujizhenmo, composed and at ease, showing no sign of constraint or inferiority—rather, he exuded even greater confidence.
Duanmu Bei offered a brief introduction before leading Meng Qi to sit on an empty meditation cushion.
“So this is the Poisonous Hand, whom I’ve long heard of but only now meet,” Linghu Tao concealed his surprise, smiling while inwardly stirred, unable to fathom the Poisonous Hand’s depth.
Each Left Path cultivator shared similar feelings—shocked and astonished. The Poisonous Hand seemed unaffected by Bomi’s limitations, his bearing even more impressive than before, and likely his strength as well!
Zhuihun closed his eyes again, smiling faintly: “You remain as radiant as ever, Poisonous Hand. If I cannot truly suppress you, it shall be a lifelong regret.”
His words carried no politeness—meeting an enemy, his eyes burned with hostility!
Meng Qi sat cross-legged, calm as still water, his weathered eyes gazing at Zhuihun, lightly chuckling: “I had assumed you’d made significant progress over twenty years, but it seems…”
He shook his head expressionlessly, leaving his meaning clear to all.
Daring to look down upon Zhuihun? What confidence grants him such arrogance? What level had he reached? One by one, the Left Path cultivators pondered such thoughts.
At this moment, Duanmu Bei interjected to smooth things over: “This is Madame Hundred Flowers, the one who invited you for this face-to-face meeting.”
As the others wondered what the meeting was about, Madame Hundred Flowers smiled slightly and clapped her hands. From a nearby meditation room emerged a woman—her skin like a baby’s, her beauty refined, her demeanor pure. She wore modest attire, walking like a willow swaying in the breeze, graceful and charming.
She gazed at the Left Path cultivators, her eyes showing fear and shyness, like a timid deer, devoid of any seductive charm. Yet, this very demeanor stirred deep desires within men—to ravish, to conquer. Moreover, this woman naturally exuded an indescribable allure. Her modest clothing, subtly revealing her curves, further provoked the desire to tear it away.
For a moment, heavy breathing filled the meditation hall. Even Linghu Tao, Zhuihun, and Duanmu Bei couldn’t help but follow her figure with their eyes, swallowing hard.
As the woman hid behind Madame Hundred Flowers, the latter looked at Meng Qi: “The Poisonous Hand remains unmoved—could it be you’re unsatisfied with my daughter?”
Meng Qi had only glanced at the woman briefly before withdrawing his gaze, maintaining a calm, indifferent expression—remarkably distinct.
Smiling faintly, he replied, “She is excellent in every aspect. I am quite satisfied. She will certainly serve a significant purpose.”
He then swept his gaze across Linghu Tao, Zhuihun, Duanmu Bei, and others, his voice magnetic: “Though beauty may stir the heart, why must you all lose composure over mere ‘tools’? It’s understandable for Master Linghu, being older and indulging in pleasures. But Zhuihun, have you truly abandoned your ambitions?”
His words struck the ears of the Left Path cultivators, provoking not only anger but also a strange, creeping fear. To the Poisonous Hand, such beauty was merely a “tool”—eliciting no emotional response. Truly cold and self-centered!
To him, aside from himself, all else—no matter how beautiful or enticing—was merely a tool to be used. Once useless, it would be discarded or destroyed without hesitation?
Compared to the desire-driven Left Path cultivators, this was the true devil!
That frosty, weathered hairline, refined and restrained aura, only enhanced this impression!
Before Linghu Tao and Zhuihun could speak, Madame Hundred Flowers laughed sweetly: “The Poisonous Hand truly is extraordinary. However, my daughter has always been precious, accustomed to comparing offers. I wonder which among you gentlemen here might be interested?”
Zhuihun immediately turned his gaze toward Meng Qi, old grudges and new hatred surging.
This was a forced test of strength… Meng Qi sighed inwardly, his expression unchanged on the surface, still sitting deeply and calmly.
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