Mu Lin managed to get two free laborers to help him grind some herbs he needed. During his spare time, Mu Lin began studying the poison techniques he recently acquired. He discovered that the secret techniques passed down for thousands of years among the people each had their unique strengths.
For example, the Liu family’s poison techniques he obtained contained seemingly ordinary herbs. When mixed in a specific order, however, these herbs transformed into one or several highly potent poisons. Taking these mixed poisons, Mu Lin placed them in the laboratory of his clinic. After analysis, he found that some of them were already known neurotoxins, while most were previously undiscovered toxins. He thought that if he were to publish these findings, he could easily win a Nobel Prize in Chemistry or Medicine. Shaking his head, Mu Lin dismissed the thought. As a cultivator, how could he have such a trivial idea? Perhaps he had spent too much time in the mundane world.
The Liu family’s directional poison techniques actually relied on the power of formations. However, over time, the Liu descendants gradually shifted their focus toward the study of poisons, causing their mastery of the directional poison techniques to decline. Having prior knowledge of formations, Mu Lin combined the two areas of study and discovered that the directional poison techniques were extremely deadly. If used in populated areas or during major confrontations, the techniques could strike decisively and invisibly, ensuring victory.
After more than ten days of research, Mu Lin achieved significant results. Of course, he couldn’t claim mastery—after all, these were techniques developed over thousands of years. To think he could complete such research in just a few weeks was laughable.
Mu Lin continued his studies for some time and felt he had gained a lot. However, he knew he had not thoroughly examined everything he had acquired. Lately, he had become too immersed in the mundane world, and his time and energy for cultivation had greatly diminished. He hadn’t even mastered the true techniques well. Feeling frustrated, Mu Lin decided to go out for a walk to relax himself.
He wandered aimlessly and arrived at Chinatown. This was the first time Mu Lin had visited Chinatown during the day, and naturally, his two young female police officer secretaries followed him closely. He had sent the bodyguards away because he disliked having too many people around.
Chinatown is the Chinese translation of the English term “Chinatown.” New York’s Chinese community sometimes calls it Huabu (Chinese district) or Zhongguo Jie (China Street). It is a residential and commercial area for Chinese people. Currently, New York has three recognized Chinatowns: Manhattan’s Chinatown, Flushing in Queens, and Eighth Avenue in Brooklyn.
New York’s first Chinatown is located in Lower Manhattan. Established in the mid-19th century, this area is characterized by its almost exclusively Chinese population.
The second Chinatown is Flushing in Queens. The area is very convenient in terms of transportation. The No.7 subway line connects Flushing with Midtown Manhattan, serving as a major link between the two districts. Main Street is Flushing’s main thoroughfare, lined with Chinese restaurants and shops. The surrounding areas are densely populated by Chinese residents, mainly from mainland China and Taiwan, where Mandarin is the common language.
Eighth Avenue in Brooklyn is known as the third Chinatown. Its geographical feature is the commercial activity of Chinese people along Eighth Avenue, with residents living along the avenue and near Sunset Park. Today, Chinese shops line Eighth Avenue one after another. The Chinese residents here are mainly from Guangdong and Fujian.
Mu Lin was naturally visiting the first Chinatown. At that time, the second and third Chinatowns were just beginning to attract Chinese residents and had not yet reached their current scale.
Here, Mu Lin felt as if he had returned to a Jiangnan town, with familiar accents and dialects filling his ears. Chinatown was indeed not clean, but it played an irreplaceable role in preserving Chinese culture. The native Chinese religions of Taoism and Confucianism were gradually declining, and Buddhism was an imported religion. Therefore, the Chinese language had become the basic carrier for transmitting Chinese civilization. The foundation of Chinese culture lies in the Chinese language and characters. How could Chinese culture be passed down from generation to generation? Overseas, it was Chinatown that solved this problem. Although the educational level of Chinatown residents was not high, they insisted on speaking and reading Chinese, ensuring their children used Chinese at home. One could say that Chinatown was not only a foothold for the Chinese people overseas but also a place for preserving and developing Chinese culture abroad.
As for those Chinese people who had left Chinatown, although they tried every means to teach their children Chinese and insisted on speaking Chinese at home, under the influence of the surrounding environment, these children gradually became “yellow on the outside, white on the inside”—even dreaming in English.
Initially, the two young female officers couldn’t understand why Mu Lin would want to come here to shop for several days, grumbling about the poor environment, garbage-filled streets, and the low quality of the Chinese people. Finally, Mu Lin got angry and tried to send them back, but they refused, using their status as secretaries to insist on staying with him. It wasn’t until Mu Lin got hungry and treated them to some snacks that the two young female officers stopped complaining. Completely forgetting their duties as secretaries, they began dragging Mu Lin from one snack shop to another, sampling each delicacy.
Mu Lin led the two young female officers through the various snacks of Chinatown, eating until the two young women were completely satisfied, completely ignoring the astonished looks of passersby. This made Mu Lin feel somewhat embarrassed. He decided firmly that next time, he would definitely not bring them again—they ate in such an embarrassing way. If their stomachs hadn’t been completely full, they probably would have kept eating.
Although they couldn’t eat anymore, the two young female officers insisted on continuing to walk around, saying they wanted to remember the names of these snacks for their next visit. Helplessly, Mu Lin had no choice but to continue wandering through the snack shops with them.
In a tofu pudding shop, Mu Lin unexpectedly saw someone. It was his habit, wherever he went, to instinctively scan the surroundings with his spiritual awareness to check for any danger. When his spiritual awareness scanned this person, Mu Lin could hardly believe his senses. Leading the two young female officers, he directly entered the shop and stood beside the person who was eating. After careful identification, Mu Lin was certain he had not mistaken the person.
Mu Lin enlisted two free laborers to help grind some medicinal herbs he needed. In his spare time, he began studying the poison-casting techniques he had recently acquired. He discovered that the secret arts passed down among the people for thousands of years each had their unique merits.
For example, the poison-casting techniques of the Liu family involved mixing seemingly ordinary herbs in a specific sequence, transforming them into one or several deadly poisons. Mu Lin took these concocted poisons to his clinic’s laboratory for testing. To his surprise, some turned out to be known neurotoxins, while most were previously undiscovered poisons. He mused that if he were to publish these findings, he could easily win a Nobel Prize in Chemistry or Medicine. Shaking his head, he dismissed the thought. As a cultivator, why would he entertain such trivial ideas? Perhaps he had been too immersed in the mundane world.
The Liu family’s targeted poison-casting technique actually relied on the power of formations. However, their descendants had gradually shifted their focus to poison research, neglecting the essence of the technique itself. With his own knowledge of formations, Mu Lin combined the two fields and realized the devastating potential of targeted poison-casting. If used in residential areas or large gatherings, striking the unprepared with preparation, it would be an unstoppable, invisible method of killing.
After more than ten days of research, Mu Lin achieved significant results. Of course, mastering it completely was impossible—after all, it was the product of thousands of years of study. Expecting to grasp it fully in just over ten days was laughable.
Continuing his research for a while longer, Mu Lin felt he had gained a great deal. Yet he knew that despite acquiring many valuable insights, he hadn’t studied them thoroughly. Now, deeply entangled in worldly affairs, his time and energy for cultivation had diminished, leaving his true skills unrefined. Frustrated, he decided to take a walk outside to relax.
Strolling aimlessly, he found himself in Chinatown—his first visit during the daytime. Of course, his two policewomen secretaries followed him closely. He dismissed his bodyguards, disliking too large an entourage.
Chinatown, the Chinese translation of “Chinatown,” is also referred to by New York’s Chinese community as “Huabu” or “China Street.” It serves as both a residential and commercial hub for Chinese immigrants. Currently, New York has three recognized Chinatowns: Manhattan’s Chinatown, Flushing in Queens, and Eighth Avenue in Brooklyn.
The first and oldest Chinatown is in Manhattan’s Lower East Side, established in the mid-19th century. Its defining feature is that nearly all its residents are Chinese.
The second Chinatown is Flushing in Queens, known for its convenient transportation. The 7 subway line connects Flushing to Midtown Manhattan, serving as the main link between the two areas. Main Street, Flushing’s central thoroughfare, is lined with Chinese restaurants and shops, surrounded by Chinese residents primarily from mainland China and Taiwan, with Mandarin as the common language.
Brooklyn’s Eighth Avenue is considered the third Chinatown. Here, Chinese businesses cluster along Eighth Avenue, with residents living nearby in Sunset Park. Today, Chinese shops stand side by side, with most residents hailing from Guangdong and Fuzhou.
Mu Lin and his companions were exploring the first Chinatown, as the second and third were still in their early stages of development.
Here, Mu Lin felt as though he had returned to a Jiangnan town, surrounded by familiar accents and dialects. Chinatown was indeed not the cleanest place, but it played an irreplaceable role in preserving Chinese culture. With the decline of Taoism and Confucianism and Buddhism being a foreign import, the Chinese language became the primary vessel for passing down Chinese civilization. The foundation of Chinese culture lies in its language and characters. How can Chinese culture be passed down through generations? Overseas, Chinatown solves this problem. Despite the residents’ modest education levels, they insist on speaking and reading Chinese, ensuring their children speak it at home. In essence, Chinatown is both a foothold for the Chinese diaspora and a sanctuary for Chinese culture abroad.
In contrast, Chinese families who leave Chinatown, despite their best efforts to teach their children Chinese at home, often see them assimilate entirely—becoming “bananas” (yellow on the outside, white on the inside), even dreaming in English.
At first, the two policewomen couldn’t understand why Mu Lin would want to visit such a place, muttering complaints about the dirty environment, littered streets, and “low-quality” Chinese people. Eventually, Mu Lin grew irritated and tried to send them back, but they refused, citing their duty as secretaries—effectively stubbornly sticking to him.
It wasn’t until Mu Lin took them to sample some street food that their complaints ceased entirely. Forgetting their roles as secretaries, they dragged Mu Lin from one snack stall to another, indulging without restraint.
Mu Lin led them through Chinatown’s diverse culinary offerings, watching as they ate with unbridled enthusiasm, oblivious to the shocked glances around them. Embarrassed, he resolved never to bring them again—their table manners were disgraceful. Only when they could physically eat no more did they finally stop.
Despite being stuffed, the two insisted on continuing their tour, memorizing the names of each snack for “future battles.” Helpless, Mu Lin followed them from one food stall to another.
In a tofu pudding shop, Mu Lin unexpectedly spotted someone. His habit was to scan his surroundings with his spiritual sense whenever he entered a new place, checking for potential dangers. When his senses touched this person, he could hardly believe it. Leading the two policewomen inside, he stood beside the diner and, after careful scrutiny, confirmed he wasn’t mistaken.
Though the shop was small, its affordable and authentic food ensured a steady stream of customers. Most patrons ate quickly, making room for others.
Overcome with shock and emotion, Mu Lin stood speechless. After years of wandering, this was the first time he had encountered a childhood relative. The two policewomen, adhering to their secretary’s code—listen more, observe more, speak less—remained silent despite noticing Mu Lin’s unusual expression, standing quietly by his side.
Due to his astonishment and excitement, Mu Lin stood there speechless for a while. After drifting abroad for several years, this was the first time he had seen a childhood relative. The two young female officers, on the other hand, followed the principles of being secretaries—listening more, observing more, speaking less. Even though they noticed Mu Lin’s unusual expression, they consciously refrained from disturbing him, quietly waiting beside him.
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