Mu Lin successfully secured two free laborers to assist him in grinding the herbs he needed. In his spare time, he began studying the poison techniques he had recently acquired. He discovered that the secret techniques passed down through generations in folklore each had their own unique merits.
For instance, the Liu family’s poison technique he obtained was quite remarkable. Several seemingly ordinary herbs, when mixed in different sequences, transformed into potent toxins. Taking these mixtures, Mu Lin placed them in his clinic’s laboratory for analysis. Surprisingly, some were identified as known neurotoxins, but most were previously undiscovered poisons. Thinking about publishing his findings, he imagined how easily he could win a Nobel Prize in Chemistry or Medicine. He shook his head and dismissed the thought, realizing how absurd such an idea was for a cultivator. Perhaps he had spent too long immersed in the mundane world.
The Liu family’s targeted poisoning technique actually relied on the power of formations. However, over time, the Liu descendants gradually shifted their focus toward poison research, causing their mastery of formation-based techniques to decline. Mu Lin himself had knowledge of formations, and combining both disciplines, he discovered that the directional poisoning technique was extremely deadly. If used in residential areas or during major confrontations, it could strike with preparedness against unprepared opponents, killing silently and invisibly.
After more than ten days of research, Mu Lin achieved considerable results. Of course, true mastery was impossible—he couldn’t expect to complete thousands of years of accumulated study in just a few days; that would be absurd. He continued researching for a while longer, feeling he had gained much. Yet he knew he hadn’t examined these techniques thoroughly. Lately, he had become too immersed in the mundane world, reducing his time and energy for cultivation, and his true skills remained unrefined. Feeling frustrated, Mu Lin decided to go out for a walk to relax.
He wandered aimlessly and ended up in 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 dismissed his bodyguards—he disliked having too many people around.
Chinatown, literally translated from the English term “Chinatown,” was sometimes called “Huabu” or “China Street” by New York’s Chinese community. It was a residential and commercial hub for Chinese people. Currently, New York had three recognized Chinatowns: Manhattan’s Chinatown, Flushing in Queens, and Eighth Avenue in Brooklyn.
Manhattan’s Chinatown, the first of its kind in New York, was located in the Lower East Side of Manhattan and was established in the mid-19th century. The area was characterized by its almost exclusively Chinese population.
The second Chinatown was Flushing in Queens, which was very accessible by transportation. The number 7 subway line connected Flushing to Midtown Manhattan, serving as a major link between the two districts. Main Street was Flushing’s central thoroughfare, lined with Chinese restaurants and shops. The surrounding areas were densely populated by Chinese residents, primarily from mainland China and Taiwan, where Mandarin was the dominant language.
Eighth Avenue in Brooklyn was known as the third Chinatown. Its geographical feature was the commercial activity centered around Eighth Avenue, with residents living along the avenue and near Sunset Park. Today, Chinese shops lined Eighth Avenue one after another. The residents were mainly from Guangdong and Fujian provinces.
Mu Lin was naturally exploring the first Chinatown, as the second and third ones were still in their early stages with only a few Chinese residents and no significant scale yet.
Here, it felt as if he had returned to a Jiangnan town, with familiar dialects filling his ears. Chinatown wasn’t clean, but it played an irreplaceable role: preserving Chinese culture. Taoism and Confucianism, the traditional religions of the Chinese people, were gradually declining, while Buddhism was an imported religion. Therefore, the Chinese language had become the fundamental carrier of Chinese civilization. The foundation of Chinese culture was the Chinese language and characters. How could Chinese culture be passed down through generations? Overseas, it was Chinatown that solved this problem. Although the residents of Chinatown might not have had high educational levels, they insisted on speaking and reading Chinese, ensuring their children used Chinese at home. In this way, Chinatown served not only as a foothold for the Chinese people abroad but also as a preserve and growth point for Chinese culture overseas.
As for those Chinese people who had left Chinatown, although they tried their best to teach their children Chinese and continued speaking it at home, under the influence of the broader environment, these children often became “yellow on the outside, white on the inside”—”banana people.” Some even dreamed in English.
Initially, the two young female officers couldn’t understand why Mu Lin suddenly wanted to come here shopping. They muttered about the poor environment, the streets littered with garbage, and the low quality of the Chinese people. Finally, Mu Lin got angry and tried to send them back, but they refused, insisting on staying as secretaries. In reality, they were just trying to stick with him. When Mu Lin got hungry, he took them to eat some snacks, after which the two young officers stopped complaining. They completely forgot their duties as secretaries and began dragging Mu Lin from one snack shop to another, tasting everything available.
Mu Lin wandered through the various snack shops of Chinatown with the two young officers, who ate with great enthusiasm, completely ignoring the shocked glances of passersby. This made Mu Lin feel somewhat embarrassed. He resolved never to bring them again, as their eating manners were too shameful. If their stomachs hadn’t been completely full, they probably would have kept eating.
Although they couldn’t eat anymore, the two young officers insisted on continuing to stroll around, saying they wanted to memorize the names of the snack shops for future visits. Helplessly, Mu Lin had no choice but to continue walking with them through one snack shop after another.
In a tofu pudding shop, Mu Lin unexpectedly saw someone. His habit was to scan the surroundings with his spiritual sense whenever he arrived at a new place, checking for any potential dangers. When his spiritual sense detected this person, Mu Lin could hardly believe what he sensed. Leading the two young officers, he directly entered the shop and stood beside the person who was eating. After a careful look, Mu Lin was certain he hadn’t mistaken the identity.
Although the snack shop wasn’t large, its business was brisk due to its affordable and delicious food. Every customer kept their head down, focused on eating quickly to leave and make space for others.
Mu Lin was so astonished and excited that he couldn’t speak for a while. After years of wandering, this was the first time he had seen a childhood relative. The two young officers, following the secretary’s code of conduct—observing and listening more, speaking less—naturally refrained from interrupting. Even though they noticed Mu Lin’s unusual expression, they quietly stood by his side, waiting patiently alongside him.
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