A tea personally planted by the master of the Forbidden Zone?
Shi Hao lowered his head. The tea leaves in his cup were a vivid crimson, shimmering with a brilliant glow. They seemed to swim, rippling with scarlet mist, even emitting faint fluttering sounds—so lifelike, as if they were true phoenixes.
This was no ordinary tea. It was utterly extraordinary.
“I truly wonder what kind of immortal tea this is. Even in the Immortal Realm, it must be nearly impossible to obtain,” he murmured softly.
The fragrance was intoxicating, refreshing both body and soul, akin to the rarest and most precious elixir. A single breath of its aroma was enough to transport one into a state of ethereal clarity—utterly miraculous.
“The Immortal Realm is vast, with many ancient tea trees, but none as treasured as the Enlightenment Tea. What you hold is merely a leaf from an ordinary bitter tea tree, watered only occasionally,” the man in white said with a light chuckle.
Shi Hao was taken aback. This was just mundane tea, not some divine brew?
Then it dawned on him—the value of this tea lay not in its variety, but in the one who had cultivated it.
Even the most ordinary plant, nurtured by a true immortal, would inevitably transcend its humble origins.
And this master of the Forbidden Zone? His depths were unfathomable. How could a bitter tea tree planted by him remain an ordinary relic of the mortal world? Naturally, it was extraordinary.
As Shi Hao observed the tea again, he noticed it had settled into tranquility. The crimson leaves had sunk to the bottom, exuding a quiet beauty, no longer shrouded in mystery.
He took a sip.
In an instant, bitterness flooded his mouth, numbing his tongue. The intensity was almost unbearable, starkly contrasting its earlier delicate fragrance.
Shi Hao gasped, sucking in cold air. For a being of his cultivation to be affected so deeply spoke volumes about the tea’s potency.
An ordinary person might have been overwhelmed to the point of death.
There was no doubt—this tea carried the power of laws. Otherwise, how could it affect even him so severely? He nearly spat it out.
“How is it?” the man in white asked, his voice magnetic. His eyes were deep, his features flawless, exuding an aura of transcendent grace—a peerless beauty among men.
“Bitter!” Shi Hao managed only one word.
“And?” the man pressed.
What else could there be? Shi Hao wanted to toss the cup aside. Beyond the bitterness, he could discern nothing else. He certainly wouldn’t lie and claim it was fragrant and sweet.
“Hmm?” Suddenly, he stiffened.
The numbness and pain on his tongue faded, replaced by an astringent sensation, tinged with a faint sourness. It spread rapidly, stiffening his entire body.
“Too astringent!” he blurted out.
The astringency seeped from his tongue into his very soul—far from pleasant, certainly not enjoyable.
Shi Hao was speechless. What was the meaning of this? Was this how the master of the Forbidden Zone treated his guests? Serving such unpalatable tea—bitter and astringent, nearly undrinkable?
This wasn’t tea-tasting; it was torture. He longed to spit it out.
But this was a Forbidden Zone of Life. To disrespect the tea of such a supreme being would be unthinkable.
Yet, what purpose did this tea serve? It neither aided enlightenment nor offered enjoyment. Why bother with it at all?
“Only nine beings have ever tasted this tea. Ordinary souls could never bear even a single drop—they lack the fortune,” the man in white sighed softly.
His appearance was that of a man in his thirties, yet his charm was indescribable. His eyes held the depth of the cosmos, his presence transcending the mundane.
Standing in the mortal world, he was like a phoenix descending among sparrows, revered by all beneath the heavens.
Even the female attendant behind him—likely an immortal herself—gazed at him with admiration, her eyes alight with reverence.
Shi Hao inwardly grumbled. At least he was a man himself; the master’s overwhelming charm held no sway over him.
But he could imagine how other young maidens might react in the presence of such a figure—likely even more awestruck than the attendant.
“Only nine have drunk it? Who were they?” Shi Hao asked.
“The first was naturally myself,” the man in white replied, his smile bright, teeth gleaming like a carefree youth—far from the imposing image of a Forbidden Zone’s ruler.
“And the others?”
“All were youths of their time—peerless talents, the greatest of their eras,” the man answered.
The strongest young prodigies of their generations? Shi Hao was intrigued.
“From the dawn of the Ancient Immortal Era to its end, eight young souls drank this tea. A pity,” the man murmured, shaking his head with deep regret.
His gaze turned distant, lost in reminiscence—filled with nostalgia, but mostly sorrow.
“What pity?” Shi Hao pressed.
Unfazed by the man’s status, he asked directly, oblivious to the audacity of questioning a being who commanded the heavens.
“Pity… that they all perished,” the man said softly.
Shi Hao froze, staring at him, utterly dumbstruck. What did that mean? Drinking this tea led to death?
“Why… did they die?” he had to ask.
“Because they drank this tea… and thus, they died,” the man replied gently.
Shi Hao was at a loss for words. If he were hot-tempered, he might have cursed. What kind of cursed tea was this? Was it meant to kill him?
“Please enlighten me, Senior!” he said, forcing composure. If the master wished him dead, there were far simpler methods.
“After drinking this tea, they strove relentlessly in cultivation, each embarking on a path… but for various reasons, they all fell,” the man sighed.
His sorrow deepened. In his pupils, visions of shattered universes flickered—stars exploding, galaxies torn asunder.
Had he directed this gaze at Shi Hao, the consequences would have been unimaginable.
The very heavens seemed to crack, starry seas surging, celestial bodies trembling under the weight of his gaze—some even crumbling into oblivion.
Shi Hao was awestruck. He had known the master was formidable, but witnessing this display left him shaken.
Finally, the man’s eyes dimmed. No longer did they reflect cosmic destruction, but instead, eight figures—men and women—emerged one by one.
They seemed to step out from different epochs, appearing within his pupils before vanishing again. Was this his way of remembrance?
“Drink,” the man said.
Gritting his teeth, Shi Hao downed the remaining tea. This time, the bitterness and astringency were even more intense, numbing his mouth entirely.
Then, to his shock, a figure materialized before him.
A towering man, nearly ten feet tall, with wild hair and a physique like forged iron—exuding overwhelming strength.
“His name was Ao Gu, the first youth I encountered. Of the Chaos Clan, he dominated all young geniuses of the early Ancient Immortal Era, never once defeated,” the man introduced.
The youth’s skin bore a faint golden hue, radiating power—clearly a physique cultivator of terrifying resilience.
“I taught him the Dragon-Subduing Heavenly Art,” the man said.
Shi Hao’s heart raced. A legendary art—its name alone spoke of boundless might.
“After attaining immortality, at the peak of his power, he ignored my warnings and ventured down that path too soon… never to return,” the man lamented.
Shi Hao was stunned. Even after becoming an immortal, at the height of his strength… he still perished?
As the bitterness lingered, the figure faded, replaced by a second—a woman in yellow robes, breathtakingly beautiful, her gaze at the man filled with unmistakable adoration.
The man’s expression twisted with sorrow as he looked at her, his eyes brimming with regret.
“Her name was Jin Zhen, of the Golden Crow Clan from the Immortal Realm. Her talent was unparalleled—I believed she would surpass even me. Yet… she too fell.”
He reached out as if to touch her hair, but she dissipated like mist.
A third figure emerged—a frail-looking youth.
“Ruò Fēng, a gentle boy. I taught him the Immortal-Slaying Technique,” the man said.
Shi Hao’s mind reeled. Regardless of their fates, one thing was clear—this master was extraordinary, imparting unique, heaven-defying arts to each disciple.
And so it continued, each figure introduced with a different supreme technique.
…
When the last appeared, Shi Hao’s heart stirred. A woman of ethereal beauty, a blue moon hovering behind her, elevating her beyond mortal realms.
“Her name was Lán Yuè. Of the human race.”
“What? She’s… the Blue Moon Fairy?!” Shi Hao exclaimed in shock.
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