Chapter Twenty-Three: The Talisman Master, Zhao Lin

He opened his eyes.

He Song’s gaze immediately landed on the paper crane before him. Though made of mere paper, it contained spiritual energy; it seemed unremarkable at first glance, but there was something peculiar within. The paper crane was derived from Voice Transmission Technique, one of the three fundamental spells. Of course, true voice transmission wasn’t entirely realistic, but folding a written sheet into a paper crane, infusing it with spiritual energy, and attaching the aura of the intended recipient allowed the crane to reach that person at astonishing speed.

Paper cranes created by the Voice Transmission Technique moved swiftly, making interception nearly impossible. Moreover, since they were made from written paper, the message within arrived alongside the crane. Thus, it was a method for long-distance communication.

He Song reached out and picked up the paper crane, a trace of spiritual energy appearing at his fingertips. Upon sensing this energy, the lively paper crane instantly turned ordinary, losing its previous speed and vitality. In the next moment, a piece of paper with writing appeared in He Song’s hand.

“He Song, I, Meng Guan, depart with no certainty of return, my fate unclear. I had intended to let you succeed my post, but the superiors refused. Helpless, I could only recommend another cultivator of the fourth level of Qi Refining whom I know well.”

“But rest assured, this friend is named Zhao Lin, and we are on good terms. Before leaving, I asked him to look after you. He has a temperament similar to yours—both cautious—so I believe you will get along well.”

“Additionally, Zhao Lin is skilled in the art of talismans. If you need anything, you may seek him out.”

“—Meng Guan”

He Song silently read the lines of handwriting on the paper. Meng Guan had left.

After handing over his duties and packing, he’d departed Bamboo Mountain Immortal Market in the night. As for why he left in such haste, not even allowing He Song and Wei Fan to give him a farewell banquet, He Song could guess the reasons.

First: the sooner he reached the Red Spirit Gold Mine, the sooner he could start earning spirit stones.

Second: farewells were too sorrowful. Rather than have all three suffer, it was better to leave without a word, sparing them the pain.

Third…

He Song put the letter down, pondering, and in the end didn’t throw it away. He folded the paper and placed it in his meditation room. Carrying it would damage it too easily—he had no high-grade storage pouch, so he could only leave it in the room and transfer it later, once he acquired one.

With these thoughts, He Song looked out the window.

It was morning, but the sun had not fully risen. Wisps of dawn mist shrouded everything, obscuring his view.

Yet voices from outside could already be heard, and the cultivators of Bamboo Mountain Immortal Market were about to begin a new day.

He rose.

He cooked.

After breakfast, He Song went to the market stalls and selected some ink for talismans. With the ink in hand, he sought out Zhao Lin, whose location Meng Guan had mentioned in his letter.

He Song would never let go of the connections Meng Guan had left him before departing. As a spiritual herb cultivator, he would likely spend a long time under Zhao Lin’s management. Visiting him while Meng Guan’s influence was still fresh would ensure Zhao Lin couldn’t easily slight him.

After all, Meng Guan had ceded his position to Zhao Lin and specifically asked him to look after He Song. If Zhao Lin ignored this, his reputation would immediately be questioned.

Meng Guan’s cultivation had reached the sixth level of Qi Refining before he left. Zhao Lin’s cultivation was only at the fourth level. Both were mid-stage, but Meng Guan had been established for years, while Zhao Lin had only just advanced; they could not truly be compared.

If Zhao Lin’s character was questioned, his new position would become uncomfortable. Thus, it was likely Zhao Lin wouldn’t make things difficult for He Song and might even be especially considerate because of Meng Guan.

Thoughts flashed through He Song’s mind as he walked, but his pace was brisk, and soon he arrived at Zhao Lin’s residence.

Like He Song, Zhao Lin also lived in a rented room within the Immortal Market. Their homes were not far apart—only a few minutes’ walk.

Standing outside Zhao Lin’s door, He Song knocked gently.

Tok tok tok~

At the sound, the once silent house suddenly stirred. After some time, a cautious voice called out.

“Who is it?” Inside, Zhao Lin held several Thick Earth Talismans, his expression uncertain.

Last night, an old friend who’d always treated him kindly suddenly left, handing him the management of the Spiritual Herb Pavilion. For a mere cultivator of spiritual herbs, it was like ascending in a single leap—he now oversaw the pavilion.

Spiritual herb cultivators were internal staff at the Immortal Market, but had no authority; they spent their days farming. But the manager of the Spiritual Herb Pavilion was different. Meng Guan, as manager, was responsible for recruiting cultivators and distributing seeds.

Who became a spiritual herb cultivator, who received better seeds—these decisions were entirely Meng Guan’s. Now, as Meng Guan handed over the post, Zhao Lin inherited these responsibilities.

The monthly stipend for managing the pavilion wasn’t high, but the gray income was much greater than a year’s farming. Yet wherever people gathered, there were rivalries. Many eyed the lucrative position of pavilion manager.

His sudden promotion would surely arouse suspicion. He had only just broken through to the fourth level of Qi Refining, lacking the true combat strength of a mid-stage cultivator.

So, when someone knocked unexpectedly, Zhao Lin’s first instinct was to grab his talismans for protection.

“Fellow Daoist Zhao Lin, I am He Song. Old Meng should have mentioned me to you before leaving last night. I’ve come to pay my respects and hope you’ll receive me.”

Outside, He Song spoke clearly, holding the ink for talismans—a customary gift for their first meeting.

He Song trusted the connections left by Meng Guan. On the way, he had already prepared himself for a long-term relationship with Zhao Lin.

A moment of silence followed inside.

He Song sensed a glance from the shadows.

Then, the door opened.

“So it’s Fellow Daoist He Song. Meng did mention you last night. Please, come in.” Zhao Lin, a hint of embarrassment on his face, hurriedly invited He Song inside.

The door closed.

They entered.

Inside, beside a cluttered desk, He Song and Zhao Lin sat, host and guest.

Soon, Zhao Lin placed a cup of hot tea by He Song’s side.

“Don’t worry, Fellow Daoist He Song. Since you are Meng’s friend, you are mine as well. If you need anything, just let me know.” Though it was their first meeting, Zhao Lin was surprisingly warm.

It seemed his friendship with Meng Guan was genuine.