Chapter Twenty-Four: The Gift

Seeing this, He Song nodded inwardly, taking the teacup and placing it before him, though he did not drink. It was their first meeting, after all—better to remain cautious.

Yet as He Song listened to Zhao Lin speak, he found himself intrigued by the way Zhao Lin referred to Meng Guan.

Within the small circle formed by He Song, Meng Guan, and Wei Fan, Meng Guan’s nickname was “Old Meng,” as both He Song and Wei Fan called him so. Wei Fan had no nickname; He Song and Meng Guan both addressed him as Brother Wei. As for He Song, due to his cultivation and age, both Wei Fan and Meng Guan addressed him as Daoist He. This was not out of formality, but because He Song disliked being called Little He or Little Song, and since the other two were older, after some discussion, they agreed to address him as Daoist Friend.

Now, hearing Zhao Lin refer to Meng Guan as Brother Meng, He Song immediately understood. Zhao Lin and Meng Guan shared a good relationship, but not quite close enough for Zhao Lin to enter their inner circle. Still, it likely wasn’t far off. Had Meng Guan not left so suddenly—if a few more years had passed—their trio might have become a quartet.

Such thoughts flickered through He Song’s mind, but his hands did not slow. He placed the ink for talisman crafting, which he had been carrying, on the table.

Glancing at the cluttered desk before him, He Song thought to himself that he had brought just the right thing this time. The disordered desk appeared to be Zhao Lin’s workspace for crafting talismans; all manner of paraphernalia was strewn about. An expert would recognize the unusual talisman brush at a glance, along with several dishes of dark red, unidentified ink, and sheets of talisman paper scattered in disarray. The presence of these items made the table seem especially chaotic.

“Forgive my presumptuous visit. I heard Old Meng mention that Daoist Zhao is skilled at talisman crafting, so I brought some talisman ink as a gift. I hope you won’t mind,” He Song said as he pushed the ink toward Zhao Lin.

Indeed, Meng Guan’s letter had mentioned Zhao Lin’s talent in talisman-making. He Song had simply catered to his interests by visiting the market and purchasing some ink. It wasn’t anything valuable, but it was certainly more presentable than arriving empty-handed.

“You shouldn’t have, Daoist. In the future, if you ever need talismans, don’t hesitate to come to me. So long as I can craft them, I will make sure you are well taken care of,” Zhao Lin replied, warmth in his eyes as he took the ink and glanced at it furtively. Though he was not lacking in ink, receiving it as a gift was an entirely different matter from buying it himself.

In the past, when he was merely a spirit herb cultivator, he had neither received gifts nor found ways to give them. Now that He Song had come bearing a present, Zhao Lin felt genuine delight. With the exchange of gifts, their acquaintance was now formally established.

Recalling how Meng Guan had specifically asked him to look after He Song before leaving, Zhao Lin made some guesses about the relationship between He Song and Meng Guan. Perhaps He Song could shed some light on his confusion.

With this thought, Zhao Lin spoke up. “By the way, Daoist He, do you know why Brother Meng left so abruptly? He seemed in a hurry, as if something urgent had come up, but I was a bit muddled at the time and didn’t ask…”

As he finished, a hint of embarrassment flashed across Zhao Lin’s face. In truth, it wasn’t that he was muddled and failed to ask—he had simply been too stunned by the sudden opportunity that fell into his lap. Before last night, he could never have imagined Meng Guan would leave so suddenly and entrust his post to him. As a result, he spent the whole night in a daze, only recovering somewhat by morning.

“It isn’t really a secret. In a few days, Daoist Zhao, you will learn of it yourself,” He Song replied, not directly answering Zhao Lin’s question. Sensing that his purpose for visiting had been fulfilled, He Song had no intention of lingering. After a few polite exchanges, he soon took his leave.

The news of the Crimsonspirit Gold Mine was not truly secret. Still, there were some inside details He Song would not share with a newly acquainted cultivator. His information came from Wei Fan, whose sources were certainly more reliable than those available to ordinary cultivators. In a few days, word of the mine’s recruitment of freelance miners would spread throughout Bamboo Mountain Market. What response the freelance cultivators and the market’s resident cultivators would have, He Song could not guess. By then, Zhao Lin would naturally understand why Meng Guan had left. There was no need to tell him in advance.

After parting from Zhao Lin, He Song spent a few minutes returning to his own doorstep. Casting a glance at his neighbor’s house, a thoughtful look flickered in his eyes.

Inside Bamboo Mountain Market, He Song knew many people, but those he could call friends were few indeed.

Wei Fan, Meng Guan, and Lin Cong—these three were the only true friends He Song had in the market. Lin Cong, in particular, lived right next door—a burly man who made his living as a freelance cultivator hunting monsters in partnership with others, and who was renowned for his formidable combat prowess. He Song had once felt compelled to invoke Wei Fan’s reputation as a late-stage Qi Condensation cultivator as a shield, simply because of Lin Cong’s strength. Fortunately, Lin Cong harbored no ill intentions. Now, after more than five years of acquaintance, the relationship between the two had evolved from that of ordinary neighbors to friends who could chat freely over tea, sharing amusing anecdotes from their lives.

“It’s been… about half a month since I last saw him, hasn’t it?” He Song mused, trying to recall the last time he met Lin Cong. Half a month would pass in the blink of an eye under normal circumstances, but He Song remembered clearly that when Lin Cong last visited, he mentioned he was on the verge of breaking through to the fourth level of Qi Condensation. Now, after half a month without news, He Song did not know whether Lin Cong had succeeded.

His gaze lingered on Lin Cong’s house for a moment before He Song shook his head and decided not to disturb him. If he were to visit now and Lin Cong was at a critical moment in his breakthrough, it might damage their friendship. It was better to wait until Lin Cong had succeeded in reaching mid-stage Qi Condensation, and then offer his congratulations.

With this thought, He Song was just about to enter his own house when the sound of a door opening reached his ears. He looked toward the source, only to find it was not Lin Cong, but his neighbor on the other side.

Lin Cong lived to his left; this household was to his right.

“Hello, Brother Song,” a childish voice greeted him.

“Daoist He, just returned?” the elderly man said with a gentle smile, holding the hand of a little girl.

This old man and young child had moved in two years prior. The previous neighbor on the right had been on friendly terms with He Song, but two years ago, he had left hurriedly one day and never returned. He Song had not seen him since. A month later, the old man and little girl moved in, and He Song had to accept that his neighbor had suddenly changed. As for the fate of his former neighbor, He Song had no way of knowing.