Chapter 1283: Has taken quite an interest in you

With everything he needed to set in place already done and nothing else left to do, it didn’t take long for Yang Qing to tumble down the all-too-familiar rabbit holes with Bu Zhou. As with every engaging and immersive conversation, they went through the food quickly without either of them noticing—especially the wine, which always seemed to pair so perfectly with scintillating conversation.

Yang Qing even forgot his intent to hoard it all for himself, pouring generous amounts of the old pine needle wine for them both. When they had finished all the jars he’d ordered, the conversation was so absorbing that he absentmindedly brought out his best brew from his personal collection instead of ordering more from the teahouse. It was the wine he had received from that mysterious figure who appeared when he and Meifeng were hanging out.

True to form, the moment the wine appeared, Bu Zhou didn’t leap at the chance to sample it like most would. Instead, he instantly activated his heightened talents for paranoia and cowardice, eyeing the jar as if it had personally wronged him. His suspicion only deepened when he noticed the empyreal world jade wood it was made from, and he demanded to know where the wine had come from.

As someone who knew the worth of empyreal world jade wood—rare and precious as it was, standing on the same level as the Ten Thousand Dao Jade Leaf Tree of the Jade Leaf Empire—the turtle immediately grew suspicious of the wine’s origins. The casing alone was crafted from material far beyond Yang Qing’s means. And given how close they were, he knew full well Yang Qing’s wealth wasn’t anywhere near that level—putting it politely.

Yang Qing sighed. He had expected this exact reaction the moment he brought out the wine jar, which was why he instantly regretted it. But it couldn’t be helped—his hands had moved on their own. Great conversation demanded great wine to match, and of all the wine he possessed, none surpassed this one. Sighing again at his blunder, Yang Qing laid out its origins without concealing a single detail. If he tried, Bu Zhou would sniff it out.

When he finished, he wore a wry smile at the wide-eyed look Bu Zhou was giving him. Predictably, the turtle’s jaw worked soundlessly for a moment, caught somewhere between anger, fear, and sheer stupefaction. He flapped his mouth like a fish trying to find water, but no coherent words came out. Finally, anger shoved the other emotions aside and claimed the seat of honor, allowing him to speak in full sentences at last.

“Little Qing! You… You…!” Bu Zhou glared at Yang Qing, his eyes no longer half-lidded but fully wide open. “You’re trying to get us killed! This is an empyreal world jade tree, you know?! And you—” He paused as his words failed him yet again.

“How could you accept it? And worse, bring it in front of me?” Bu Zhou said weakly. “You’ve implicated me, you brat,” he added mournfully, his head lowering as his spirits rapidly deflated. The way he looked, it was as if he expected doom to arrive any moment now.

“Didn’t you learn anything from our lessons about the dangers of the world—and especially the abilities of powerful cultivators? And yet here you are, casually drinking wine from one such figure without a care in the world. I knew food would be your undoing one day! I just didn’t think you’d drag me down with you,” Bu Zhou said, his voice climbing in pitch before trailing into a despairing mutter. He eyed the wine jar like it was a cursed object. “You’ve really done me in,” he added in a soft, bitter tone.

Smiling wryly, Yang Qing said softly, “I didn’t forget the lessons, Senior Bu Zhou.”

“What?!” snapped Bu Zhou, glaring at him. “Didn’t forget? Didn’t forget?!” he repeated hotly.

Just before Bu Zhou could snap into a tirade, Yang Qing hurriedly interjected.

“One of the fundamental rules Dean Chu Zhen gave us about survival is: ‘If you meet a powerful cultivator, provided it doesn’t break the fundamental values of your bottom line, the wisest choice is to go with the flow.'” Yang Qing quoted word for word. “And that is exactly what I did. That senior was very likely a very powerful cultivator… more powerful than most—could I have refused him?” He asked with a helpless smile.

“Could you?” he softly added.

Bu Zhou froze for a beat, glaring deeply as if searching for a counter, before letting out a begrudging snort—the kind that admitted defeat without saying a word.

Sensing the turtle wasn’t done and about to fire back, Yang Qing quickly added, “I had Vice Palace Master Ren Shu analyze it, and he found nothing wrong with it. Even Vice Warden Shao An was there.”

“Shao An looked at it?” Bu Zhou asked, his tone and expression softening somewhat. Yang Qing quietly praised himself for throwing the vice warden’s name in there for good measure. The turtle before him was far more likely to trust Shao An’s judgment than Ren Shu’s, given their stations—one worked in the medical department, while the other worked in a building that housed thousands of highly dangerous individuals.

“He did,” Yang Qing said with a straight face, “and he found nothing,” he added, giving extra weight to the last word.

Yang Qing hadn’t given that wine to Ren Shu or Shao An to analyze, but he had offered them a drink—and they hadn’t refused. The fact that they drank it was proof there was nothing wrong with it… right? So technically, he hadn’t lied. No, he definitely hadn’t lied. Having them drink it was the best way to confirm its safety. Perfectly reasonable. Even Emperors did it that way. Yes… he hadn’t lied, Yang Qing insisted to himself, going over the thought again and again like a mantra.

Bu Zhou’s expression eased, though he still eyed the jar warily and even took a few furtive steps away from it. That prompted Yang Qing to put it away and bring out one of Yi Jie’s brews instead. At least now Bu Zhou’s gaze and expression weren’t as fierce as they had been moments earlier.

Wanting to diffuse the awkwardness and steer the conversation away from his blunder, Yang Qing asked, “Senior, do you know Song Quan?”

“Song Quan?” Bu Zhou repeated, lifting Yi Jie’s clear spring chilled bamboo cane wine to his mouth. Seeing him sip it brought Yang Qing some relief, which more or less served as confirmation that the previous matter had been put to rest and or forgiven.

“Yes, the Song Quan, soul formation cultivator who charted the map of the Green Fog Region,” Yang Qing explained. “That Song Quan,” he added.

“When you ask know,” Bu Zhou began, his eyes narrowing with an ominous glint, “do you mean know like acquaintances?”

Yang Qing had been about to say like acquaintances, but the ominous air Bu Zhou gave off made him think better of it. He quickly changed tack.

“No, I meant like stories you’ve heard about him—before he was a soul formation expert, that is. What he was like,” said Yang Qing with an awkward smile, feeling uneasy under the suspicious look Bu Zhou was giving him.

“I don’t know him or of him, other than what most people know,” Bu Zhou replied curtly. “Besides, I make it a point to avoid all association with reckless individuals or reckless behavior.” His eyes narrowed at Yang Qing in a way that made the hint impossible to miss.

“Why ask about him? Planning to start adventuring like he did? You’re already drinking with mysterious figures and doing all manner of adventurous things—maybe you’ve acquired a taste for it,” he snidely remarked. He hasn’t let it go, Yang Qing bitterly thought.

“Do be careful, though…” Bu Zhou’s voice suddenly dropped, as it took on a weighty seriousness. “Adventuring might seem glamorous, but don’t forget how it ended for Old Song Quan.”

His eyes beamed with a sagely light to them as though he were about to deliver some ancient truths. “Eventually, he realized the truth—the world is a dangerous, terrifying place, and staying inside a safe sanctuary is the wisest path where it’s warm, secure, predictable… far better than being chased by spirit beasts trying to kill you or being petrified silly for months without even knowing the cause.”

“Dying is easy; no need to add more variables that make that job easier than it already is. Make sure you remember that, Little Qing.” His tone and gaze were that of someone correcting a junior who had strayed from the right path.

“I understand, Senior,” Yang Qing said with a bitter smile, swallowing whatever follow-up questions he had about Song Quan.

The next few minutes—up until the thirtieth minute mark since Yang Qing had summoned Bu Zhou—passed in a companionable silence, broken only by the occasional brief exchange about the dishes before them:

“How does the frost plum osmanthus infusion wine compare to the pine needle?””Not bad. They’re both good.”

“What about the steamed lotus leaf rice?””Not bad. Could use a bit more peanut sauce, though.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

After that small back-and-forth, Bu Zhou finished his last sesame pastry just a few seconds before the thirty-minute mark; his slow gaze shifted toward Yang Qing after that last bite.

“Your thirty minutes are up,” he announced, to which Yang Qing nodded in acknowledgment.

When Bu Zhou handed him the plate from his shell, the scrupulous turtle that he was, had given parameters of his summoning. Upon being summoned, he would remain for exactly thirty minutes, no more and no less. There was also a mandatory three-month buffer between summonings, and—most important of all—Yang Qing could never summon him for combat. There were other stipulations, but those three were the ones that mattered most.

“Thank you for answering the summons, Senior, and for your help,” Yang Qing said with a sincere smile, as he cupped his fists in gratitude.

Bu Zhou looked at him for a long moment without answering, then finally sighed.”If you’re that curious about Song Quan, your ‘master’ Ren Shu can help you. And if he can’t, try Dean Zhu Lao. If anyone is likely to truly know him, it would be Dean Zhu Lao.”

A chuckle rumbled from the turtle. “He used to wander around the continent for years on end— that is before Meimei put a leash on him.” Another chuckle escaped his lips. “Whatever curiosities you have about Song Quan, he’s probably the one most likely to have answers to them.”

“Thank you,” Yang Qing eagerly said with a beaming smile on his face

Bu Zhou waved it off with one of his forelimbs. His gaze then suddenly drifted to the left. Yang Qing followed it—and realized he was looking at the enigmatic painting.

“That painting’s spirit has taken quite an interest in you,” Bu Zhou remarked, his eyes flicking between Yang Qing and the artwork with meaning.

“A bad interest or a good one?” Yang Qing asked, eyes settling on the painting.

“It’s not dangerous,” Bu Zhou replied casually. “Seems more like a curiosity tempered with a healthy dose of wariness.” There was a hint of approval in his tone.

“Whatever it is you’re investigating,” he said, pausing as his eyes slid once more to the painting, “it wouldn’t hurt to ask it. Who knows? I have an inkling your interests may just align.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Yang Qing said, his gaze settling on the mysterious painting.”How strong is it?” he suddenly asked.

“Late stage of the Palace Realm,” Bu Zhou replied. “Quite impressive for a painting barely forty years old.” His gaze shifted from the artwork to sweep across the floor, nodding in quiet approval. “There was no better place for it to develop than here. No wonder it’s grown so quickly. Might have been faster at one of the academies… but even this place has its own charm,” he remarked.

His eyes returned to Yang Qing.

“Till next time, Little Qing,” he said as his figure began to fade into blue mist. “The shrouding effects should last two months—on this table and on your spell.”

“Till next time, Senior Bu Zhou. And thank you,” Yang Qing replied with a smile.

“As always—be careful.” Most of Bu Zhou’s legs and shell had already melted into mist, leaving only his head.

Just before the last of him vanished, his voice lingered behind.”And if you ever meet something that truly threatens your life, don’t hesitate to summon me… even if it breaks the parameters.”

Yang Qing’s smile softened, a flicker of unspoken gratitude passing through his eyes.

“I will,” he said quietly, reaching for the octagonal aqua-blue crystal on the table that had appeared in place of the mist. He promptly stored it away, chuckling to himself as he did.