Chapter 82:
This Venerable One Can’t Believe It
OUTSIDE THE FRAGRANCE INN of Rainbell Isle stood its willowy innkeeper, all dressed up with pearl bracelets clinking on her wrists as she leaned against the door, eating melon seeds fried in snake gall.
Whenever Xuanyuan Pavilion held an auction, most of the visitors ended up staying at her place, since she was clever on top of being pretty. A flicker of those beautiful eyes and she could easily guess what her guests desired.
It was just past noon, and the sun beamed brightly overhead. The innkeeper spit out some melon seed shells. The auction would be over in another two hours or so. The inns on Rainbell Isle were all fairly expensive, and visiting cultivators tended not to stay, so she didn’t expect to make much from rentals today. That was all right. These cultivators, heroes, and whatnot still had to eat before leaving, and she fully intended to squeeze them for dinner.
She flicked some bits of fruit peel off her skirt, then turned to yell at the waiter inside. “Er Fu, wipe the tables and chairs down again, and fetch a basket of the melon seeds I fried. Put a plate on every table. Gotta get ready for our guests tonight.”
“Alrighty, Boss, right away.” The waiter jogged off.
Done with her sunbathing and snacking, the innkeeper grinned contentedly. She was about to head inside to supervise the work when she noticed a fast-approaching, black-and-white silhouette at the end of the road. Once it drew closer, she saw that it was a handsome cultivator dressed in black who was holding someone in his arms. Nigh instantly, he burst into her inn at full tilt and in a burning panic.
“A room—room, room, room!”
The waiter gaped. Maybe because the cultivator had appeared so suddenly and because he was acting so strangely, the waiter could only stare at him in bewilderment, mouth hanging open.
“I said, I want a room!” Mo Ran roared angrily. “What are you, deaf? Where’s your boss?!”
“Aiyo, Xianjun.” The voice of a young woman came from behind him, a little simpering and a lot apologetic, a voice at which it would be hard to stay mad. Mo Ran turned around and came face-to-face with the innkeeper’s agreeable smile. “My apologies for the wait. He’s new. I am the innkeeper. Please feel free to come to me if you need anything.”
With his dark, handsome eyebrows raised, Mo Ran hurriedly repeated, “Give me a room!”
The innkeeper looked him over quickly and discreetly. The cultivator was wearing a cloak, so he was probably an attendee of the Xuanyuan auction, but the hood had fallen off in his haste, revealing a handsome face that still had a trace of tender youth. That wasn’t important; what was important was the brocade pouch embroidered with a giant tortoise that was tied around his wrist.
It was a qiankun pouch from Xuanyuan Pavilion, one they specifically gave to patrons to allow them to carry purchased goods.
The innkeeper’s eyes gleamed. The cultivator had money. Lots of money.
Next, she glanced at the person in his arms. He was covered in a cloak and his face was turned away, so she couldn’t see what he looked like. But the innkeeper’s eyes were keen as a hawk’s, and they swept over those snow-white robes made of high-quality silk before zeroing in on the hand peeking out from the wide opening of his sleeve.
Long and slender, porcelain-fine skin, delicate fingertips, shapely joints. A beauty.
The innkeeper understood immediately. Sure, this was a beautiful man, but it wasn’t like dual cultivation between men was unheard of in the cultivation world. Nothing to write home about.
“Da Fu, open a room.” The innkeeper wasted no time and asked no questions. Her orders were brisk as she snapped her fingers. “The best one we have.”
Chu Wanning’s sickness had come suddenly and without the slightest warning. It was a good thing they were in Guyueye territory, where good medicines and physicians were readily available.
The sage doctor’s eyes were closed as he took the pulse in Chu Wanning’s wrist with lightly calloused fingertips. For a long time, he didn’t utter a single sound.
Mo Ran could hold it in no longer. “Doctor, how is my shizun?”
“It’s not a pressing issue, but…”
Mo Ran seriously couldn’t stand people who talked in circles and beat around the bush. “But what?” he pressed, eyes wide.
“But it’s quite strange. Your master’s cultivation is remarkable; he’s at a level achieved by few in this world. Yet my careful examination has revealed that his spiritual core is exceedingly fragile, even more so than that of a fledgling cultivator still in the foundation establishment stage.”
If cultivation was water, then the spiritual core was the vessel holding that water. Where one’s cultivation accrued slowly over time, one’s spiritual core was inborn. It was easier for someone with an innately powerful core to cultivate, but once one’s cultivation reached a certain point, it would begin to bolster that core. Generally speaking, cultivation and core were interdependent and complementary. An eminent zongshi like Chu Wanning should naturally have an extremely robust core, so physicians generally didn’t bother to check such a thing when taking his pulse.
Mo Ran was shocked. “How is that possible?!”
“I thought the same. However, I checked over and over, and it was the same every time.”
“My shizun’s spiritual core is weaker than a fledgling cultivator’s? H-how could that be? There’s no way! Could you please take another look? Maybe you made a mistake somewhere.”
“I have always been most cautious in my practice, and I have never said anything of which I am not absolutely certain. If the young xianjun doesn’t believe me, then feel free to get a second opinion. The result will be the same.”
Mo Ran was stunned.
“The issue has arisen precisely because your master’s spiritual core is so fragile,” the doctor continued. “He appears to have recently suffered some sort of influence from a powerful weapon, one that has some sort of resonance with him yet does not belong to him.
He experienced a rebound as a consequence of that resonance, then lost consciousness because his core couldn’t withstand it. I will prescribe some medicinal decoctions. Have him take them and get plenty of rest; he will be fine.”
Mo Ran saw the doctor off and came back to sit by Chu Wanning’s bed with his cheek propped up in one hand, watching him in a daze. A weak core? How was that even possible?
However, while the old man couldn’t possibly have known what had happened at Xuanyuan Pavilion, he had correctly surmised that Chu Wanning had encountered a powerful weapon. He likely wasn’t spouting nonsense.