Chapter 112: Hundred-Flavored Tea

The plane landed at the capital’s airport, and the woman named Ran Yan never spoke to me again. I felt relieved—I didn’t know what her intentions were, but my instincts told me she wasn’t friendly. A woman who is unfriendly yet insists on getting close is hardly a good sign.

After leaving the airport, I hailed a taxi. Just as it pulled up, a fragrant breeze swept by, the door was flung open, and Ran Yan climbed in, slamming the door shut abruptly. The taxi sped away, and I was left with a curse lodged in my throat I never got to voice.

At that moment, a sleek sports car screeched to a halt beside me. The window rolled down, revealing a face both playful and teasing. “Handsome, want a ride from me?” the beauty inside laughed coquettishly.

Damn.

I opened the car door and got in. Before I could even fasten my seatbelt, she floored the accelerator. “Attempted murder, huh?” I grumbled.

“Yeah, after killing you, I’ll kill myself, and then we can be together forever,” she chuckled.

I lit a cigarette and glanced around. “What kind of junk car is this? No sunroof?”

“How could there be none? It’s panoramic,” Chi Yun giggled, pressing a button. The roof of the sports car folded back automatically.

“Drive slower, or my smoke will be blown away,” I said.

Chi Yun slowed dramatically—from 160 kilometers per hour to a crawl.

“How did you know which flight I was on?” I asked.

“I monitored the airport’s ticketing system. The moment you bought your ticket, I knew,” she winked.

“Transferred to Bureau Nine?” I inquired.

“Yeah, Logistics Team One at Bureau Nine,” Chi Yun replied.

“So where are you taking me now?” I asked.

“You tell me,” she said, batting her eyelashes seductively.

I instinctively touched my waist. With her like this, there’d be no getting out of bed fewer than seven times today. The problem was, I’d just spent the whole night before with Ming Xue.

The Moonwatch Tower in the capital—the finest apartments available.

It was already the next day at noon. I lay half-reclined on the bed, bare-chested. Chi Yun was clattering around in the kitchen, personally preparing a lavish meal. I stubbed out my cigarette, wrapped a towel around my waist, and stepped down, feeling a bit weak in the legs.

Sure enough, only a thoroughly exhausted ox leaves no field untilled.

From yesterday to today, we’d gone at it nine times total. I was utterly defeated—two wins to seven losses—and the last two battles I was completely routed. Chi Yun was proud and queenly.

I went to the kitchen, wrapped my arms around Chi Yun’s slender waist from behind, and kissed her neck gently.

“Stop teasing, it’ll be ready soon,” she said, shivering with pleasure and planting a quick kiss on my lips.

I held her as she cooked. My heart finally relaxed. Only when I was with Chi Yun did my nerves stop instinctively tensing.

Moonwatch Tower, eighty-eight stories high.

An entire floor was completely open—one vast sky garden.

Mountains, rivers, plants—everything was here.

The glass ceiling could open or fold back electrically, bathing the space in abundant natural light.

By a great tree, beside rockeries and flowing water, the fragrance of tea filled the air.

A woman in a qipao was playing the guqin. The notes tinkled, sometimes ethereal and distant, sometimes like a sudden storm.

She closed her eyes, her face so stunning it seemed to glow with a divine light under the sun.

Her emotions surged to a breaking point. Her hands swept the strings, each note turning to wind, then rain, then a raging tempest.

The pent-up feelings exploded. Her hands shimmered with a faint glow, and runes flickered faintly above the guqin.

“May I come in?” a voice suddenly interrupted.

The burst of emotion was abruptly reined in. The qipao woman’s expression shifted repeatedly. She opened her eyes and fixed me with a cold, electric gaze.

After lunch, Chi Yun received a call and hurried off. Feeling bored, I went to the top floor.

The building had eighty-eight floors, but the elevator only went up to eighty-six.

Curious about the guqin’s melodies, I climbed the rest of the way.

Originally, I shouldn’t have interrupted, but the domineering aura she emitted while playing made me uneasy, so I spoke up.

“Haven’t you already come in? Why ask again?” the qipao woman said coldly.

“Sorry, sorry, I don’t know why I just came in. Hmm, this tea’s good,” I said, taking a seat at the antique tea table without ceremony and downing a cup.

She was momentarily stunned, her gaze a little strange.

“What did you taste?” she asked.

“Tea flavor,” I answered. At first I thought something was added, but the aftertaste was pure tea aroma. What else could it be?

“Just tea?” she pressed.

“Yes, sweet and mellow on the palate, lingering aftertaste. To me, that’s a good tea. I don’t understand more than that. After all, tea is just tea, not some elixir,” I said.

She stared blankly at me, her gaze unfocused.

I touched my face—nothing wrong with me.

Could it be a problem with my brain? Such a pity for such a beautiful woman.

I stood up. Seeing her still dazed, I turned and left.

When the qipao woman finally snapped back to reality and realized I was gone, she wondered if she had been dreaming.

She sat at the tea table, poured herself a cup. The tea was clear and fragrant.

Hesitating, she took a sip.

“Pfft!”

She immediately spat it out, mouth numb and burning with bitterness.

Just as before—completely undrinkable.

But why did that man have no reaction? He definitely wasn’t faking.

“Senior Uncle, you said all the flavors of life are contained in tea. If one can drink the hundred-flavor tea and taste only tea, that is enlightenment,” she murmured.

Back at Chi Yun’s apartment, I muttered to myself, “What’s that woman’s story? She merges magic into her notes; her aura is unfathomable, but she’s a bit dim.”

Just then, I got a call from Old Fox Zhou.

“Kid, control yourself. Don’t get lost in the land of tenderness,” Old Fox laughed as soon as he spoke.

“That’s jealousy. I have my tenderness; what do you have?” I teased.

“You little brat, come report in,” Director Zhou growled.

Bureau Nine was very secretive. On the surface, it was a suburban garden, but the office was underground, spanning nine levels.

“Director Zhou, nice place,” I said as I entered his office, where he was watering flowers. I looked around and sat down in his director’s chair.

“Trying to take my place?” Old Fox chuckled.

“Heh, why don’t you move over, then?” I retorted.

Before the words were out, a blast of magical energy struck at me. I flipped aside, jumping out of the director’s seat.

“Director Zhou, just joking, don’t take it seriously. By the way, what’s the mission you called me here for?” I asked.

He sat down solemnly, saying, “After discussion, we’ve decided to initiate an infiltration plan into the Netherworld. Bureau Nine is forming a covert team to enter the Netherworld.”

A chill ran through me. I pointed at myself. “Director Zhou, don’t tell me I’m on that team.”

“That’s right. Not only are you on the covert team; you’re the leader,” Old Fox said.

“Uh, Director Zhou, maybe you should pick someone else. Going undercover in the Netherworld is too dangerous. I can’t take this on,” I said outright. Going undercover there was practically a death sentence.

“No one else but you,” Old Fox insisted.

“Look at me—how do I look like a Nether Realm cultivator? Besides, I know nothing of the Netherworld, nor its language. You want me to go... I’m not afraid to die, but I fear failing this critical mission and causing immeasurable losses,” I said.

Old Fox laughed heartily. “Don’t pretend with me. You’re human when you want to be, ghost when you want to be. This mission belongs to you. As for the language and some basics about the Netherworld, someone will teach you.”

“Then why doesn’t that teacher go instead? Starting from scratch is such a hassle,” I said, eyes darting.