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A Quiet Village, Shadows of Power
In a humble village, three figures strolled leisurely. Leading them was a dashing youth in simple robes, his silver-white eye gleaming subtly—Lan An. Flanking him were two cloaked figures, their faces veiled, genders obscured by wide robes and conical hats—Li Zhu Luan and Bai Su Mei.
"Mostly mortals here," Lan An transmitted to his companions.
"Naturally," Li Zhu Luan's gentle voice replied. "The spiritual energy's faint, and it's remote. Cultivators rarely linger."
"But people mean we're near the next city," Bai Su Mei added, nodding.
After three days of travel, Lan An, Li Zhu Luan, and Bai Su Mei reached this rustic hamlet. Its inhabitants, mainly farmers, lived peacefully, a stark contrast to the bustling, conflict-ridden Ling Wu City. The tranquility held its own charm.
"Let's rest," Lan An suggested.
The women smiled, nodding. Constant travel grew tedious, and though minor beast attacks posed no threat to their trio, a break was welcome.
They entered a roadside teahouse, its sign boldly proclaiming First-Rate Teahouse. The owners, an elderly couple, greeted them warmly. The wife's back was hunched, the husband's left arm missing, their white hair a testament to age.
"Welcome, honored guests! What would you like?" the old woman asked cheerfully.
The old man deftly wiped a worn wooden table with his single hand, inviting them to sit.
"What's your best refreshment?" Lan An asked, smiling.
"Haha, you've come to the right place!" the old man boomed. "At First-Rate Teahouse, we've got green tea, sugarcane juice, fruit blends—top quality!"
Lan An's trio stifled grins, eyeing the modest setup: rickety tables, thatched roof, a patch of sugarcane, and neatly arranged fruits. Though humble, it was immaculately clean.
First-Rate Teahouse? Bold indeed.
"A pot of your finest green tea and two fruit juices," Lan An said, amused.
"Right away!" the old woman beamed, preparing the tea.
The old man, with practiced ease, sliced fruit with a sharp knife, passing them to his wife. She pressed the juice, filtering it through fine cloth into cups.
"Here you are," the old man presented their order.
"Thank you," Lan An nodded, turning to the women. "Drink up, ladies."
They lowered their hats, revealing neatly pinned hair, and lifted their veils slightly, sipping elegantly.
Their eyes sparkled. "Delicious!" they exclaimed in unison.
"Haha, of course! I grow the sweetest, finest fruits myself," the old man said proudly, stroking his beard.
Curious, Lan An sipped the tea. A refreshing aroma filled his mouth, crisp and fragrant.
"Excellent tea. Worthy of First-Rate Teahouse," he praised silently.
At their cultivation, food and drink were unnecessary, rarely impressing them. Yet this humble teahouse offered surprising delight.
"Thank you, kind guest," the couple smiled broadly.
Nearby, village women in plain cloth whispered: "Heard about the disappearances? Half a year ago, entire villages vanished mysteriously."
"My husband said it stopped a month back. No idea why…"
"Maybe beasts? They've eaten their fill and paused."
"Who knows? Pray it doesn't reach us."
Lan An and his women exchanged glances, nodding subtly. The vanishings were the Blood Spirit Triad's doing, halted by Lan An's interference. He felt a quiet satisfaction, his actions not in vain.
"Old man, more tea!" an arrogant voice demanded.
Lan An glanced over. Five cultivators in matching earthen-yellow robes entered, led by a Foundation Establishment Perfection figure—likely from a minor sect.
Ignoring them, Lan An and his women sipped leisurely.
"Right away, honored guests!" the couple bustled about.
The cultivators noticed Lan An's striking appearance, his silver eye, and the veiled women, their curiosity piqued. Probing, they sensed no cultivation—a sign of either true mortals or experts far beyond their perception.
Better not provoke them, they decided.
Soon, another figure entered—a bald monk in saffron robes, barefoot, middle-aged.
"Amitabha," he intoned, his gaze lingering on Bai Su Mei with intent.
Lan An frowned. The monk was Nascent Soul Perfection, a rarity in this backwater teahouse. Too coincidental.
Unconcerned with others' affairs, Lan An signaled his women to leave, calling for the bill.
"Nine coppers," the old man said.
Lan An froze, realizing he carried only spirit stones, not mortal currency. Embarrassed, he scratched his head.
The women giggled, their melodious laughter drawing the cultivators' gazes.
"I'll pay," Li Zhu Luan chuckled, producing coppers from her storage ring.
Lan An grinned sheepishly, ready to depart.
Enchanted by Li Zhu Luan's voice and jealous of Lan An, the cultivators forgot their caution. One sneered: "A man letting a woman pay? Disgraceful."
"Shameless," another chimed.
"A pretty boy, calling himself a man?"
"Pity, such beauties wasted on him."
Lan An's brow furrowed. He hadn't provoked them.
"Die!" Bai Su Mei snapped, her loyalty to Lan An ignited. Her Star-Silver Sword flashed, soul power surging, unleashing a razor-sharp sword qi toward the cultivators.
"Not good!" The cultivators paled, the qi locking them, sweat beading as fear gripped them.
"Amitabha, show mercy!" the monk intervened, clapping his hands, sending a golden palm print to intercept the sword qi.
Clang!
The sword qi sliced through, though its power diminished by ninety percent, allowing the cultivators to deflect it.
They glared at Bai Su Mei, furious.
"Monk, what's your meaning?" Lan An's face darkened. Another meddler like Fan Kong?
"Amitabha, young donor, why ally with this venomous demoness?" the monk pointed at Bai Su Mei, somehow discerning her beast nature.
"Venomous?" Lan An growled, his silver eye glinting coldly.
Bai Su Mei's eyes widened, stung by the accusation.
Intimidated by Lan An's aura, the monk stumbled back, toppling a table.
"Please, our teahouse is small. Take conflicts elsewhere," the couple pleaded.
"Shut up!" a cultivator barked, regretting their provocation.
"Am I wrong? Your noble bearing shouldn't be swayed by this demoness," the monk persisted, sanctimoniously.
Lan An's fury blazed. His Phantom Charm Wander Step flashed, closing the distance. Wood spiritual energy condensed in his fist.
Spirit Fist!
For insulting his woman, only battle would suffice.
"Mere Mysterious-Grade technique," the monk scoffed, clasping his hands. "Golden Sand Protection!"
A golden aura formed a saffron robe around him.
Boom!
The clash sent the cultivators sprawling, bleeding from their orifices.
The monk's face twisted in shock. His Golden Sand Protection flickered, nearly collapsing under Lan An's punch.
Lan An sneered inwardly. His Heavenly Wood Cauldron hummed, its devouring force siphoning the monk's spiritual energy.
Unsatisfied, Lan An prepared to press the attack. Insulting Bai Su Mei crossed his line—today, this monk would pay.
Li Zhu Luan, ignited by the cultivators' taunts, locked onto them. "Ten Thousand Wood Bind!*"
Vines erupted, coiling toward the cultivators.
"No! Combine our defenses!" they cried, unleashing spells.
"Hmph, overestimating yourselves," Li Zhu Luan scoffed, her Nascent Soul power surging. The vines, fortified, overwhelmed their resistance.
As the vines closed in, a sudden anomaly struck.
"Our teahouse is small. Fight elsewhere," the old man said, waving his hand. Space tore open in a vast rift.
The old woman nodded, her hands grasping. A terrifying suction force erupted.
"Danger!" Lan An, using Thousand-Mile Piercing Sight, sensed their move first.
Panicking, he abandoned the monk, flashing to his women with Phantom Charm Wander Step, pulling them close.
"Hold tight!" he roared.
Stunned but obedient, they clung to him.
The immense suction engulfed them.
"What's happening?!" the cultivators screamed.
"Who's this expert?" the monk gasped, trying to flee.
The old woman flicked her wrist, and the rift swallowed everyone.
The village fell silent. The old man closed the rift, satisfied.
"Where to?" the old woman asked.
"Randomly," he shrugged.
"Sigh, time to move again," she said.
"Haha, we've played enough. Let's return," he laughed heartily.
As curious villagers gathered, the old man waved, sending them into a deep sleep.
"They'll forget us," the old woman sniffled. "Such kind neighbors."
"It's for their good," he sighed.
"Those Blood Spirit Sect flies are noisy lately. Deal with them," she instructed.
"Rest assured, no one within ten thousand miles will touch this village," he vowed, ensuring its safety despite cutting mortal ties.
"Good. I'll pack," she nodded, heading inside.
Moments later, the teahouse vanished, replaced by towering trees, erasing all traces.
The villagers awoke, confused, their memories of the kindly couple gone.
Unbeknownst to them, for generations, powers within ten thousand miles would silently guard their village.
Eternal peace…