Chapter Six: Boiling Water from Afar

The atmosphere grew increasingly tense. Eyes lingered on the table, and Qiu Wan’er’s grip on the teapot tightened with nervousness. Though she was confident, a trace of fear gnawed at her; she felt as though the slightest lapse in concentration would see the teapot slip into her opponent’s hands. In that very instant, her body in contact with the tabletop sensed a faint tremor—subtle, yet unmistakably real. The old man had made his move, though strictly speaking, he hadn’t moved at all. His posture remained unchanged, his expression as proud as ever.

Instinctively, Qiu Wan’er felt as if the teapot in her hand shivered in tandem with the table. At a moment’s distraction, it almost seemed to drift toward the elder. Yet she was no pushover. Despite the disparity in spiritual strength, the old man was separated by a wooden table; whatever force he sent across was inevitably weakened. If she exerted herself fully, perhaps she would not be at a disadvantage. Resolving thus, she guided her own spiritual energy through her arm into the teapot.

Soon, the two streams of energy intertwined. In that instant, Qiu Wan’er realized her initial confidence had been misplaced; the old man’s power far exceeded her expectations. If her own energy was a gentle stream, his was a vast river, almost indistinguishable from the boundless waters. Stranger still, his energy seemed to flow through the teapot and table, gradually drawing toward him. This revelation shocked her: she was unambiguously at a disadvantage, and if this continued, she would surely lose.

Loss, such a word, is hard to accept for anyone—let alone Qiu Wan’er. At this moment, her resolve was singular: she must not lose. Although their original wager required them to sit across the table, she saw no reason not to change the rules. Such flexibility might be impossible for the men of the martial world, but as a woman, she held a considerable advantage. Suddenly, she lifted the teapot and, with a smile, said, “Your spiritual cultivation is indeed formidable, elder, but if I lift the teapot from the table, let’s see what you can do!”

The old man simply smiled in response, seemingly unbothered by her maneuver. Yet Han Tan Yi’s gaze darkened with displeasure; clearly, the young man was still tethered to the martial world’s code of honor. This look, however, came and went quickly. Especially as his gaze flickered over Qiu Wan’er’s face, a nameless worry surfaced. Though he and his junior sister bickered daily, their bond was as close as that between true siblings.

“Little girl, I won’t argue with you. Hold that teapot well, for now I’ll show you what I can really do!” The teapot, once lifted from the table, lost its medium for transmitting energy, diminishing its aura. No matter how powerful one’s cultivation, it was difficult to send energy more than three meters. Even within that range, it would be greatly weakened. Moreover, Qiu Wan’er was no ordinary opponent. While not among the top masters, she was still a formidable practitioner. Han Tan Yi’s original worry was that the old man would be angered by her tactic and lose his temper, ignoring all prior agreements. If a real fight broke out, even if he and Qiu Wan’er joined forces, they might not be a match for the elder. But now, with the old man’s words, his concerns faded, replaced by curiosity. At this moment, he sensed he was no different from the boatmen around him.

The old man slowly rose; his age showed in his movements. Yet as his energy surged, a flush appeared on his face, as if he was finally exerting himself fully. Han Tan Yi could feel a strong wind swirling around him, mingling with the fog rolling in from the bow, filling the air with a refreshing chill that sharpened his senses.

“So hot, so hot!” In an instant, the teapot, which had only been warm, began to emit steam from its spout. The steam thickened over time. At first, it trickled out; later, a jet of vapor shot forth, as if the tea was boiling. Qiu Wan’er, initially able to endure, soon found the teapot scalding, impossible to hold. She cried out, and her hands involuntarily loosened, letting the teapot slip through her fingers and fall.

“Seems you still can’t hold it, little girl. Then I won’t be so polite!” The old man laughed, settling onto the table as the teapot, which should have hit the ground, bounced up and flew into his grasp. He caught it effortlessly, as if it were at room temperature. Curiously, the moment the teapot left Qiu Wan’er’s hands, the steam subsided.

If this was inexplicable, the old man’s next actions left Han Tan Yi even more perplexed. The elder deftly picked up a teacup, and poured out tea of a yellowish hue—nothing unusual. Yet the tea was merely lukewarm; occasionally, wisps of steam rose from the surface, eerily reminiscent of the mist swirling across the river. Han Tan Yi, watching intently, saw every detail. His eyes widened, and he unconsciously stepped forward, as if to verify what he saw. But of course, nothing changed because of his actions.

“Elder, what sort of skill is this?” Curiosity compelled him to ask; it would be unbearable to hold it in. Yet halfway through, he hesitated, unable to bring himself to finish. The old man seemed to sense his meaning and glanced at the youth, then sighed softly and took a deep drink of tea, as if to quench his thirst. When the tea had gone down, he spoke: “Young people nowadays are rarely straightforward. The rules of the martial world are too restrictive. It was for this very reason I withdrew from society all those years ago. I never imagined that after so long, things would remain unchanged. Tell me, is a leaf golden or green? What’s the difference, really? You dared provoke the so-called lord of Yingyang City, so why are you so timid now?”

Han Tan Yi felt nothing at the mention of golden or green leaves, but when the words “lord” were spoken, he understood what the old man meant. His heart skipped a beat as he gazed at the elder, unable to look away. He had thought his actions flawless—how could it have been seen through? In that moment, he finally understood the meaning behind the earlier remark: “A good man, but his skills are lacking. What a pity.”

“Rest assured, I’ve never seen any golden leaves, nor do I know what they look like. As for that ‘bird lord,’ he’s nothing but a ruffian of the martial world. What skill could he possibly possess? To think marrying off a daughter could stir up such turmoil—old as I am, I find it rather distasteful. I had thought to stir things up myself, but since someone else took care of it, I’ll spare myself the trouble. Don’t you agree, young man?” The old man’s words were full of banter. Han Tan Yi understood well: to claim never to have seen them meant to deny any connection, and the ‘bird lord’ was clearly a reference to Shen Wansan. He called him ‘lord,’ but prefixed it with ‘bird,’ a term only this eccentric elder would dare use, given Shen Wansan’s reputation in the martial world. The old man’s mischievous spirit was evident—otherwise, he wouldn’t speak of ‘making trouble.’ Of course, the boatmen cared little for any of this; they focused on the wager, watching for the outcome.

Faced with the old man’s retort, Han Tan Yi found himself at a loss for words. He stood dazed, his gaze fixed on the elder, unsure of his intentions. One thing was clear: this strange old man was not here for Shen Wansan. If he had truly come to make trouble, after ten exchanges, Han Tan Yi would already be at the old man’s mercy.