Chapter 38: Paying a Visit

Inside Wangshu Pavilion, Lu Mingfei sat cross-legged.

Su Lin tapped Lu Mingfei’s third eye with one finger, murmuring softly:

“Qi emerges from the dantian, spirit dwells in the inner palace…”

He was helping Lu Mingfei locate the sensation of Qi—and fortunately, the things he’d eaten earlier had proven effective.

Or perhaps Lu Mingfei’s own latent talent was not insignificant.

After more than twenty minutes, Su Lin withdrew his finger and silently exited Wangshu Pavilion, leaving Lu Mingfei alone to cultivate.

Kleine: “You there...”

Kleine sent a private message.

Su Lin: “I’m here.”

Kleine: “Could you come to Rongcheng? No. 35 Chunhua Road South...”

Kleine: “Chunyu Xuan Private Kitchen...”

Su Lin: “Hmm, no problem. Are you treating me to dinner?”

Kleine: “Mr. Zhongli spent quite a bit.”

Su Lin: “No need to explain—I understand.”

Before Zhongli and Kleine left, Su Lin had given them a sum of cash.

“My fault.”

For others, the amount might have been enough—even if not, they’d have contacted him first.

But for Zhongli…

This man had no concept of money at all; after all, how could you expect someone who once controlled wealth and printed currency himself to understand its value?

Even the toy distributor from Zhongli’s homeland could only shake his head.

Su Lin arrived in Rongcheng via a teleportation portal, stepped out from a concealed spot, and hailed a taxi at the entrance of a residential compound.

The weather in Rongcheng today was poor—thick clouds hung low in the sky, the atmosphere gloomy and gray, like a filter over the eyes.

Money was sufficient for Su Lin’s own needs, but if group members came to visit, he’d need to think of a solution.

Though occasional new funds had trickled in during anti-gang operations, they were unverified income and couldn’t be deposited in large sums to the bank.

He had distributed most of his cash to patients from impoverished families at hospitals and to welfare homes.

He kept some cash on hand, but not much—after all, he was a cultivator now; once the greatest desire—immortality—was satisfied, other desires naturally shrank.

If he truly needed money urgently, he had ways to obtain it.

If all else failed, he could send his historical projections out to work—earning several incomes a day was quite substantial.

One must admit, historical projections were incredibly useful.

It seemed he needed to boost his financial reserves and address his identity documentation issues as well.

In truth, Su Lin had his own small calculations behind these actions.

If possible, Su Lin hoped group members would frequently visit his world in the future.

The items available for exchange in the system—he admitted, sometimes he did think about them.

After verifying through various means, this world was ordinary, with virtually no transcendent power.

But what if?

Having read web novels for over a decade, he had considered every possibility.

Could it be that former transcendent beings had merely moved to another corner of the stars?

Or another possibility: transcendent beings had traveled to another world, and over time, the ancient ones who had departed would one day return—along with their enemies.

Had the chat group never appeared, what would his life as a system host have been? A joyful, carefree urban farming existence—or would he one day have been swept up by the tide of the age, forced to grow under pressure and shoulder the burden of saving the world?

Preparing in advance, preventing trouble before it arises—there’s no harm in that.

Sitting in the taxi, Su Lin propped his chin in his hand, forehead pressed against the window, watching the crowded traffic outside.

Shuijing Peak had already taken on the initial form of a cave heaven and blessed land—or perhaps it already qualified as one.

He wanted group members to frequently come to Shuijing Peak to cultivate and discuss the Dao, and to wander freely across Earth in this world when they had time.

Ye Fan could return to his own Earth after ten or twenty years, but Xiao Yan and Kleine would find it nearly impossible to return to theirs.

Everyone’s home is unique and irreplaceable; Su Lin merely hoped this Earth might offer a sliver of comfort when they missed their homelands.

Once group members regarded Shuijing Peak and this world’s Earth as places they could visit often, should some great calamity or hidden conspiracy ever arise in the future, some members might willingly step forward and lend what aid they could.

If at that time the group members’ strength was sufficient—like Han Li, Ye Fan, Xiao Yan, possessing the power they achieved in the later stages of their novels—then all threats would be paper tigers.

Though with the system and the chat group, Su Lin believed he too could one day reach the peak, who could say what the future held?

Oh, one could know—just pay more. World-class fate items start at 100,000 points; beginner Dàyǎn Scripture: 8,000; proficient: 80,000; master: 800,000; and you bear the backlash of the Dao yourself.

Su Lin believed that under normal circumstances, if he faced danger, group members would still reach out to pull him out—but if the crisis threatened this world, he couldn’t possibly ask others to come here as world police to uphold justice and peace.

Not realistic.

So when helping newcomers wholeheartedly, Su Lin had this small agenda in mind.

Many of the spiritual plants and herbs Lu Mingfei ate today came from Su Lin’s own herb garden—rare treasures that would spark conflict and plunder in any other world.

Consider it an investment.

Of course, Su Lin hoped all this was merely his own excessive suspicion, his imagination running wild.

Isn’t urban farming nice? Isn’t it better to wait for group members to take off and carry you along?

Live as a laid-back elder in the city, enjoy freedom for decades more, wait for technology to advance—or one day meet a group member from a world with advanced tech, and experience a real metaverse.

“Sir, we’re here. Don’t zone out,” the driver, thickly accented, reminded him: “Twelve yuan.”

“Master, let me scan your payment code.”

Su Lin closed the taxi door and walked to the entrance of a lane with a Republican-era style—he had searched for it on the way.

This restaurant claimed to represent modern Sichuan cuisine and had gained some fame both domestically and abroad.

The kitchen had only one senior chef and a few apprentices; the rest were service staff. Reservations were generally required—walk-ins rarely got tables.

Walking about a hundred meters along moss-covered stone slabs, the sign for Chunyu Xuan hung on the wall.

“Good day, sir. Do you have a reservation?” asked a young female server, barely twenty, softly.

“I’m here to see my friend. Guoyu Room,” Su Lin named the room Kleine had mentioned.

The young server’s eyebrows twitched slightly; she covered her mouth, voice tinged with amusement:

“I thought it might be Dvalin in cosplay. Please follow me.”

“...”