Chapter 32: It

At five a.m., the Oil Peach Girl lay on the ground, vomiting nonstop—she had reached her limit.

“I can’t stay—I have to go down the mountain…” The Oil Peach Girl struggled to rise, trembling as she left the woods.

Since Li Banfeng left, the Oil Peach Girl had also considered going down, but whenever she saw others still picking flowers, she couldn’t bring herself to leave.

Affected by the toxic mist, Oil Peach’s efficiency plummeted; in the past eight hours, she had gathered only three Snake-Spotted Chrysanthemums, spending most of the time resting.

She knew she was dizzy and blind, barely able to walk, yet seeing everyone else picking flowers made her feel a deep unease.

That’s how people are: when they see others making money, they feel cheated, as if the gold pool lies right before them, just within reach if they grit their teeth and grab one more handful.

But now, after enduring this long, she could no longer hold on.

As she walked down the mountain path, she faintly heard footsteps behind her.

Oil Peach startled, clutching her waist pouch, and spun around sharply.

The sudden turn made her vision sway, and she fell to the ground.

Someone was indeed chasing her—it was the little girl, Grass Leaf.

Grass Leaf rushed forward, helped Oil Peach up, and pulled a small porcelain bottle from her chest: “Sister, I’ve got Cool Powder—take a bit, it’ll help. If you don’t trust me, I’ll take some first…”

Oil Peach smiled, took the bottle, swallowed a mouthful, rested a moment, and truly felt better.

“I’ve taken so much of your medicine today—sister truly feels indebted,” Oil Peach opened her sack and pulled out five Snake-Spotted Chrysanthemums. “Don’t refuse—it’s not much, but take it.”

Grass Leaf shook her head: “I’ve gathered more than you—I’ve got plenty. I still need your protection on the way down.”

Oil Peach pinched Grass Leaf’s cheek, smiling warmly: “Come on, let’s go together.”

The two walked downhill, and less than an hour later, a figure blocked their path.

Grass Leaf startled, hiding behind Oil Peach.

Oil Peach had traveled the world—she still had some composure.

She scanned the mountain path, then called out to the man: “Brother, are you looking for Snake-Spotted Chrysanthemums? I can show you a better spot—plenty of good flowers there.”

Through the thick mist, the man laughed: “I think right here is the best spot. I think these two flowers of yours are just fine.”

The voice sounded familiar.

Oil Peach smiled: “Brother, you’ve got a sweet tongue. If you call me a flower, I’ll swallow my pride and accept it—but this little girl’s barely a child. At most, she’s a bud. Can you really sink that low?”

As she spoke, Oil Peach reached out to Grass Leaf, signaling her to hand over the Cool Powder.

After swallowing a bit of Cool Powder, Oil Peach felt slightly better—she realized this confrontation couldn’t be avoided.

The man took two steps forward; in the darkness, his bald, greasy scalp gleamed.

It’s that bald man again!

“I won’t waste words with you two,” the bald man wiped his cleaver. “Hand over the flowers, and I’ll let you live.”

As he spoke, three henchmen emerged from behind him.

Grass Leaf trembled, clutching her waist sack tightly.

Oil Peach patted her, signaling her not to panic.

Elixir cultivators can’t fight, but they should know how to use poison—does this girl have any poison on her?

But why didn’t Oil Peach just hand over the Snake-Spotted Chrysanthemums and save her life?

Because she’d walked the world—she knew what kind of men these were.

They were in the wild mountains, two women alone.

Even if they gave up the flowers, they might not survive—and they wouldn’t die easily.

Oil Peach let out a soft laugh, winked at the bald man, and cooed sweetly: “Brother, you say such cruel things—how can a real man bully two weak women? Can you really do it?”

The bald man grinned: “I’m actually a bit reluctant. How about this—you two serve me together. Whoever pleases me best gets a flower as a reward.”

“Brother, one flower’s not enough! If I work harder, can’t you give me more?” Oil Peach twisted her body, every curve exuding seduction.

Especially her voice—like honey-dipped goose feathers brushing back and forth along the spine.

The bald man’s heartbeat quickened; so did his three henchmen’s.

“You bitch! So you’re the pleasure cultivator—you’re the one who slipped the poison earlier!” The bald man spat. “You think you can trick Grandpa? Today I’ll make you taste real pain!”

All four charged forward; Oil Peach drew two short knives from her waist.

…

In the small grove, Old Smoke Cannon placed the last of his tobacco into his pipe, lit it, and sucked hard twice.

“I’ve got enough,” Old Smoke Cannon said. “Gentlemen, farewell.” He had gathered ninety-one Snake-Spotted Chrysanthemums—the most of anyone in the group.

But he too had reached his limit.

He’d used tobacco oil to shield his throat, filtering much of the mist—but he was old, and after nearly twenty hours in Bitter Mist Mountain, he was spent.

As Old Smoke Cannon rose to leave, Tiger Cub stepped forward to block him: “Old man, don’t rush—the sky’s not even light yet. Wait a bit.”

Old Smoke Cannon sensed something wrong, sizing up Tiger Cub: “You planning to rob me?”

Tiger Cub smiled: “Old man, don’t speak so harshly—we teamed up, didn’t we? Shouldn’t we look out for each other? You’re carrying so many fine flowers down the mountain—something’s bound to happen. Let us hold them for you, return them once you’re down.”

“Hold them for you?” Old Smoke Cannon laughed. “Thanks for the offer, but we’re strangers—our path ends here.”

Tiger Cub blocked his way: “Old man, leave your sack. I’m truly looking out for you.”

The old man sneered: “You little brat—I saw through you and that glasses-wearer long ago.”

“When the bald man came, you two just shouted and did nothing—playing good cop, bad cop, telling jokes.”

“By the time the fight was nearly over, you two rushed in pretending to be heroes—you’re in cahoots with the bald man!”

He was speaking to Qin Xiaopang.

Qin Xiaopang stood frozen, confused why Tiger Cub and Old Smoke Cannon were arguing.

Hearing this, he began to understand.

Old Smoke Cannon continued: “When we climbed up, the bald man robbed us once. When we reached the picking ground, he robbed us again. You played the good guy, but you were just letting him test our strength.”

“If we were weak, he’d strike first—we’d lose our flowers and scramble back to recover them. Then at night, you’d sweep them all up.”

“If we were strong, you’d stop him from acting—then at night, once we scattered, you’d pick us off one by one.”

“Little fat boy, the one who came with you—Bai Sha—is probably dead already. Those two girls are likely dead too. If we don’t move now, we’ll die at the hands of these two bastards.”

Hearing this, Qin Xiaopang quickly tucked his sack away and grabbed his axe.

Gold-Rimmed Glasses adjusted his glasses, smiling: “Don’t act rashly. Listen to me.”

“Old Smoke Cannon, your eyes are sharp—but you’re too greedy. With your cultivation, you could’ve left early—we couldn’t have stopped you.”

“But you insisted on staying until now—you can barely stand, can’t you?”

“I can tell you’ve walked the world, but this is your first time on Bitter Mist Mountain.”

“You think your tobacco oil can block all the mist? If it could, Bitter Mist Mountain would be ruled by smoke cultivators!”

Old Smoke Cannon laughed: “Tobacco oil won’t block all the mist—but it blocks most. Far better than you two, who’ve held out this long. Try it if you don’t believe me.”

Gold-Rimmed Glasses sighed, pulled out a handkerchief, and wiped his lenses: “I shouldn’t waste breath on fools like you.”

Tiger Cub drew his dagger: “Just kill him. Who’s going to stop him if he wants to die?”

Old Smoke Cannon looked at Qin Xiaopang.

Qin Xiaopang was still thinking about the right moment to strike.

Before he could act, Tiger Cub suddenly leapt forward and kicked him in the face.

Food cultivators, when well-fed, possess superior physical gifts—they run fast, fight hard, endure blows, and have some resistance to toxins.

But individually, none of these gifts make them the best.

For example, in combat, Qin Xiaopang was clearly inferior to Tiger Cub, who was a Wu Xiu.

The kick caught Qin Xiaopang off guard; Tiger Cub lunged with a knife toward his belly—but Qin Xiaopang barely dodged.

He avoided the belly stab, but took a punch to the chin, stumbled, and fell. Tiger Cub kicked his face again, knocking him unconscious.

Tiger Cub raised his blade to finish him—when suddenly, yellow smoke surged behind him.

Tiger Cub dodged the smoke; a shower of sparks struck his face.

Both Tiger Cub and Gold-Rimmed Glasses claimed to be First-Level cultivators—but that was just bluster. Neither had a true level. Old Smoke Cannon was a real First-Level cultivator.

Gold-Rimmed Glasses couldn’t handle Old Smoke Cannon alone, and Old Smoke Cannon wouldn’t let Tiger Cub finish Qin Xiaopang.

Old Smoke Cannon admired Qin Xiaopang—because when the bald man attacked, Qin Xiaopang was the only one who truly fought back.

After dealing with Gold-Rimmed Glasses and Tiger Cub, he might face the bald man on the way down—having Qin Xiaopang as an ally would help.

Seeing he couldn’t kill Qin Xiaopang right away, Tiger Cub joined Gold-Rimmed Glasses in attacking Old Smoke Cannon. Old Smoke Cannon wielded his pipe—smoke and flame swirling—to fend them off. At first, he held the upper hand, thinking he’d finish them in the time of one pipe.

But when the pipe was empty, he hadn’t won—he was in dire straits.

A smoke cultivator without smoke lost a full level of power.

Old Smoke Cannon fought and retreated; Gold-Rimmed Glasses swung his folding fan with increasing ferocity.

That didn’t make sense—Gold-Rimmed Glasses had been on the mountain all day too. Why show no signs of poisoning?

Surrounded and with no escape, Old Smoke Cannon exhaled his last breath of smoke—a blade of vapor struck Gold-Rimmed Glasses’ face.

Gold-Rimmed Glasses waved his fan, dispersing the smoke.

Dispersing it didn’t help—the smoke was poisoned. Old Smoke Cannon spat out the poison hidden in his false teeth.

Tiger Cub clapped his hands over mouth and nose, retreating, tears and snot streaming down his face.

Gold-Rimmed Glasses coughed twice—unaffected.

Old Smoke Cannon froze. Why didn’t the poison knock him down?

Could he be a poison cultivator?

Damn it!

His last breath was spent—he’d gained no chance to escape.

The folding fan fanned vigorously before him, causing Old Smoke Cannon to catch a strange scent.

Trouble!

His fan is poisoned!

Old Smoke Cannon’s vision blurred—he realized he had been poisoned!

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(End of chapter)