Chapter 530: Riddle-Man, Get Out of Gotham

“A little, just a little.”

Zhang Jie replied modestly.

Although in this life and his previous one, he had no real study of tea,

unfortunately, he was a man blessed with advantages—Zhang Jie existed across all worlds.

The Zhang Jies from The Heaven Sword and the Dragon Saber and Water Margin drank daily the tribute teas sent from all regions,

and after drinking so much, he naturally gained some insight.

“Hmm.”

Xu San wasn’t particularly surprised by this.

Zhang Jie had once trained at Long Hu Mountain; as for tea knowledge,

those Daoist masters who spent their days cultivating the Dao and debating metaphysics were all experts,

and under their influence, Zhang Jie’s modest mastery was no surprise.

Piapia.

Zhang Chulan smacked his lips but detected no special flavor—only that the tea smelled slightly more fragrant than ordinary tea.

After chatting with Zhang Jie for a few moments, Xu San turned his attention to Zhang Chulan.

“Chulan, on behalf of Baobao, I apologize to you.”

Xu San suddenly bowed solemnly to Zhang Chulan.

“That crazy…”

Zhang Chulan was about to blurt out “crazy woman.”

The crazy woman who nearly dug up his grandfather’s grave was unforgettable.

“Cough, cough.”

Zhang Jie coughed tactfully a few times.

Feng Baobao’s status in the Xu family was self-evident.

In internet terms, from Old Man Xu Xiang down to the Not-Three-Not-Four duo,

everyone in the Xu family were Baobao’s fanboys.

To speak ill of Feng Baobao in front of them—tch…

“Uh, Third Brother, was that sister sent by you?”

Prompted, Zhang Chulan immediately changed his words smoothly.

This man before him was the assistant to the regional director of a government agency,

and worse, the director was his own father—he, a plain, weak, pitiful ordinary cultivator, couldn’t possibly offend such a powerful figure.

“Haha, Baobao’s behavior is a bit… simple…”

Thinking of Feng Baobao’s ways, Xu San felt deeply awkward.

Digging up graves was always hard to accept.

Although Feng Baobao had gone to investigate the condition of Zhang Chulan’s grandfather Zhang Xilin’s grave,

she stood before it at night with a shovel, and the grave had been dug open—it was enough to spark wild imaginations.

‘More than simple—it was brutally crude.’

Zhang Jie internally seethed at Xu San’s forceful explanation.

For a rival he might not beat, she’d sneak in under cover of night, knock them out,

then bury them alive—only Baobao’s mind could conceive such a thing.

After digging a pit and burying them, only Bao'er Jie could come up with such a scheme.

Zhang Chulan also offered an awkward but polite smile.

With Xu San saying this much, could he keep pressing the issue?

He could only laugh it off and let the matter drop.

“Chulan, what are your plans for the future?”

Setting aside Feng Baobao’s crude and simplistic conduct,

Xu San lifted the teapot and refilled Zhang Jie’s and Zhang Chulan’s nearly empty cups.

Zhang Chulan picked up his cup, took a small sip, then put it down:

“I’m still a student at Nankai—I’ll prioritize my studies for now.

As for the future, maybe I’ll just find a job and live a quiet, ordinary life.”

He had no great ambitions in life.

His grandfather’s death and his father Zhang Yude’s disappearance had taught him

that grand, dramatic lives weren’t necessarily blessings—perhaps true peace lay in quiet simplicity.

Zhang Jie and Xu San’s gazes met for an instant, each seeing in the other’s eyes a sense of sorrow.

Zhang Chulan was only eighteen—normally a time of youthful arrogance, when one believes fate is in one’s own hands,

when every young person dreams of being the hero of the world, the one who shapes the heavens and earth.

Yet this boy had the demeanor of a middle-aged man past forty, jaded and worldly-wise.

It proved how deeply experience shapes a person’s character.

Years spent hiding, tiptoeing, especially after his grandfather’s death and his father’s disappearance,

having to shoulder life’s burdens alone and suppress all secrets deep within himself,

had stripped him of the innocence typical of his peers.

Xu San sat down opposite Zhang Chulan and adjusted his black-rimmed glasses:

“You want a quiet life? It won’t be that simple.”

Zhang Chulan said nothing—he knew Xu San wouldn’t stop there,

that he had more to say, and all Zhang Chulan needed to do was listen carefully.

But Xu San didn’t continue—he asked instead:

“Do you know why, despite the existence of the cultivator world, your grandfather hid your family’s identity?”

“Even the cultivator world won’t accept us?” Zhang Chulan’s expression turned grim.

Since learning of the cultivator world from Zhang Jie, he’d been pondering this.

His grandfather Zhang Xilin had warned him since childhood that they were outsiders among people,

that they must never reveal their differences—or disaster would follow.

He’d assumed his kind was so rare, so unwelcome among ordinary people, that hiding was necessary.

But if the cultivator world was made of outsiders like him, why did his grandfather still teach him to hide?

The only explanation was that even among other outsiders, his family remained outsiders—unacceptable!

“You’re clever. With so little information, you’ve deduced so much.”

Xu San gave Zhang Chulan a long, deep look.

This boy, half his age, possessed wisdom far beyond his years,

giving Xu San the eerie feeling he was looking at his own reflection.

“Your family, even within the cultivator world, are outsiders—

or rather, your grandfather Zhang Xilin is an outsider who cannot be accepted by the cultivator world!”

Xu San spoke with deep implication.

“Hey, Third Brother, stop playing cryptic!”

Zhang Jie, growing impatient beside him, interrupted Xu San’s riddles.

Being the riddle-maker himself was far more enjoyable;

watching someone else do it made him want to slap them hard—Stop being a riddle-maker!

Riddle-man, get out of Gotham!

‘You little brat!’

Xu San shot Zhang Jie an irritated glare.

Was he playing riddles?

He was building atmosphere, laying psychological groundwork for a deeper conversation with Zhang Chulan!

Once he held absolute psychological dominance, Zhang Chulan would spill everything—

truthfully, fully, without holding back.

He might even ask what age he stopped wetting the bed or whether he’d ever done manual labor.

But Zhang Jie, this fool, had ruined the perfect setup.

‘I swear, this kid wasn’t like this before.’

Xu San suddenly realized that Zhang Jie, whom he’d once thought he understood, had grown increasingly profound these past days—

like an iceberg floating on the sea: small and clear above the surface,

but the vast, blurred mass beneath was the true face.

But what lies hidden beneath the sea surface, blurred and indistinct, is the true face.