Chapter 78: Brothers

With a single shout that the buns were poisoned, chaos erupted in the restaurant. No matter how busy the owner was, the accusation that his food was toxic compelled him to rush out. Looking inside, he saw three people seated at the innermost table: two middle-aged men and a young gentleman.

The two middle-aged men were strikingly odd in appearance. One, a burly, broad-shouldered man, wore the garb of a refined scholar, complete with a feather fan, and was at that moment gazing with disdain at the other—a thin, shriveled man clad in oversized armor that seemed to engulf his small frame, making him look utterly ridiculous. Given their attire, low profile was impossible for either of them. The burly man spoke in a voice as soft as a mosquito’s hum, “Erwen, really now. This is clearly the specialty of this old establishment. If you can’t stomach the vegetarian buns, don’t claim they’re poisonous. Look, look, now you’ve drawn all these strange glances. I wanted to keep things quiet, but that’s out of the question.”

The man called Erwen, small and reed-like, looked as though the wide armor was a basket perched atop a broomstick—laughable in the extreme. He replied in a buzzing tone, “Dawu, spare me. Don’t treat me like an idiot. This bitter taste is definitely not clean—there must be poison.”

The young man sitting between them watched their antics with resignation, covering his face with his hand. Both brothers were accomplished spirit cultivators, yet this journey had been nothing short of torment. They had finally arrived in Guihai City, only for this bun to stir up fresh attention.

The owner immediately recognized the specialty buns on their table and approached with a placating smile. “Gentlemen, that’s not poison. It’s our signature dish—‘Bitter Bun’. Made from bitter melon and other mildly bitter vegetables, it’s a vegetarian bun. Though it has a faint bitterness, it’s said to clear the mind and reduce internal heat.”

“Reduce heat? I’m robust—what heat could I possibly have? Damn Dawu, you didn’t even check before randomly ordering,” Erwen shouted.

“Chrysanthemum is a flower, bitterness brings clarity, food is flavor, and bitterness reduces heat. Good bun, good bun.” Dawu waved his incongruous feather fan, reciting nonsense. He reached for a bun, took a hearty bite, and his brows immediately furrowed, prompting Erwen to burst out laughing.

Erwen’s laughter caught the attention of Nalanhiner, who glanced over at Dawu’s pained expression and unconsciously pursed her lips into an adorable pout, her brows knitting in playful confusion.

The young gentleman between Dawu and Erwen happened to look up, forgetting the bun in his mouth as his gaze fell upon Nalanhiner’s unrivaled beauty.

Tian Huashan of the Haikun Gang was not a big deal among the myriad spirit cultivators in Guihai City, but for ordinary folk, he was someone not to be trifled with. The owner, just about to head to the counter, spotted Tian Huashan and immediately greeted him with a beaming smile and a respectful salute. “Master Tian, you honor my humble shop once again.”

Tian Huashan smiled and said, “Old proprietor, I must trouble you as usual—give us generous portions this time. We have five or six people.”

The owner nodded in agreement and hurried to the kitchen to give instructions personally.

Mo Bai called Nalanhiner back to their seats. She asked, “Uncle Tian, how long before the buns are ready?”

Tian Huashan smiled, “I just gave word—it’ll take three incense sticks’ time. Miss Nalan, you’ll soon taste the delicacy.”

Nalanhiner pouted, splitting her chopsticks and propping her lovely face on either side. “So slow! My stomach is already growling. Uncle Tian, why not use your Purple Dragon Palace technique to help the owner stoke the fire, so the buns cook faster?”

Erwen, the middle-aged man, chimed in.

Nalanhiner’s words were a jest to Tian Huashan, but to be mocked by others about his Purple Dragon Palace was intolerable. With a slap of the table, he roared, “Where did this wild fellow come from, daring to speak nonsense in Guihai City?”

“Ha! I’ll say what I please. Eating buns can’t stop your mouth!” Erwen shouted.

“No, no, Dawu, you’re wrong again,” Dawu responded.

“How am I wrong again?” Erwen asked, bewildered.

“The buns haven’t been served yet, so how could they stop anyone’s mouth?” Dawu explained, shaking his head.

“Oh, that’s true. What now?” Erwen asked.

“You have some,” Dawu hinted.

“Oh, right, good point.” Erwen turned to the young gentleman, “Young Lord Qing, are you finished eating? I’ll go hungry for a bit—I’ll let them have the rest.” Without waiting for a reply, he flicked his wrist, sending a plateful of buns flying toward Tian Huashan.

The plate, seemingly ordinary, was imbued with deadly intent. Tian Huashan saw a flash, and before he could react, the plate sliced toward his throat. Mo Bai, seated beside him, also saw the sudden movement. He raised his hand quietly, and with a sharp smack, the plate shattered just as it was about to strike Tian Huashan, splashing soup across his face.

“Ah, what a pity, Erwen! Clearly, your goodwill was not received,” Dawu mocked.

Erwen blushed. Others might be unaware, but he knew the truth—his casual toss was laced with his family’s unique spirit energy, making it impossible for ordinary people to dodge. Dawu and Erwen were none other than the Xu brothers from the Rakshasa Sect of Jade Ridge, accompanying Young Lord Qing.

“Ah, I thought the Spirit Ascension Tournament would be dull, but there are real experts here,” Erwen remarked, instantly recognizing Mo Bai’s prowess. He flickered across the cramped bun shop with a mysterious technique, landing beside Mo Bai, grabbing his shoulder, and asking, “Brother, what spirit technique did you use just now? With a slight movement, you were so swift and precise.”

Mo Bai thought, This man is formidable. My action was minute, yet he noticed. He smiled, “A trifling skill, not worth mentioning.”

Dawu, seated behind, shook his head, “If the methods of the Brushpoint Nun are mere trifles, then few on the Linglong Continent could claim mastery.”

Mo Bai’s expression remained unchanged, even though Dawu had hit the mark.

Erwen, still gripping Mo Bai’s shoulder, relaxed his hold upon hearing Dawu’s words. He looked at the young man under his hand with surprise—so calm in the face of upheaval. He quietly gave a thumbs-up. “Who would have thought there’d be a disciple of the Brushpoint Nun here—astonishing.” He believed Dawu’s words implicitly. Though the brothers were unconventional—Dawu dressed as a scholar, Erwen as a warrior—the trust between them was unshakable.

Many in the bun shop were spirit cultivators; the Spirit Ascension Tournament had unwittingly brought liveliness and prosperity to Guihai City, fueling business for the shops. All eyes turned toward Mo Bai.

“The buns are here!” Whether due to Tian Huashan’s renown or the owner’s foresight, the buns were promptly brought to Mo Bai’s table by the waiter.

Mo Bai eyed the steaming buns and smiled, “Gentlemen, my unworthy stomach cannot resist such delicacies. I shall enjoy one first.” He reached for a bun.

That arm happened to be the one Erwen was holding. As Mo Bai moved, Erwen snapped to attention—though the other was a disciple of the Brushpoint Nun, Erwen was undaunted. He quietly exerted force to block Mo Bai’s chopsticks.

Mo Bai shook his head in resignation, “Such fragrant buns.” He then picked up a bun and ate it heartily.

As Mo Bai spoke, Erwen felt a powerful surge of spirit energy emanate from Mo Bai’s arm, forcing his hand away. He stared at Mo Bai in astonishment, momentarily speechless.

In the distance, Dawu closed his feather fan, his interest piqued, and even Young Lord Qing turned his attention to Mo Bai.

“Mo Da, won’t you try some condiments? There’s excellent soy sauce, aged vinegar, or perhaps some chili,” Wu Luohua offered obsequiously.

“Yes, Mo brother, tell me what you like—I’ll get it for you,” Nalanhiner said eagerly, waiting for Mo Bai’s praise so she could quickly dig in.

“Original flavor is best,” Mo Bai replied, savoring the taste.

In the next moment, two pairs of chopsticks danced across the table—one moving with remarkable speed. In a flash, several buns were transferred to a dish, and the owner of the swift chopsticks said, “Yu, please enjoy a bun.” It was Wu Luohua, quick as lightning.

Nalanhiner looked at Wu Luohua in surprise, then threatened, “Little Flower brother, don’t make me use my Purple Eyes!”

Wu Luohua broke out in a cold sweat. Was it really worth it—for a bun?