A searing pain behind her eyes dragged Jin Ruyue back from the murky depths of unconsciousness. Her head throbbed, a dull echo to the sharp ache in her ribs. She lay on a surprisingly soft bed, the scent of dried herbs and something faintly sweet, like ripe persimmons, filling her nostrils. Sunlight, filtered through paper blinds, traced pale squares across the rough-hewn wooden ceiling. Memories flooded back: the desperate sprint, the pursuing celestial enforcers, the critical vial of Golden Dew, and the bewildered farmboy. Su Mian. She had to secure the Dew. Her mission was paramount, a matter of life and death for her faction, the Whispering Lotus. To fail meant eternal torment in the Starlight Abyss. The boy was a complication, a minor obstacle to be removed once the Dew was hers. She flexed her fingers, testing for injury. Her cultivation base felt intact, though weakened. Her concealed wrist-blades were still strapped beneath her sleeves. Good. This ‘Su Mian’ was a mere mortal, a farmer. She would dispatch him swiftly, silently, and be gone before dawn. Her gaze swept the small, tidy room. Simple, rustic furniture. A single landscape painting hung on the far wall, depicting a serene mountain lake. It was amateurish, yet… something about the brushstrokes felt oddly profound, as if the very air depicted in the painting held a tranquil weight. She dismissed it as a trick of her muddled senses. A farmer’s clumsy attempt at art. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, wincing slightly. Her torn robes had been replaced by a clean, coarse linen tunic and trousers, far too large for her slender frame. A quick glance revealed her personal effects – her communication talisman, her stored spirit stones – all neatly placed on a small table beside the bed. The farmboy hadn’t searched her, hadn’t even taken her valuables. An idiot, then. That made things easier. She padded silently to the door, her hand closing around a hidden hilt. Just as her fingers brushed the cold metal, a voice, gentle and unassuming, drifted from the main room. “Ah, you’re awake! Good, good. I’ve just brewed some Chrysanthemum tea. It’s excellent for calming the nerves after… well, after a fright.” Su Mian. Jin Ruyue froze, her muscles tensing. She could simply burst out, disable him, and take the Dew. Yet, something held her back. The pure, guileless concern in his voice was disarming. Or perhaps it was the lack of any discernible threat. No cultivation aura, no hidden weapons. He was just… there. The door creaked open. Su Mian stood in the doorway, a simple clay teapot held in one hand, two steaming cups balanced precariously in the other. He wore a clean, patched tunic, his face open and kind. His eyes, though. They held a serene depth that unnerved her, like gazing into a quiet, ancient pool. “Please, come. It’s still warm,” he offered, stepping back to allow her passage. Jin Ruyue’s mind screamed at her to strike, to seize the moment. But as she moved, as her eyes landed fully on the teapot, a phenomenon utterly inexplicable slammed into her. It wasn't a spiritual pressure, nor a martial intent. It was something far more ancient, more fundamental. The air around the teapot shimmered, not with energy, but with the very essence of existence. The ceramic, the boiling water within, the fragrant leaves – each particle resonated with an overwhelming, primordial harmony. It was the Dao. The unfathomable, terrifying, all-encompassing Dao, manifesting from a simple clay pot. Jin Ruyue’s heart, usually a fortress of iron, began to thrum with an irregular beat. Air hitched behind her teeth. Her spiritual base, refined across a hundred trials, flickered like tallow against a solar flare. She couldn’t move. Her muscles locked. The wrist-blade, meant for a swift kill, felt impossibly heavy, glued to her arm. “Are you alright?” Su Mian asked, his brow furrowing slightly. “You look a little pale. Perhaps you should sit.” He gestured to a low, polished wooden table where two cushions awaited. He set the teapot and cups down with a soft clink. Jin Ruyue finally managed to force a strangled sound past her lips. “The… the pot.” Her voice was a rasp. She pointed a trembling finger at the innocuous vessel, now sitting calmly on the table, radiating its incomprehensible power. Su Mian blinked. “Oh, this? It’s just my grandmother’s old teapot. It always makes the best brew. Would you like sugar? Or perhaps some dried ginger?” He picked up the pot, pouring a stream of amber liquid into a cup. The Dao, to Jin Ruyue’s horrified perception, pulsed with an even greater, unyielding might as he handled it, utterly oblivious. He pushed a cup towards her. “Please, don’t be shy. It’ll help.” Jin Ruyue sank onto the cushion, her legs giving out. The sheer absurdity staggered her. A mortal handled raw Dao like river gravel, extending a cup while oblivious to the universe-shattering weight in his grip. She felt a hysterical laugh bubbling up, quickly suppressed by lingering terror. “Thank… thank you,” she managed, taking a cautious sip. The tea was indeed exquisite, soothing her frayed nerves even as her core trembled from the close proximity to cosmic truth. Su Mian smiled. “Good. You should stay until you’ve fully recovered. The autumn harvest is coming soon, and I could use an extra pair of hands. The snow-cabbages need tending, and the frost-pears are almost ready for picking.” He poured himself a cup, sipping contentedly. Jin Ruyue nearly choked on her tea. Stay? Work? With this… walking paradox? Her mission! The Golden Dew! She needed to report back to her masters. “I… I appreciate the offer, but I have pressing matters.” “Nonsense,” Su Mian waved a hand. “You’re injured. And besides, it’s rude to rush off before properly thanking your host.” He gestured vaguely toward the yard. “The scouts from the Radiant Skydome are still lingering about the valley’s entrance, too. You wouldn’t want to run into them again in your current state, would you?” He was right. Too injured to fight them, too drained by the teapot’s presence to flee effectively. Jin Ruyue swallowed, her mind racing. This offered an opportunity. She could recover, and discreetly contact her masters from within the valley’s supposed sanctuary. The Golden Dew vial… where was it? “Ah, the Dew!” Su Mian suddenly exclaimed, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out the small, glowing vial she had given him. “I almost forgot. It seems quite potent. I wonder what it’s for?” He turned it over in his hand, the golden liquid swirling mesmerically. Jin Ruyue’s breath caught. He had it! The most valuable resource in the cultivation realm, capable of unlocking unparalleled power, and he was treating it like a curious trinket. She had to get it from him. “That… that is a potent elixir. It should be handled with extreme care.” Su Mian nodded thoughtfully. “Indeed. I suppose I should put it somewhere safe.” He glanced around the room, then toward the exterior garden. His gaze settled on a patch of pale greens, one wilted and sagging in the dirt. “Ah, poor little fellow. This one’s been struggling since the Mastiff incident.” Without a moment’s hesitation, Su Mian walked to the windowsill, picked up a small, dented metal watering can, and then, with an almost casual flick of his wrist, uncorked the vial of Golden Dew. Jin Ruyue froze in panic. “No! What are you—” Before she could finish, Su Mian tilted the vial, tipping the glowing nectar, the celestial soul-leech, straight into the rusty pail. He hummed a soft tune, completely unconcerned, and walked out into the garden. Jin Ruyue scrambled to her feet, stumbling to the sill. Su Mian knelt beside the limp stem. “There, there, little one. A bit of fresh moisture might just do the trick.” He tilted the tin, soaking the dry loam around the roots. The effect was immediate, horrifying, and utterly grotesque. The crop, instead of perking up, began to swell. Its leaves bulged, darkening to bruised purple, then splitting open with wet cracks. Veins, thick as ropes, pulsed beneath its waxy skin. It twisted, contorted, growing to an obscene size, its core elongating into a fleshy, misshapen stalk that thrashed against the soil. A guttural, agonizing scream tore through the peaceful valley. It wasn’t the sound of an animal, but something far worse – a human scream, filled with terror, pain, and a desperate, tortured plea. The very air around the mutating cabbage vibrated with suffering. Su Mian dropped the tin pail. It clattered against the dirt, ringing into the sudden, sickening stillness. His gentle features froze, locking into stunned disbelief. The sound, the voice… he knew it. He knew that agonizing cry better than his own heartbeat. It was the voice of his beloved grandfather. “Grandpa?” Su Mian whispered, knees locked, his stare fixed on the writhing vegetal flesh. The Heavens had never granted ascension. They had bestowed no divine rewards. They had harvested an old elder. The terrifying, soul-crushing truth slammed into him with the force of a thousand painted mountains, shattering his innocent world into a million jagged pieces. He stared at the monstrous growth, recognizing the cadence of the weeping cry. It was never ascension. It was a harvest, and the dead were merely produce.

Tea with a Spy