Chapter 49 The Sage
“Really.”
As soon as these words were spoken, George silently looked at Jima.
Jima maintained her usual expression, but as time passed, she naturally revealed a look of confusion and asked:
“George, what’s wrong?”
She looked just like a child who really wanted to go out and play.
George finally spoke up: “Be safe and come back before the nineteenth bell tolls.”
That is, before seven in the evening.
“Okay.”
Jima smiled and turned to dash towards the door, saying, “I’m free!”
“Wait.”
George called out to her, and Jima stopped, turning her head back.
“You forgot to take your backpack.” George held Jima’s backpack and handed it to her.
“Okay, thanks.”
Jima eagerly took the backpack, pushed open the door, and flung it shut with a heavy thud against the frame.
“I’m off,” she said while running down the corridor, her footsteps echoing with a “thump thump thump”.
It wasn’t until she ran out of the hotel that Jima’s innocent smile disappeared. She patted her flat chest and let out a heavy sigh of relief.
I almost thought I would give myself away… That performance should have fooled him; the clueless virgin would think I’m just a little girl who forgot her bag while playing.
Jima headed straight for the Furen Brothers Bank, pulling her hood to avoid the gaze of passersby.
Her eyes were a bit uncomfortable; it was due to her contact lenses shifting. Jima blinked and shed some tears, which made her feel slightly better.
Throughout her journey, glances occasionally fell on her. As she passed a dark alley, the looks of a few idle ruffians even made her feel a sharp tingle.
This meant their greedy target was her.
Jima immediately walked towards the busier area, only feeling relieved after the tingling sensation disappeared.
In places with good security, they would not dare to commit crimes openly.
Jima wore an inconspicuous hooded robe. The robe wrapped tightly around her, pressing down her hidden wings, making her uncomfortable.
Even dressed like this, I’m still being targeted. When will I be strong enough to flaunt my wings and tail without reservation?
Her longing for potion ingredients grew even stronger.
Walking along the road paved with white stones, she reached the intersection near the Furen Brothers Bank where the square was visible. The familiar sign came into view: “Magical Potions.” The entrance remained dim, with poor lighting.
It was in this very shop that she had ordered potion materials last week.
Jima pushed open the door, and the wind chimes jingled. A scent of licorice combined with a strong fishy smell rushed in.
Jima pinched her nose, taking some time to adapt to the smell inside the shop. As she glanced inside, a bright bald head was unusually prominent in the dimly lit store.
That unscrupulous bald alchemist was sitting behind the counter, head lowered, but made no move.
It looked just like a scene from a horror movie, where the person sitting had actually long since died.
Jima opened her “Desire’s Dual Eyes,” and colorful auras naturally appeared around the bald alchemist’s body. She remained on guard, looking left and right but found no ambushers, which made her feel secure.
She had previously worried that the bald alchemist would remember her eye color and wait for her here after seeing the bank’s bounty.
“Is anyone there?”
She walked towards the counter and shouted.
“Yes~ what is it?”
The bald alchemist slowly lifted his face, revealing a baggy-eyed, pale complexion that nearly frightened Jima. In less than a week, that healthy and robust bald alchemist now looked like a shell of his former self.
“What happened to you?”
“Me? I’m fine, recovering.” He recognized Jima and continued, “It’s you? The cute little girl, I remember you. Ever since you left last week, I couldn’t function. That bitch extorted a hundred gold from me that day, and if I didn’t give it, she would slander my good reputation.”
“Prostitutes don’t have a good reputation to begin with.”
“I can bring joy and hope to my fellow beings suffering from untreatable illnesses; it’s clearly as noble as a white angel, yet you look down on me.” The bald alchemist continued, “I gave and started treating my illness, using all kinds of precious potions, but nothing worked. Iran out of money; do you know what happened? That shameless woman came to ask me for money again, this time demanding two hundred gold! What does she think I am?”
Jima found herself uncharacteristically feeling sympathy for him. It seemed she had been a bit excessive back then, teasing him several times. Was it six times or seven?
“So, have you prepared the materials for my master?”
“There’s still a few days until the deadline.” The bald alchemist replied, “I spent a lot of money a few days ago.”
Jima expressionlessly extended her pinky, ready to tease him again. Let him taste the bitterness of abstinence.
“Haha, I was joking.” The bald alchemist suddenly laughed:
“If I hadn’t turned the tables and beaten that bitch, your master’s materials would have been delayed even longer. Of course, I ignored her; she just talked bad about me everywhere. This made my prestigious clients demand proof of my worth. But at that time, I truly couldn’t function, no matter how many potions I drank. Do you want to know how I turned the tables?”
Hearing that the dream potion materials were ready, Jima’s mood lifted as she eagerly asked:
“What is it?”
“Miraculous potion.” The bald alchemist chuckled and continued:
“I drank it, and a few minutes later, I was instantly healed. I quickly fulfilled the client’s demands; the client ordered a woman for me, I said one wasn’t enough, I needed three, and had to bring that bitch along too. In the room, she looked at me with disdain, but I showed her what I was made of, from morning until night. The client was astonished and immediately bought a large bundle of potions from me and even referred me to others.”
No wonder you look like a drug addict.
“So what exactly is this potion?”
“Ta-da! Here it is!” The bald alchemist pulled out a palm-sized glass flask, half-filled with golden oil, and placed it on the table, saying: “Made from the left testicle of the demon lord Kima.”
Jima’s expression visibly darkened.
“It’s well known that men are left and women are right, so the left testicle contains the essence of essences, harboring the endless energy and desire of the demon lord himself.” The bald alchemist lowered his voice, “Everyone is crazy for it, I specifically saved it for your master; once your master uses it, he will definitely pamper you even more. Heh heh, just 500 gold, I’ll only offer it to generous customers.”
Jima’s face turned cold as she pointed her pinky at the bald alchemist’s representative purple aura of lust, pulling it vigorously, her pinky twitching as she continued to pull. The energy within her seemed to drain away rapidly.
It wasn’t until Jima’s pinky was about to cramp that she finally stopped.
“What happened to your finger?”
“A congenital incurable disease. It spasms when it hears unhappy news,” Jima said, rubbing her pinky, “Where are the materials for my master?”
“Wait a moment, I’ll get them for you.”
The bald alchemist squatted down, preparing to secure the miraculous potion. As he looked at the miraculous potion that made him feel “revitalized,” he suddenly found it worthless.
The three questions of the sage arose in his mind:
Wasn’t it merely driving everyone to do repetitive and tedious piston-like movements? What good is bed work? Why do both men and women like it? How could I waste precious time on this?
He shook his head and secured the miraculous potion. After rummaging through the cabinet, he pulled out a black wooden box, placing it on the table, tied with a silk ribbon in the shape of a butterfly.
“It looks like a birthday gift for a little girl.”
Jima said, taking out the prepared purse from her backpack, which was heavy; a thousand gold coins weighed about twenty pounds, and she had to carry it with both hands.
It must have been this scoundrel in front of her who overcharged her.
The bald alchemist lowered himself, lifting the bag and placing it on the table, the sweet sound of coins clinking echoed throughout the shop. He opened the bag, and under the glow of the gold coins, the bald man seemed to shine a little brighter.
He raised his head and said, “Your master is truly generous.”
Jima’s heart was bleeding; this was half of her current fortune. She was left with only 989 gold coins and 22 silver coins.
Jima tiptoed, took the box, and opened it. Inside lay a wrinkled piece of flesh, dark and resembling an elephant’s trunk. There was also a completely green plant with no signs of withering; its roots were intact. Gazing at the plant made her feel a drowsy impulse.
Jima shook her head to wake herself up. After counting the materials in the box, aside from the Dream Eater’s nose and the whole dream grass, there was also a metal flat flask. When she twisted the cap off, she was hit with a strong smell of alcohol, instantly dispelling the remnants of sleepiness in her mind.
There was also fresh bird’s eye chili and a small bottle of ginger oil.
Jima nodded; it was quite complete and looked genuine. Although she had acted the fool once, the other party seemed to guarantee the quality.
“How is it?” the bald alchemist smiled and said, “I guarantee all are good items.”
“Mm, lend me the alchemical equipment.”
“You?”
The bald alchemist eyed Jima from head to toe, stopping at her delicate fingers that bore no marks, “Go away, alchemical equipment is not your toy.”
As a demon lord, one must, of course, learn to concoct potions, or what would happen if someone tried to harm oneself?
“My master wants potions, and I can brew them,” Jima said, “Could it be that you collected so much money but are too lazy to wash the alchemical equipment?”
He said, “You can let me handle it; I’m an expert.”
“No.”
“Just don’t blow it up.” The bald alchemist said as he opened the door, and Jima followed him into the depths of the store, reaching a room that looked very much like a kitchen.
It was a rural-style earthen stove. On the stove were several colorful ceramic jars, mortars, glass beakers, and test tubes. A leather bellows was very old, looking like it had been borrowed from a blacksmith.
Standing at the alchemical table, Jima felt as if she were about to cook.
The bald alchemist bent down, bringing a bag of charcoal and handing her an oil lamp, holding up an hourglass and saying, “This hourglass lasts one minute; don’t break it.”
“You can leave now.”
“Don’t be so secretive; just call me if you can’t manage it.”
The bald alchemist said, closing the door. He happily went to count the coins.
Jima stood by the stove, placing the charcoal inside, using the oil lamp to light the dry grass and ignite the charcoal. While the charcoal was burning, she picked up a kitchen knife and opened the system.
Although she had already memorized the recipe, she still carefully reviewed it, afraid of any oversights.
“I hope I can succeed and make it through the upgrade,” Jima muttered to herself as she raised the kitchen knife toward the Dream Eater’s nose.
