But Jiaoqiu was also a little displeased.
"Ha, honestly I also think that slipping the kid some laxatives or something would make it easy to test his true strength. But after all, he's provided so many treasures for the Xianzhou. Using such methods is… ill-timed."
"Mm, the bigger reason is that the general explicitly forbade me from doing that."
This time Moze didn't sneer at Jiaoqiu. Instead, he shifted the topic: "Tell me, do you think that kid's Trash Cans might contain medicine that could cure the general?"
Jiaoqiu's narrowed eyes opened slightly. That was indeed the greatest reason he was willing to spend his time keeping watch here.
A man who could create something worthy of an Emanator—could he also save an Emanator?
If he could, then Jiaoqiu would not need to risk venturing into The Shackling Prison to find that dangerous Borisin warlord.
Hoolay… such a perilous figure—best left as the very last resort.
Upstairs in the little shop, Sylvester lay sprawled back in a chair, feeling utterly empty.
Ten Trash Cans—snatched up the moment he opened the shop, bought in one go by the people who had been waiting early at the door.
Ten million Credits in an instant. The money came far too easily. No sweat, no effort—money without value. Or so Sylvester thought.
He checked his account: ninety-eight million Credits. Which meant, just two more Trash Cans, reaching a hundred, and the daily Trash Can quota would rise to twenty—one of which would be a Rich Trash Can, with a greatly boosted chance of producing something good.
But more importantly, he would finally earn the system's special reward, shedding his "weakling" status to become a real expert.
The thought revived his spirits. The memory of Feixiao taming the [Four Swords of Slaying Immortals] yesterday was still vivid—the tension of that unsheathed sword energy made him burn with envy.
Master divine skills, become a martial expert, laugh proudly across the land, roam famous mountains and rivers, carefree and free-spirited.
What boy didn't have such a dream when young?
Though he'd grown out of his chuunibyou phase years ago, in this universe, such things were not just in novels—there were real people doing it.
And more importantly, now this dream was truly within his reach.
Tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow.
Oh, right—those two. Thinking of Feixiao, Sylvester tilted his head toward the tea stall nearby.
Why hadn't those two left yet? Already at their eighth cup, and not a single trip to the restroom—were their kidneys made of steel?
They had changed clothes, true, but unfortunately for them, Sylvester recognized them.
They weren't NPCs. With main characters right outside his door, pretending not to notice was too much of a test for his eyes.
Others thought they were captivated by the fictional narratives of the storyteller's oracle bone inscriptions, but Sylvester could clearly see—they were watching him.
Most likely Feixiao felt he was too cautious around her, so she had sent those two instead.
As he grumbled inwardly, Sylvester suddenly spotted a flash of pink drawing nearer. Rising, he walked toward the counter.
No need to guess. He was definitely coming for him.
Fu Xuan entered with a blank face, shoving open the shop door.
"Oh, morning, Fu—" The moment she stepped in, Sylvester's eyes landed first on the curve that should not have been there, and his heart filled instantly with amazement.
He blurted out: "The effect's that good?!"
He couldn't help it—it wasn't his fault his eyes were sharp. The situation really was a hundred times more sci-fi than the [Four Swords of Slaying Immortals] or [Imagine Breaker].
If not for the fact that those two [Fenglong Pills] had come from his own stock, he might've suspected this was Huohuo in disguise.
Oh, but Huohuo wasn't that big either? Then never mind.
Hearing Sylvester's words, Fu Xuan didn't immediately take them as rude—her expression actually softened a little.
At last, someone with discernment. Too bad it was an insider.
"Ahem, apologies, but the Trash Cans were just sold out. Starting the day after tomorrow, stock will double daily. Coming later then won't be a problem."
Fu Xuan said, "No. I didn't come for that. Besides, this week's quota has already been used."
Sylvester slapped his forehead. Right—he'd forgotten. He'd been so conditioned by all the people pestering him all morning that he reflexively assumed she was another buyer.
But if not for Trash Cans—what did she come for? Work at the Divination Commission surely wasn't that leisurely.
"I came to fulfill my promise." Fu Xuan's expression shifted into something more complicated.
Hm? Oh—right. That.
Yesterday, Fu Xuan had promised him: to repay him for verbally crushing Skott, she would, once things were settled, have a "private talk" with him.
So, she was here to make good on that promise.
"Whatever request you have, speak it. I will… accept them all." Fu Xuan crossed her arms, her face seemingly stern.
But the flush gradually spreading across her cheeks betrayed her heart.
She simply didn't believe that this unserious man would make a serious request.
But having given her word—well, as long as it wasn't too excessive… it wasn't unbearable.
Hearing no reply for a long while, Fu Xuan cracked one eye open, sneaking a glance at Sylvester.
But Sylvester only stood frozen, his mind torn by a dilemma.
Accept them all?
Then… wouldn't that mean he could push the boundary—just a little? She probably wouldn't be angry over just a little, right?
So, should he toy with Master Diviner's dainty feet? Or scoop her up and spin her around? Or pinch her soft cheeks? Or maybe… make Master Diviner wear cat ears and meow? So hard to choose…