Today, Fu Yunmo was in charge of delivery. Yes, delivery. She hadn’t expected this ancient world to be so “progressive,” but here she was, filling in for a sick coworker named Zeng Dazhuang. Normally, such a grueling errand wouldn’t fall to a female waiter, but Zhang the Pockmarked had exploited Manager Li’s preoccupation with the monthly accounts to dump the task on her.
Fu Yunmo walked through the bustling streets carrying food boxes, silently cursing Zhang to a lifetime of bachelorhood while politely greeting the neighbors.
“Miss Mo, out on delivery?” “Mm-hmm!” “Miss Mo, you’re looking energetic as always!” “Mm-hmm!” “Miss Mo, have you found a husband yet?” “…”
Hearing something she’d rather ignore, Fu Yunmo quickened her pace. Between her beauty and her striking golden hair, she was a local celebrity near the Si Hai Restaurant. Her friendly demeanor made her popular, but it also meant she was constantly dodging matchmakers.
After finishing her deliveries, she decided to stop at a tea stall for a hot drink. If delivery gives me a chance to slack off, I’d be a fool not to take it.
“Uncle Shen, a bowl of hot tea, please!”
Uncle Shen had run this stall for over thirty years. Usually a chatterbox, today he only gave a terse grunt in response. Fu Yunmo looked toward the stall and noticed a woman in deep purple martial attire sitting with her back turned. Her long black hair fell like a silken waterfall. Even from behind, she exuded an aura of peerless beauty. When Uncle Shen brought her tea, his hands trembled with fear.
“What’s wrong, Uncle Shen?” Fu Yunmo whispered, leaning against a pillar.
A sword rested on the purple-clad woman’s table. The scabbard was black and unassuming, yet the weapon—and the woman—felt dangerous.
“…It’s nothing. Just drink your tea,” Uncle Shen muttered. As she handed him a copper coin, she noticed his palm was ice-cold.
“Uncle Shen, who is she?”
“Don’t ask… her sword was dripping blood just a moment ago…”
Fu Yunmo’s heart skipped a beat. A woman who could calmly sip tea after a fresh kill? This was a level of violence she wasn’t ready for. She quickly finished her tea and left, but before she had gone two steps, the purple-clad woman “flew” out of the stall.
Literally flew. Her toes barely touched the ground as she glided like a butterfly. She wore a half-mask covering the upper half of her face. With a light tap of her foot, she vaulted onto the rooftops, pursuing a dark figure in black. Within breaths, both had vanished.
So… that’s real Qinggong (Lightness Skill), Fu Yunmo thought, dazed. It defies every law of physics!
The Shadow of the Demon Cult
“That woman… she’s from the Night Moon Divine Cult,” a disciple from the Shenren Sect muttered nearby.
“How can you tell, Senior Brother?”
“That movement technique is ‘The Shadowless,’ the signature skill of the Divine Cult. Only the Tianyuan Sect’s ‘Lotus Step’ can match its grace. But that black-clad figure she was chasing… their movement was similar. I couldn’t tell their affiliation.”
Fu Yunmo shivered. The Night Moon Divine Cult was the “Demon Cult” of this world—mysterious, dreaded, and rarely seen. What is a member of the Demon Cult doing here before the Assembly?
She hurried back to the restaurant, knowing she’d be in trouble if she lingered. Sure enough, Zhang the Pockmarked was waiting to berate her. Fu Yunmo simply smiled through his insults, treating his nagging like background noise. Her high emotional intelligence allowed her to stay calm, but someone else in the corner wasn’t so patient.
Nan Kunlun walked over, grinning. “Brother Pockmark, the guests at that table are calling for you!”
“Hmph. Birds of a feather,” Zhang grumbled, glaring at both Nan and Fu before stomping off.
“Sister Mo, you’re too nice,” Nan Kunlun said. “If he shouted at Brother Stone like that, he’d be flat on his back by now.”
“He’s just a bully who picks on the weak,” Fu Yunmo replied. “He’s worried I’ll take his potential spot as a manager. My smiling just makes him feel like he’s punching cotton—it frustrates him.”
A Lesson in Etiquette
As Fu Yunmo was clearing a table, Zhang the Pockmarked approached again, looking ready for another round of insults. Nan Kunlun stepped forward to intervene, but before he could, a chopstick whistled through the air, striking Zhang right in the knee joint.
“Aiyoo! My leg!” Zhang cried out, his knee buckling. He landed in a perfect single-knee kneel—directly in front of Fu Yunmo.
Fu Yunmo turned around, surprised to see him kneeling. She seized the moment with a mischievous grin. “Brother Pockmark! Why such a grand gesture? I’ve already forgiven you. Please, stand up!”
Zhang tried to speak, but the pain in his joint was so sharp he could only gasp like a fish out of water.
“Oh, Brother Pockmark, Sister Mo isn’t the petty type! Get up!” Nan Kunlun “helped” him up, only to “accidentally” let go halfway.
Thud! Zhang hit the floor again. “You little brat…!”
“Sorry, Brother Pockmark! My hand slipped!” Nan Kunlun suppressed a laugh as he finally dragged the limping man toward the back.
Fu Yunmo felt like she was walking on air. As she passed Manager Li’s counter with a tray of dishes, the old man spoke up.
“Lucky girl. Someone is looking out for you.”
Fu Yunmo stopped. “What do you mean, Boss?”
Manager Li tilted his head toward a specific table. Fu Yunmo looked over and saw Mo Lixi behind her veil. Beside her, Zhuge Tian’er was giggling, while Wen Ruoxian remained as stoic as ever.
Mo Lixi was the one who tripped him? A warmth spread through Fu Yunmo’s chest. She turned back to the Manager. “Don’t be jealous, Boss. It’s just my irresistible charm.”
“Get lost,” Li rolled his eyes. “I don’t have time for your nonsense.”
The restaurant forbade fighting, but Li didn’t mind a little “covert” discipline—especially since he found Zhang annoying too.
That night, when Fu Yunmo went for her wine, Manager Li looked up with a knowing smirk. “I’m heading in. Someone is waiting for you.”
Fu Yunmo looked up at the balcony. There stood Mo Lixi in her white robes, leaning against the railing. Though she was veiled, Fu Yunmo knew she was smiling.
She was as gentle as a poem, and as elegant as fine jade.