Chapter Nine: Consuming the Fruits of the Hive

“Mom, are you trying to get me killed?” Qin Xiaomo shouted as she dashed toward Qian Mubai. The moment she stepped into the pavilion, the swarm of wasps caught up with her, but the pavilion seemed to be shielded by an invisible barrier—they simply couldn’t enter and buzzed anxiously outside.

“Out you go.” Qian Mubai lifted a delicate finger as he sipped his tea.

“Why don’t you go out there yourself?” she retorted.

“I cleared this challenge when I was six.” Qian Mubai glanced at her, his tone insufferably dismissive.

“I don’t want to get stung into a pig-faced mess!” Qin Xiaomo’s voice trembled with the threat of tears.

“Do you want to enhance your spiritual power? If you do, go out there and defeat all fifty wasps. Or…” Qian Mubai paused.

“Or what?” Qin Xiaomo’s hope flickered at the prospect of an alternative.

“You can look for the wasps’ weakness. Every creature, every person, has a weakness. Find it, and you’ll succeed.”

“If I get stung this many times, will I die?”

“No, at most you’ll be swollen and in pain. Apply my medicine and you’ll recover in three days.” Qian Mubai pulled a green porcelain bottle adorned with a landscape painting from his sleeve and set it on the table.

Qin Xiaomo rifled through her backpack. There was nothing inside but a wooden staff gifted by the Sage Hongjun. Why hadn’t she edited the stats when she’d had the chance? Now she regretted it bitterly.

She raised the staff and asked, “If I defeat these wasps, how much spiritual power will I gain?”

“At least enough to reach the early stage of Earth Level, second tier.”

Qin Xiaomo did the math in her head. The spiritual power hierarchy was clear: nine tiers of Earth Level, nine of Heaven Level, each split into early, middle, and late stages. Four levels, give or take—not bad. With that, she inched toward the pavilion’s edge, staff in hand.

“Aren’t you going yet? Do you want me to throw you out?” Qian Mubai said, enjoying the show.

No sooner had he spoken than Qin Xiaomo felt a strong shove from behind. She was thrust into the midst of the wasps. “Damn it! You’re a dirty trickster!” she shouted, flailing her staff wildly.

“What does ‘dirty trickster’ mean?” Qian Mubai asked, unfamiliar with the term.

“It means you set people up!”

Qian Mubai’s lips twitched, and he put down his teacup, watching as she swung her staff with all her might in the swarm. Welts were already rising, red and angry, on her face and arms.

Not long after, he heard her cry out, “Qian Mubai, I can’t go on!” Her voice was weak, the staff dropped from her hand, and she crouched down, clutching her head.

“Get up! If you stay like that, you really will get stung to death.” There was a trace of urgency in Qian Mubai’s voice.

“Didn’t you say I wouldn’t die?”

“That’s if you keep fighting. If you don’t defeat them, they won’t stop unless you die or leave this place.”

“Then let’s go. We’ll come back with some gear another day,” she pleaded.

“You can’t use any outside equipment. When you’re leveling up your spiritual power, any external aid will make all your efforts amount to nothing, or at best you’ll absorb much less. Here, you have to rely on yourself. If you want to grow quickly, persist.” Qian Mubai’s fist clenched inside his sleeve.

Qin Xiaomo’s wounds throbbed with pain and numbness, each one seeping blood that stained her white gauze dress like a field of glaring roses. Every wasp sting felt like jolts of electricity surging through her body. She was starting to lose control of her limbs; her mind was growing numb. But she refused to surrender.

She racked her brains: what were wasps afraid of? In cartoons, people always ran or… jumped into water.

She leaped into the nearby creek. The water was about a meter deep, not icy as she’d imagined, but warm, soothing her wounds as if it could heal them.

The wasps circled furiously on the surface, unwilling to give up. Holding her breath, Qin Xiaomo thought, “I can’t get out, but what if I drag them in here?” She opened her eyes underwater, spotted a small basin on the creek bed, and grabbed it. Suddenly, she stood, flinging a basinful of water at the swarm. Instantly, over a dozen wasps were swept into the creek and carried away.

Seeing their comrades lost, the other wasps went berserk, attacking her again and again. Ignoring her pain, Qin Xiaomo hurled basinful after basinful of water at them. After collecting several more wounds, she finally washed away the last wasp.

Qian Mubai flew from the pavilion, plucked her out of the water, and before she could react, she was already back inside the pavilion.

He produced a pink gauze dress embroidered with peach blossoms and handed it to her. “Go change behind that big rock. Don’t catch a chill.”

“Did I… pass?” she asked in a trembling, slurred voice.

Qian Mubai nodded firmly, looking at the bloodied yet resilient girl. A rare feeling of tenderness flickered in his heart.

Seeing his nod, Qin Xiaomo managed a weak smile before rolling her eyes and fainting. Qian Mubai caught her in his arms and hurried her back to the manor.

Lotus Moon Pavilion, Qian Mubai Residence.

“Doctor, how is our young mistress? Why hasn’t she woken up yet?” Liulu asked softly at the bedside.

After a moment, the doctor looked up. “She’s not in serious danger—just exhausted and poisoned by the wasps. Apply the medicine and she’ll soon recover.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Liulu was inwardly delighted that the young master himself had carried the young mistress home. She saw the doctor out.

Qian Mubai gazed at Qin Xiaomo, still unconscious in bed, and quietly ushered everyone else out so she could rest undisturbed.

Qin Xiaomo didn’t know how long she’d slept. In a daze, she opened her eyes and heard Liulu’s delighted voice calling from the doorway, “The young mistress is awake! The young mistress is awake…” She hurried to the bedside and asked softly, “Young mistress, are you hungry? I’ll bring some congee. I just applied your medicine, so be careful not to smear it on the bedding.”

“Liulu, I’d like some water,” Qin Xiaomo said, propping herself up on her elbow.

“I’ll get it right away.”

Liulu hurried out to the sitting room to pour water. Just then, Jiang Wei knocked at the door and called toward the bedroom, “Young mistress, the young master sent me to check on your wounds. I also brought White Dumpling for you.”

“Come in. I’m too tired to get out of bed,” Qin Xiaomo replied, still feeling weak all over.

Jiang Wei entered quietly. On his shoulder, the little white dumpling was happily gnawing on an osmanthus cake, its face dusted with crumbs. Seeing its mistress awake, it leapt from Jiang Wei’s shoulder, bounded onto the bed, and nuzzled Qin Xiaomo’s face with its head.

“Hey, hey, hey—could you at least wash your face first? You’re getting crumbs all over my bed,” Qin Xiaomo said, exasperated but fond.

Noticing that Qin Xiaomo was only wearing an undergarment, Jiang Wei quickly retreated, fearful the young master might find out and scold him. Qin Xiaomo looked down at her long-sleeved shirt and trousers—nothing immodest. Apparently, modesty wasn’t reserved for ancient times; in any era less developed, people remained reserved.

She lay back, happily rubbing and cuddling her little white dumpling. She hadn’t seen it in so long—it was just as adorable as ever. But as she played, one of the wasp stings on the back of her hand accidentally reopened and began to bleed. The dumpling immediately darted over and began to lick the wound. Qin Xiaomo was about to stop it when she realized, to her astonishment, that the wound was healing before her very eyes. In moments, the bleeding stopped and the skin became smooth and unblemished.

Amazed, Qin Xiaomo lifted the little white dumpling and exclaimed joyfully, “Little one, what kind of magical spirit beast are you? You’re incredible!”