High School of Demon Hunting
Chapter 1241 - 303: Blood Drop

Chapter 1241: Chapter 303: Blood Drop

"Life and magic have one thing in common," he said, "and that is wonder."

"Every life is an incarnation of wonder, and every spell a result of it."

Mr. Wu sat by the iron stove, shaking an old palm-leaf fan in his hand. As he fanned the flames and muttered old folks’ prattle at the small red clay teapot, he would occasionally lift his cup and take a sip of tea, seemingly quite content,

"...and we wizards are the witnesses of wonder."

At this, he seemed to sense something and abruptly turned to look at a corner of the bookstore. The bookshelves there were crammed with books, but Mr. Wu’s gaze did not rest on them. Instead, it seemed to pierce through the books, the thick walls, and the vast emptiness, looking towards some corner of the world.

After a while, he added with an admiring tone, "...we are also witnesses of history."

He then shook his fan again, and the milky-white flames that had subsided slightly flared up once more, sending out slender tongues of fire that licked the jujube-red walls of the teapot.

"Crack."

A faint sound suddenly arose from the corner of the bookstore but stopped abruptly; if one were not paying attention, they might think it was an illusion.

But Mr. Wu had always been perceptive.

"I thought you weren’t coming back today, so I gave the dried fish to Boss Huang over at Hui Zi Ji, whose granddaughter just adopted a Persian cat that is quite picky," Mr. Wu said without looking back, calmly shaking his palm-leaf fan, "If you want some, catch your own in the Star Sea."

No one replied, just a faint ’creak’ echoing from the depths of the bookstore, as if a cabinet door had been opened.

Moments later, the frustrated voice of the Yellow Flowered Cat came through:

"This has nothing to do with me, not one copper’s worth. Why deduct my little dried fish? Does your conscience not hurt?! Those dried fish are mine! They were stored here by me, how could you just give them away so casually?"

"It was given to a cat," Mr. Wu corrected, "Furthermore, those little dried fish... I caught them for you while hunting... Opening a shop for so long, my biggest lesson is that accounts must be settled clearly."

The Yellow Flowered Cat, fuming, darted out from the shadows of the bookstore’s corner, jumped onto the desk next to Mr. Wu, glared with wide eyes, arched its back, and made a mewling sound from its throat, scratching at the desk as if it wanted to pounce but dared not make the move.

Mr. Wu glanced at it sideways:

"Add another layer of barrier to that little sapling. The shop is too fiery; don’t let it dehydrate."

Hmph, the Yellow Flowered Cat immediately withdrew its pouncing stance, turning its head to look at the transparent sphere floating next to its shoulder. Perhaps it was an illusion, but it also felt that the sapling inside the sphere seemed a bit more wilted than before.

"It must be an illusion," the Yellow Flowered Cat muttered somewhat guiltily, opened its mouth, and puffed out a bubble. The bubble expanded in the wind, swiftly swelling from the size of a soybean to that of a basketball, enveloping the sphere beside its shoulder.

The ’bubble’ then contracted and tightened, shrinking to the size to a volleyball and added a ’membrane’ to the transparent sphere.

The silhouette of the young sapling inside the sphere grew increasingly blurred.

Mr. Wu shifted the palm-leaf fan from his right hand to his left and inquired at leisure, "Weren’t you off to deal with those two mice’s misfortune? How come you’re back so quickly?"

Mentioning the two mice, the Yellow Flowered Cat’s petulant temper exploded anew.

"I told you from the start that those mice should not be kept around... but you, oh you kept feeding and breeding more! Now what? After making a mess they scamper away, and you can’t even find them!"

The Flower Cat cursed and grumbled, adeptly scooping up Mr. Wu’s teacup from the side, took a couple of licks of the tea, and while complaining about past wrong decisions, he also denounced the two mice’s cunning and stealth, lamenting the hardships of a cat’s life:

"One can only say, they truly live up to being mice, slipping away smoother than real rodents... It’s been many years since I’ve hunted mice, a bit rusty perhaps, but it doesn’t matter. Give me some time, I’ll turn over every nook and cranny of those two mice’s lair for you!"

Mr. Wu curled his lips, glanced at the teacup that the Yellow Flowered Cat had used and, with a flick of his hand, conjured a new cup for himself.

Two plumes of steam ’puffed’ out from the small red clay teapot on the iron stove, drawing the attention of the bookstore owner and the Flower Cat once again.

"How long has it been brewing?" asked the Yellow Flowered Cat, stretching its neck curiously.

"A good hour or so, about right," Mr. Wu responded vaguely, not providing an exact time. He lifted the lid of the teapot, craned his neck to peek inside, then nodded affirmatively, "Indeed, about right."

The Yellow Flowered Cat let out a world-weary sigh, "I told you from the beginning, you could have just taught him yourself and all would have been well. Why insist on sending him to school? Buji Island these days is full of turmoil and mixed characters; even a Great Diviner can’t predict what will happen in the future..."

"I’m stronger than a Great Diviner," Mr. Wu reminded softly.

The Yellow Flowered Cat choked as if a fishbone got stuck in its throat, its voice stopped abruptly, its feline face puffed up, and after a long moment, it emphasized, "...Even if you’re stronger than a Great Diviner, you can’t be that much stronger... Haven’t you seen that boy punished every other day? Not a year has passed, and he’s already reduced to dust and reboiled in the crucible?"

"That is true," nodded Mr. Wu, lifting his head as if recalling something. After hesitating briefly, he picked up the lid of the pot again and then extended the index finger of his left hand, the thumbnail lightly scratching the pad of the index finger, drawing out a drop of crimson blood, which slowly fell into the small red clay teapot.

The milky blood at the bottom of the pot seemed stimulated, the flames suddenly grew more intense, and muffled thunder-like sounds emanated from within the teapot, rumbling and causing the lid to hum.

Then Mr. Wu retracted his finger, lounged back comfortably with hands cupped, "...Next time, he shouldn’t explode so easily, I suppose."

The Yellow Flowered Cat recoiled its head, ’heh-heh-ing’ as if suppressing a mouthful of phlegm.

After a while, it screeched, "You already gave him a drop of your blood without so much as a fuss? I’ve slaved away for so many years, barely saving a few dried fish, and you’re always skimping on them... Does your conscience not hurt?!"

This was the second time it had brought up the issue of ’conscience’.

Mr. Wu felt it was necessary to directly address the question.

"I believe that whether it’s you or me," he said, bending a finger to point at himself for emphasis, "discussing matters of the ’heart’ in our current state is quite a luxury. Moreover, even when in perfect condition, we must weigh pros and cons and not only rely on conscience."