Chapter Thirty-Five: The Flower of Dark Crimson

“Well now, the beautiful dark elf—fancy meeting you here.”
Bai Shengye stretched lazily as he rose from the sofa, straightened his rumpled clothes, and reached for the medicine chest on the nearby table.
“Besides me, is there a second genius apothecary in the Holy City? Who’s the injured friend? If it’s that one with the black wings, I’m not helping.”
“Uh… you guessed it. Why not?”
As he passed by Ling Xiaolei, the scent of women’s perfume clung to him. She waved her hand dismissively, displeased.
“I’ve always only treated women, never men. But since you came to find me in person, I’ll make an exception this once.”
Entering Blackfeather’s room, Bai Shengye approached the bedside, donned white gloves with almost obsessive care, and examined him—surprised to find only internal injuries, nothing visible on the surface.
“Bai Shengye? Why is it you?” Blackfeather asked, startled.
Bai Shengye sighed. “Enemies always cross paths.”
As Blackfeather tried to sit up, Bai Shengye pressed him back down. “You’re the patient—stay put.”
“Good thing I didn’t bring the Divine Fruit today. I didn’t expect those people to transform—what a miscalculation,” Ling Xiaolei grumbled.
“Transform?” Bai Shengye pressed, already preparing a potion.
“Yes—they injected some strange drug called… Ogre Elixir! Their skin turned dark, bodies swelled, and their strength and speed increased severalfold.”
“Ogre Elixir…” Bai Shengye’s expression darkened.
He thought to himself: “Research Institute, White Scorpion—the disgrace cast out from the House of Apothecaries. He sullies the name of the Apothecary Immortals…”
“You know about the Ogre Elixir?” Ling Xiaolei probed, watching his face.
“The attackers—did they have scorpion tattoos on their faces?”
“Yes!”
“If I’m right, the leader is called White Scorpion—a fugitive for years. Ten years ago, he founded a laboratory, extracting dark matter from monsters for potion research. Later, such research was strictly forbidden, and he vanished.”
“The laboratory—where is it?” Blackfeather abruptly tried to get up again.
“Lie down, lie down—patients shouldn’t move around.” Bai Shengye stopped him at once, handing over several small vials.
“Drink these.”
Blackfeather looked skeptically at the vials, unsure of their ingredients or effects, but downed them all in one go. At once, a warm current surged within him, stagnant energy began to flow, and his strength gradually returned.
“I’ve heard it’s near the old battlefield…” Bai Shengye said offhandedly.
He picked up his medicine chest and headed to the door, waving a hand.
“No need to feel indebted. I’m only helping for Boss Ling’s sake.”
Seeing the color return to Blackfeather’s face, Ling Xiaolei’s heart finally settled.
“Blackfeather, you rest here. I’ll go find Boss Ling—maybe he’ll teach me magic.”
“All right.”
Ling Xiaolei darted out, excitement in her step.
At that moment, Ling Xi sat in a room lined with bookshelves on all four walls, quietly reading a tome filled with intricate magic circles, an ancient candelabrum burning on the desk before him.
Ling Xiaolei tiptoed to the door and entered.
“Sit,” Ling Xi indicated the chair opposite him with a glance.
She looked around in awe; though the room was not large, it was filled with towering shelves, every book inscribed with archaic dark elf script—rare treasures, she thought. “Wow… so many books,” she marveled inwardly.
“You want to learn magic?” Ling Xi asked, direct as ever.
After the recent battle, she felt acutely her own insignificance and powerlessness. The same binding spells, when used by Ling Xi, could kill in a single blow; hers—delicate chains—were torn apart by the transformed monsters as if they were nothing.
She nodded solemnly. “Yes, I want to learn magic. Lord King of the Dark Elves, please accept me as your disciple.”
Ling Xi waved a hand. “No need to call me King of the Dark Elves—just Boss Ling is fine. I once had a disciple; I have no intention of taking another. If you wish to learn, come here often and read.”
He handed her the book in his hands.
Its weight dragged her hands down; the cover was exquisite yet worn, much of the title illegible. She opened it, the yellowed pages thin as cicada wings, and as she turned them, a rush of ancient, potent energy seemed to rise from every line—she could almost sense the power sealed within the text.
The writing was in the ancient tongue of the dark elves, and she found herself filled with reverence for this magical tome.
“Legend says this book was written by the progenitor of the dark elves herself, recording all the spells she mastered in her lifetime. It’s yours now.”
“Such a precious book? Are you sure you want to give it to me?!” Ling Xiaolei was incredulous.
“The mark on your forehead is the one spoken of in legend—the ‘Chosen Maiden.’ Perhaps only in your hands will this book fulfill its true purpose.”
“The Chosen Maiden… what does that mean?” Ling Xiaolei frowned, trying to recall. She remembered Ling Xi mentioning the ‘Chosen Maiden’ the first time they met.
“Nothing more than an ancient prophecy. It’s been passed down so long, no one knows if it’s true or false. Think of it as taking a chance. Besides, the book serves no purpose with me—all but two spells at the end I’ve already mastered, and those last two remain a mystery to me. I don’t expect to uncover their secrets.”
“What? If even you can’t grasp their meaning, how can I hope to understand…”
“You never know—like I said, perhaps it’s luck.” Ling Xi smiled gently.
She turned to the final pages. In the flickering candlelight, she saw a magic circle of bewildering complexity—far more intricate than any she’d encountered. At a glance, she felt her magical strength nearly drained, dizziness overcoming her—a testament to the power contained within.
“No, no, this is too profound… how could I ever master such a thing…” She quickly closed the page.
“No need to rush. These two spells are said to be the most arcane secrets of the dark elves. Of course you can’t understand them now. Still, even just carrying the tome, the runes and incantations within will empower you in battle.”
Ling Xiaolei flipped to the very last page. There were no words, only the drawing of a dark red flower—its five petals exquisitely formed, the corolla drooping, with a burst of stamens like countless teardrops.
“What flower is this?” she asked.
“It’s a legendary blossom—grows beside the Tree of Life.”
Ling Xiaolei was inexplicably drawn to the mysterious flower. She felt, in a daze, that she had seen it before somewhere, yet could not recall when or where.