Olivia Thompson hadn’t expected William Foster to have this attitude. She instinctively wanted to refuse, but as the cold wind swept in, she couldn’t help but sneeze. Realizing that the mountains weren’t safe and that, in her current state, even the road to find her brother was dangerous, she swallowed her refusal.

After a moment of silence, she took out a piece of broken silver and placed it on the stone table in the courtyard. Without any expression, she walked past William Foster into the house. “Innkeeper, fetch some water.”

William Foster turned his head to watch her back as she entered, and couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “What a stubborn girl.”

Alice Carter sneered, “What a stubborn man.”

Watching the door close, William Foster lowered his voice. “How am I stubborn?”

“Who else brings a mace into the bath barrel?”

“Isn’t that just a sign of how close we are? Never apart…”

“Save it.” Alice Carter said mockingly, “She barged in and you curled up into a ball. You’re not afraid I’m a woman and might see everything?”

William Foster snorted, “Do spirit artifacts even have gender? Fine, even if they do, could such a manly mace give birth to a female spirit? Planning to steal a man’s body? Don’t be ridiculous. Even if you were female, you’d probably be big and burly with a face like a demon and a waist like a barrel.”

Alice Carter didn’t answer.

……

Olivia Thompson soaked in the hot water, absentmindedly observing the furnishings of the guest room.

It was an ordinary little wooden house, not even painted, but the woodwork was done with great care—the pillars were smooth and rounded, and one could almost imagine the boy’s focus and dedication as he worked. The clean wood was coated with a layer of smooth gel, apparently for pest prevention. On the windowsill sat a small pot of flowers, blooming quietly under the moonlight, their fragrance lingering and refreshing.

The quilt was plain white silk, exuding the scent of sunshine, neatly spread.

There was a painting on the wall, depicting misty mountains and forests. The technique was rather odd, as if drawn with a sharpened eyebrow pencil, only in black and white, yet it surprisingly conveyed depth and light, vivid and lifelike. In Olivia Thompson’s eyes, the painting was a bit too much like a craftsman’s work, lacking some artistic spirit, but for a young boy, it was already impressive, especially with such a novel style.

The painting was signed: William Foster’s doodle, Year One, Month Two, Day Eight.

She had no idea what this timekeeping meant…

All in all, it was elegant and fresh. Olivia Thompson could sense an attitude from it—a tranquil and refined way of life. It was hard to imagine this was the home of a country boy; there was no sign of those so-called mystical Daoists, but rather the air of a scholarly family.

The hot water in the tub was infused with herbs. The warmth seeped into her limbs and bones, driving away the chill from earlier, and the effects of the muscle-relaxing medicine were dispelled. The blocked meridians were cleared, and her true energy flowed once more.

Olivia Thompson found this person called William Foster to be full of contradictions.

He set traps at the gate, whether to guard against beasts or people, looking like someone with little sense of security and extreme caution. Yet, now that they were basically enemies, he actually dared to leave her alone in his home, removing all restrictions.

Was he just too soft-hearted?

Did he really think she wouldn’t take revenge?

Or perhaps he had some other confidence? Facing such a strange “Daoist,” Olivia Thompson couldn’t be sure if he had some unpredictable tricks up his sleeve.

She forced herself to suppress thoughts of revenge, exhaled, and reached for the washbasin at the edge of the tub.

The washbasin had been brought in by William Foster after he finished heating the water. Inside were a towel and some odd items. One was called fragrant soap, which William Foster said he made himself, to replace the usual soap pods for cleaning the body. There was also a kind of bath bean, supposedly for washing the face…

Olivia Thompson tried it. The water was silky and smooth, like washing with cream, with a faint fragrance. It was truly comfortable and left her feeling especially clean. Even her hair, previously sticky with some strange liquid, was now clean and shiny again.

And this… Olivia Thompson curiously picked up a wooden handle, one end densely packed with stiff bristles, fixed in place by some unknown method. William Foster said it was for brushing teeth, to replace the usual tender willow twigs… Along with it was his homemade so-called “toothpaste,” to replace salt powder…

Everything seemed strange, but she had to admit, they were really useful.

Was this the special trait of “Daoists”? Everything they made was stranger and more practical than the last.

But why hadn’t that group around Donghuazi invented these things? All they ever did was make aphrodisiacs and elixirs of immortality for her father…

Olivia Thompson even thought that just for these things, it would be worth dragging this Qin fellow to the capital…

Unexpectedly, she found herself agreeing with her brother for once. Olivia Thompson almost wanted to laugh, but quickly straightened her face. This William Foster had really offended her, and she wouldn’t let him off so easily!

She finally got up, took a set of men’s clothes from her bundle, put them on, tied her belt, and once again looked like a handsome young man.

When she walked out of the guest room, sure enough, William Foster wasn’t asleep. He was sitting in the courtyard, mixing medicine by moonlight, and she could faintly hear him muttering to himself: “Actually, I could ask Michael Bolton to bring back purple lotus root from the county; there’s no need to go myself…”

He paused, then muttered again, “A pill furnace? Hmm… there should be one anywhere…”

At this point, he suddenly fell silent and turned to look at where Olivia Thompson was standing.