Chapter 13: I Am Bald Strong's Disciple!

“Hm?” For the first time, Gu Yi revealed an expression of surprise.

At her level, very few things could unsettle her. Instinctively, she wanted to utter the words ‘impossible’, but when she saw the sly youth’s eyes, waiting for her to say just that, she changed her mind.

This was a provocation—a test. The boy had clearly mastered some method beyond her imagination, a way to strengthen his elemental sensitivity. If she continued down this path, she would likely be drawn into a wager she could not refuse.

Suddenly, Gu Yi smiled, a playful curve to her lips, a hint of joy she had not felt in ages flickering in her calm expression. Was it… happiness?

“Very well. I’ll ask you one last time. I can take you as my disciple. But the path of the sorcerer is fraught with pain. The price you must pay is to abandon the life of an ordinary person, to confront evil, and become one of Earth’s defenders. Do you have any objections?”

“None!” Mei Mumu replied resolutely.

Sensing the vibrations of his soul, Master Gu Yi found the answer she sought. She smiled again, softly: “Good. Come with me.”

“What about here…” Mei Mumu glanced around at the scene, as grim as a slaughterhouse.

“Someone will take care of it,” Gu Yi said without turning, hands clasped behind her back as she walked away.

“Yes.” Mei Mumu had nothing more to say, obedient as a child, trailing after her.

At that moment, Mei Mumu was filled with excitement. Almost instantly, as Gu Yi agreed to take him as her disciple, the long-absent scales of fate appeared once more in his mind, tilting three degrees in his favor.

Three degrees—no trivial shift. Unless the weights differed greatly, the scales would not tip so quickly. With the weights unchanged on one side and increasing on the other, a tilt beyond thirty degrees might overturn them, though the exact moment depended on the difference. Usually, the tipping point came at forty-five degrees.

“Hmph! You primitive amoeba, you actually passed the test. Well, do you want to redeem or draw a prize?”

The sharp-tongued voice of the scales of fate was music to Mei Mumu’s ears.

Redeem?

Draw a prize?

These words were like rain after a long drought to Mei Mumu. For a moment, he wanted to begin immediately.

Gu Yi strolled ahead, unhurried, as if walking through a garden. Mei Mumu knew well she had her back to him, yet a sudden shiver ran through him.

“Scales of fate, can Master Gu Yi sense your existence?” In his mental sea, Mei Mumu whispered to the scales.

“Is your brain made of single cells!? Impossible! If fate were so easily observed, it wouldn’t be fate!”

“Uh.” Scolded, but needing the scales’ help now, Mei Mumu gritted his teeth.

Fine! I’ll endure for now…

Still, Mei Mumu was certain that aside from the scales of fate, everything else about him was being scrutinized by Gu Yi. She was likely using methods he couldn’t perceive to continue her observation.

He kept his patience: “Miss Scales, can I postpone my redemption and prize draw?”

“Hmph! You have twenty-four hours!” Miss Scales snapped, then vanished.

Kamar-Taj, just as in the films, was hidden in an unremarkable house. In the crowded streets of Kathmandu, there were thousands of such houses. Without a guide, an outsider could spend a lifetime searching in vain among the sea of people.

The humble, dirty door was chipped and worn. Opening it, one entered to see an array of sun-shaded latticework tilted at forty-five degrees. Sunlight streamed through, painting the ground and bodies with vivid patterns.

Every ten meters or so along the corridor, a censer released incense, its aroma lingering throughout, blending with the chanting of Hindu masters outside, creating an ethereal, transcendent atmosphere.

Gu Yi, bald and serene, led the way, a beacon in the night, pulling at Mei Mumu’s spirit and guiding him toward the unknown.

Kamar-Taj was Gu Yi’s sanctuary. It was said that sorcerers possessed special strongholds or towers. According to the original story, this was Gu Yi’s temple.

After winding through corridors, they arrived at the central hall, square and infused with a strong Chinese aesthetic. The setting sun cast rays through the latticework, giving Mei Mumu a sense of comfort.

He took in the surroundings—musical instruments, chess, calligraphy, paintings.

In the film, Doctor Strange was preoccupied with his injured hands, unable to appreciate the beauty. Mei Mumu was different.

He knew that once he completed his training here, his crippled left and right hands would be fully restored. Like a curious child, he examined everything, and before he realized it, Gu Yi graciously offered him a cup of tea.

“Ah! How can I accept this?” Mei Mumu took the cup, gently turning the lid.

Yes, top-grade pre-rain Dragon Well tea.

Truly worthy of Gu Yi…

One sip, and the sweetness lingered on his lips—reaching, oddly, his… chrysanthemum?

Wait, something was wrong!

Mei Mumu’s stomach churned violently, as if beset by a bout of gastritis. His gut twisted, knots forming, his stomach spasming, as if an alien creature was about to burst from his chest.

Looking back at the once-clear cup filled with floating tea leaves, Mei Mumu was startled to see it had transformed into a blob of sesame paste—no, something foul and stinking, like excrement.

Damn! Gu Yi, you poisoned me?

No, wait! Gu Yi, you poisoned me in excrement!?

Indeed, this was the natural thought of Mei Mumu, the hapless university student kneeling on the floor.

Nearby, Gu Yi’s mouth twitched, as if she’d swallowed water the wrong way.

“Ugh!”

Forgive Mei Mumu—he nearly vomited everything he’d eaten in the past twenty-four hours. His guts felt as if they’d been torn apart, and even after he’d emptied his stomach, he continued dry-heaving.

His ears buzzed, vision nearly black.

Only now did he truly understand what ‘extremely painful’ meant.

When Mei Mumu finally lay sprawled on the ground, he saw Gu Yi’s cloth shoes standing before him.

Gu Yi’s voice, imbued with mysterious rhythm, sounded: “Focus brings clarity! The sorcerer’s path is not as simple as you imagine. This cup of Soul-Cleansing Tea washes away the impurities that have attached to your soul through idle thoughts. Without cleansing, these stains become chronic ailments as you cultivate, hindering your progress and making you more susceptible to darkness.”

Mei Mumu gasped like a dying dog, beginning to grasp the difference between himself and Doctor Strange. The latter drank the tea with no ill effects—indeed, it was nourishing. He drank, and nearly lost his life.

It seemed… his future days would be shrouded in darkness.