Cultivating in the Wizard World

His figure slowly descended from the sky, landing softly on the tiles of the bookstore's roof.

Eric still stood on the roof ridge, head tilted back, staring unblinkingly at the dark purple sky.

His lips were trembling slightly, a sign that his inspiration was under pressure far beyond his capacity to bear.

Fortunately, the strangeness within Eric's body, through Jeming's meticulous arrangement, had formed an initial cycle.

His resistance to such things had greatly improved, so he wouldn't collapse to the ground on the spot.

But even so, a layer of cold sweat formed on Eric's forehead.

"Teacher." His voice was a bit unsteady, "What on earth is happening?"

Jeming did not answer immediately.

He jumped down from the roof, landing on the stone pavement at the bookstore's entrance, pushed open the wooden door, and went inside.

Eric followed behind, one hand on the doorframe, his steps slightly unsteady.

The bookstore's phone was ringing.

Jeming picked up the receiver, and Harding's voice came through.

The old man's speech was much faster than usual, tinged with an unmistakable tension, though his enunciation was still clear.

"Jeming, did you see it? The color of the sky..."

"I saw it." Jeming's voice was very calm.

"The association has sent someone to pick you up; the car should arrive in about twenty minutes. The chairman asked me to tell you, things outside will be very chaotic for a while. You two are the association's most important researchers; nothing can go wrong. Head to headquarters first, and return when the situation stabilizes."

Jeming held the receiver, falling silent for a moment.

"The strangeness will be very active recently." His voice was not loud, but he spoke with certainty, "Have your people prepare for this. Evacuate residents from high-risk areas in advance, deploy spiritualists to guard key facilities, and ensure that places like hospitals, power plants, and water plants remain staffed."

"The chairman's already arranging these things," Harding's voice came from the receiver, "The car..."

"No need to worry about us here." Jeming interrupted him, "No need to pick us up."

Harding's voice paused for a moment.

Then the old man spoke again, his tone carrying a cautious uncertainty.

"Jeming, what... what do you mean by this?"

Jeming did not explain.

He moved the receiver away from his ear and gently placed it back on the base.

The sound of hanging up was especially crisp in the quiet bookstore.

Eric stood beside the bookshelf, one hand still on the frame, observing Jeming's actions with a slight dilation in his pupils.

Having known his teacher for ten years, he could naturally discern his teacher's emotions clearly.

"Teacher." Eric's voice was a bit tense, "What are you going to do?"

Jeming turned around to face him.

His expression remained calm, but Eric noticed that his teacher's gaze was different from usual.

"I'm leaving," Jeming said.

Eric stood there, stunned.

His mouth opened, lips moved as though to speak, but his throat seemed obstructed.

He looked at Jeming's face, the face he had seen for ten years, the face he thought he would always see, suddenly feeling it grow distant.

"Where to?" He finally found his voice.

His voice was smaller than he expected, like a child asking.

Jeming did not answer where he was going.

He merely looked at Eric, his gaze unperturbed.

Eric's fingers clutched tightly onto the frame of the bookshelf.

He took a deep breath, suppressing the swirling emotions within his chest, and then asked the question to which he already knew the answer.

"Teacher, will you come back?"

Jeming shook his head.

The movement was slow, but without any hesitation.

Although Master Oston did not explicitly state it in the mission, all the wizards including Jeming knew that upon completing this task, they would essentially be driven away.

"In the laboratory wall behind the basement," Jeming's voice maintained its leisurely pace, without any emotion one would expect at a farewell, "there is something I've left for you. The content inside, you can choose to disseminate it based on your judgment."

"Oh, right." Jeming seemed to recall something, his tone still flat, "Deke had previously made an appointment with me, asking for assistance with seal adjustments when he returns in a while. You'll have to manage it yourself then. With your current skills, it should be no problem."

Eric's mouth opened, but his lips parted and closed, again and again, ultimately not saying a word.

But fortunately, Jeming's attitude put him at ease somewhat, at least his mentor didn't seem to be heading off to court death.

"Teacher." Eric's voice finally steadied, releasing his grip on the bookshelf's edge, letting his hand fall by his side, against his trousers.

He bent slightly at the waist, his tone filled with entreaty.

"Can I go with you, Teacher?"

Jeming looked at him and slowly shook his head.

Although, on the surface, this plane had not been affected by any external forces, all the wizards who came here knew that this plane was actually the property of the Great Wizard Oston.

Without permission from the other party, they were not entitled to take anything away.

The momentum Eric had barely gathered dissipated immediately.

In fact, he had long known the answer.

From the first day he met Jeming, he knew that his teacher did not belong here.

The air about his teacher, the kind of detachment incompatible with everything around, made Eric acutely aware that his teacher harbored secrets.

He didn't even think it was a secret that needed guarding.

The people at the Spirit Communicator Association, Harding, and the chairman, those high-level members who had worked with his teacher for years, did they really not know?