In a quiet branch corner of the elves’ treetop market hung a delicate little potion shop, looking like a natural fruit of woven vines sprouting from the giant tree.
A sign shaped like a potion bottle, braided from supple twigs, swung gently in the dappled afternoon light filtering through the canopy.
Flapping its small wings, the Scout Puji landed on a side branch where several bunches of dried herbs were hung.
“Grandpa! Look! That flying mushroom is back again!” A crisp young voice called out from inside the shop.
At the window, a small elf girl—appearing eleven or twelve in human terms, her hair in two long braids—was tiptoeing, eyes wide and sparkling as she curiously studied the Puji.
Elves had long growth cycles. Not to the extreme of centuries before adulthood, but still, it usually took over thirty years to develop an adult’s body.
So this “little girl” in front of him was probably already in her twenties.
Of course, by elf standards, twenty-something was still considered a child.
“Oh? Where is it, Riel?” From behind the counter, an old elf with a beard nearly reaching his waist slowly lifted his head.
For an elf to appear aged meant his life was nearly spent. This one, already this frail, likely had only a year or two left.Following his granddaughter’s pointing finger, the old elf smiled faintly.
Yesterday, when this Puji first slipped inside, they had noticed the green cloth tied around its foot. But neither of them knew Ailawen, nor that she was searching for it. They merely thought it was someone’s free-range pet.
“A special little guest. If it wants to come in, let it.” The old elf’s voice was raspy and slow, yet soothing. “Riel, be careful not to scare it.”
But the caution was unnecessary.
Even before Riel could move away from the window, the Puji was already squishing past her face, squeezing itself inside the herb-scented shop.
Lin Jun couldn’t understand their words, and simply explored wherever he wished.
After several days of exploring, he had to admit—he had developed a certain fondness for this elf city.
The environment wasn’t the main thing—after all, to Pujis, foul swamps were the real paradise.
What he liked most was that elves were, for the most part, friendly to Pujis.
Even those who didn’t show particular affection usually chose to ignore them rather than try to capture or harm them.
Back in Silentwind Town half a year ago, it would have been a miracle if human adventurers resisted the urge to “clear out” a wandering Puji that crossed their path.
Of course, things were different now. In Silentwind Town, almost no one dared to harm a Puji.
A strange rumor had spread: anyone who killed a Puji would be haunted by its vengeful spirit in their dreams.
Absurd as it sounded—priests had detected no trace of evil spirits—the tale spread all the same.
Occasionally someone had a nightmare, and recalling they had recently harmed a Puji or trampled Mycelium Carpet, they became convinced the rumor was true.
In reality, only a tiny fraction of cases had anything to do with Lin Jun. Most were simple self-suggestion. But mixed with a little truth, the rumor grew all the more terrifying.
Back to the elves.
Thanks to the green cloth, Scout Puji moved almost unhindered. Even now, barging into the shop without an explicit “invitation,” no one thought to mind it.
It hopped up onto the smooth wooden counter, plopping down right in front of the old elf grinding herbs.
Riel hurriedly tidied away scattered herbs and tools so their “guest” wouldn’t knock them over.
She even reached a small hand under the Puji’s round, squishy body to rescue a poor flower it had flattened.
So soft!
She looked at the Puji again, unable to resist poking at its bouncy white body with one finger.
A mycelium tendril extended, gently pressing back against her fingertip…
The old elf continued his work with practiced focus, his motions carrying the calm of many years.
Grinding, mixing, brewing… a deep violet potion soon bubbled in the small cauldron.
He carefully poured the finished liquid into three little glass vials.
Lin Jun couldn’t tell exactly what potions they were, but he recognized the four materials used.
Three of them grew in his own Dungeon. The last—a yellow flower—he had also seen in the Divine Tree Dungeon.
Lin Jun’s interest in potions was natural. He had piles of materials back home, but no means to turn them into truly valuable potions.
He remembered when the Demonoids formally joined him—wanting to strengthen ties with Demonheart, he had given Shou and Qiong bottles of Limb Regeneration Potion.
Aydin had procured those through Guild channels at a discount, but even then, it cost Lin Jun five hundred gold.
Even with the wealth poured in from adventurers’ “sponsorships,” he couldn’t afford to keep spending like that.
How great it would be to make his own!
Not to sell, but to meet internal needs, and to give purpose to the mountain of materials piling up in his Dungeon.
Otherwise, it was like starving while sitting on a mountain of gold.
Whether by learning himself or recruiting someone new, potions were a path he needed.
Lin Jun decided to do both—study and scout for talent.
The Scout Puji would flit from shop to shop, observing. Whenever he saw a recipe with all the ingredients available in his Dungeon, he’d replicate it, no matter the effect.
Failures were common, but the Dungeon was rich enough to afford the losses.
When successes came, Minotaurs volunteered as test subjects, and Lin Jun carefully recorded the effects.
The old elf finished his three potions, then leaned back into a vine-woven chair, eyes closing in rest.
His stamina simply couldn’t match the young anymore.
By contrast, the owner of another potion shop several hundred meters away could tend three cauldrons at once, brewing all day without pause.
Unfortunately, that one was among the few elves who shooed Pujis away—otherwise Scout Puji would have stationed itself there to “learn.”
No wonder this old elf’s shop had such poor business. Lin Jun hadn’t seen a single customer in all this time.
But perhaps the old elf didn’t even care about sales.
The elves’ territory wasn’t large, but the Elven Forest was still far bigger than most human cities.
And despite that, its population was fewer than a hundred thousand. Resources were plentiful, and survival was hardly a concern.
Those who “competed” only did so in pursuit of greater ambitions.
Having watched enough potion-making, the Scout Puji turned and flew off.
Riel, denied her chance to squeeze its soft body, pouted. She resolved that if it came again tomorrow, she would block the window, so it could only get in by brushing past her!
…
The Scout Puji was about to head to the next shop when, from afar, came a familiar call: “Little Ji—!”