5: Chapter 5: The Mage is a profession that depends on talent.

Song Lan wrinkled her small face, her left hand tucking her jet-black hair behind her ear, as she pressed her left ear tightly against the door without leaving a single gap.

After listening for a while and confirming no one was inside, she took a few steps back, her brow furrowed: "Where could he have gone at this time?"

"Could it be... Don't overthink it, Song Lan. Zhang Mu isn't that fragile of a person."

"But he's out. How am I supposed to give him the money..."

She clutched a bank card in her hand and looked around, her eyes lighting up slightly.

On the wall to the right of the door hung a locked iron box; Zhang Mu used this to prevent missing deliveries when he was out.

There was a small slot on the front of the box. While bulky items certainly wouldn't fit, sliding a bank card in was more than easy.

Song Lan pulled a marker out of her breast pocket, wrote the password on the back of the card, and took another look around.

Seeing no cameras installed, she felt relieved and slipped the card into the small slot before turning to head downstairs.

She reached the bottom floor.

A red supercar was parked in front of the building entrance. Song Lan opened the passenger door and got in: "Biqing-jie, let's go."

Sitting in the driver's seat was an elegant woman with an extraordinary aura.

She had exquisite features, wavy hair, and a form-fitting white maxi dress that outlined her seductive curves.

Once Song Lan buckled her seatbelt, she started the supercar, and with a low roar, it slowly drove out of the neighborhood.

"I really want to see what kind of man could charm our little Lan like this—your own little business is on the verge of bankruptcy, yet you're rushing over to give him money."

Su Biqing looked straight ahead, her hands steady on the steering wheel, her tone indifferent.

"My relationship with him isn't what you think." Song Lan leaned against the back of the seat, a faint smile on her lips. "Zhang Mu is a very good person, it's just..."

As she spoke, her already faint smile gradually faded.

Song Lan irritably ruffled her short hair that just barely covered her ears: "Why did he have to get a terminal illness?"

"Based on what you've said, the two of you shouldn't be that close, right?" Su Biqing tapped the steering wheel with her index finger. "You just interned at the same company, and then he helped you out with some small favors. Is there anything I missed?"

"That's about it."

"With such a minor acquaintance, is it really worth you running back and forth?"

"Nine times out of ten, he's a Sea King, and he's just keeping you as a fish in his pond."

Rolling her eyes, Song Lan retorted dissatisfiedly, "I'm not that stupid."

"Biqing-jie, he's a very amazing person."

"Elaborate."

"Um..." Song Lan lightly rubbed a few messy strands of hair on her forehead. "He is a mirror."

"A mirror?"

This strange description made Su Biqing instinctively look over, but she quickly realized she was driving and snapped her gaze back to the road.

Seemingly immersed in her memories, Song Lan didn't notice this detail and continued to herself, "Exactly, a mirror."

"If you are gentle, he reflects gentleness back to you."

"If you are cunning, he returns cunning to you."

"By interacting and communicating with him, you can see your true self clearly."

To this somewhat mystical explanation, Su Biqing scoffed, "My dear girl, you've really been completely brainwashed."

"No background, no connections, and living in such a run-down neighborhood—yet he's playing that 'treat others as they treat me' game?"

"I don't think you're ever going to see that money you've lent out again."

Originally, Su Biqing thought she had just met a poor boy and didn't think it was a big deal.

A young girl who just entered society—it's normal to have some beautiful fantasies.

If the other party was all talk and no ability, life would eventually wake her up, but hearing this now, he sounded like a total scumbag.

Song Lan didn't argue; she pursed her lips and turned her head to look out the car window.

The streetlights receded rapidly.

"I'm not stupid."

...

"Why isn't he back yet?"

Zhang Mu sat on the steps in front of Potter's door, holding two buckets of instant noodles in his arms.

He had waited for an hour under the scorching sun, but there was still no sign of Potter.

Just as he was about to give up, a sound finally came from the right.

"Eh? Why are you here?"

Potter held a wooden staff in his hand, followed by a big yellow dog that came up to his knees, and waddled over: "Did you run into questions while practicing the Meditation Method?"

Seeing him, Zhang Mu breathed a sigh of relief, calmed his agitated mood, and stood up: "I have already successfully mastered three abilities."

"Hahaha..." Potter laughed so hard he doubled over, only managing to stop after a long while. "Lying is meaningless, guest from another world."

"Or rather, are you so disappointed in your own talent that your mind has started to fail?"

"I told you, being a mage is a profession that depends on talent."

"Fine, for the sake of the three buckets of instant noodles." He raised his staff, "I'll help you organize your spir—"

?

Zhang Mu's right hand was wrapped in a layer of translucent film, flowing steadily.

This was Attribute-less Magic Power.

Potter recognized it, and he was very familiar with it—more familiar than he was with himself.

As a High-level mage, Potter naturally wouldn't be startled by magic power that hadn't been imbued with an attribute yet.

What stunned him was why Zhang Mu could control magic power.

No, no, no. Potter shook his head like a rattle. The problem wasn't that; it was—why did he have magic power at all?

Potter's mouth was like a fish out of water, opening and closing repeatedly without saying anything, only creating a bursting saliva bubble between his lips.

After a brief flicker, the magic film on the surface of Zhang Mu's right hand dissipated. The magic power he had absorbed while sitting in front of the door for over half an hour was only enough to manifest for about 30 seconds.

"Mr. Potter?" Seeing him blankly moving his lips, Zhang Mu called out cautiously.

"You lied to me? You actually succeeded in practicing the Meditation Method a long time ago... No, that's not right. I checked your body yesterday and didn't find any trace of magic power at all."

"So..."

"Clang—" The wooden staff slipped from his hand and hit the ground.

"How? How is this possible? How could you master the Meditation Method in just one night?"

"Five years! It took me five years! Do you know how I lived through those five years?!"

Seeing the wrinkles on his face all bunched together in a state of frenzy, as if his lifelong conviction had been destroyed, Zhang Mu felt a bit conflicted.

He certainly couldn't tell him about the existence of the Panel; that secret had to belong to him alone. In that case...

Zhang Mu's brain worked rapidly, and he quickly thought of something Potter had just said: "Mr. Potter, you said it yourself—being a mage is a profession that depends on talent."

After saying that, a bolt of lightning flashed through his mind.

He remembered Potter saying that mastering the Meditation Method in five years was the minimum standard for becoming a mage, then...

Good grief, so it turns out you were just at the bottom of the barrel?

Zhang Mu looked at his face with a strange expression, a laugh nearly escaping his lips.

Caught by that look, Potter also snapped out of it, realizing he had let the cat out of the bag.

"Ahem..." Potter bent down to pick up his staff, first pretending to pat the head of Da Huang, the dog, and then cleared his throat.

"Magic is an ability worthy of a human's lifelong exploration. There are some things you don't understand for the time being."

"I understand, I understand... Oh, no, no, no, I don't understand."

Seeing Zhang Mu's face turning red from holding it in, Potter's face darkened, and he tapped the ground lightly with his staff: "Laugh if you want to. Holding it in for too long is bad for your health."

"No, no." Zhang Mu waved his hands, desperately suppressing his laughter, since he still needed a favor from the man.

Potter walked toward the door with a stiff face, with the big yellow dog following: "Come in and talk."