Simp

Yi Feng tried to explain.

Fu Nantian, instead of getting angry, was delighted. He raised his head, stroked his beard, and nodded. "That's right, I am a simp."

Hearing this, Yi Feng scratched his head in confusion.

"Old man, do you think 'simp' is a good term? Don’t you realize that woman just now didn’t care about your feelings at all?"

"If you keep this up, you’ll only be torturing yourself. No matter how many treasures you give her, she might not even appreciate it."

Fu Nantian’s expression turned stern as he lectured, "What do you know? A true simp doesn’t nitpick."

"In love, you shouldn’t calculate who’s losing or gaining. Can love even be measured like that?"

Yi Feng was baffled and couldn’t help but retort, "But this isn’t even love! It’s just your one-sided obsession!"

"You plant all these flowers, make breakfast every day, and grovel before her—what have you gained from it?"

"I’ve gained emotion!"

At this, Fu Nantian lifted his chin slightly, speaking with pride. "Once, when I got injured in a secret realm, she asked why I didn’t bring her any rare treasures. I told her I was hurt, and she even told me to meditate properly."

Yi Feng felt his worldview shatter.

This old man… was beyond saving.

Fu Nantian, however, was just getting started, his eyes gleaming.

"You’re still young. You don’t understand the value of true devotion."

"Let me tell you, Ting'er was a peerless beauty thousands of years ago, with countless suitors. But as time passed, I’m the only one still by her side."

"Because of this, my peers praise me as the 'Most Devoted in Yunxing.'"

"Of course, such a trivial title means nothing…"

"Truthfully, besides Ting'er, I’ve also admired a few other beauties."

"I never refused any of their requests, even if we later went our separate ways. I never held it against them."

"So, kid, do you understand now?" Fu Nantian asked.

"Understand what?"

"You think I’m being played by Ting'er? In reality, I’m the one playing her."

"She’s only been simped over for a thousand years. Me? I’ve been simping for thousands of years."

"Everything is under my control."

Yi Feng nearly had a mental breakdown.

He hastily clasped his hands in salute and fled the courtyard like his life depended on it.

With nothing else to do, he wandered around the village, hoping to chat with some elders. But the place seemed unusually deserted.

Growing bored, Yi Feng suddenly remembered the old man’s earlier suggestion.

Since he had nothing better to do, why not go fishing to pass the time? Maybe he could even catch something for a change of taste.

The more he thought about it, the more appealing it sounded.

Pulling out a fishing rod, Yi Feng headed straight for the Emerald Lake west of the village.

Before long, he was sitting alone by the lakeside, rod in hand.

A gentle breeze brushed the water’s surface, leaving it undisturbed.

Seated by the tranquil, crystal-clear lake, Yi Feng’s mind settled, and all his chaotic thoughts faded away.

Faced with such serene beauty, his mood lifted.

Unable to resist, he recited a poem, his voice brimming with carefree ease:

"A hundred feet of clear waves, a mirror unveiled,

Birds claim their perch on shaded boughs.

Delicacies hide in the lake’s emerald depths—

Which idle soul will reel them out?"

As his mood shifted, Yi Feng’s focus on fishing waned, replaced by pure enjoyment of the moment.

Yet the moment his voice faded, a voice called out in admiration from afar.

"Fine verse, fine words!"

Turning, Yi Feng saw an old man in a bamboo hat approaching, hands clasped behind his back.

"Young man, you’ve got quite the refined taste."

After praising, the old man glanced at the fishing rod and chuckled, shaking his head.

"But what’s the fun in fishing alone?"

Yi Feng stood for a better look as the man drew near.

His temples were streaked with white, dressed like a woodcutter, with a wine gourd tied at his waist—exuding an air of effortless ease.

Out of courtesy, Yi Feng nodded.

"Elder, do you live in this village too? I don’t recall seeing you before."

The old man took a swig of wine and laughed heartily.

"Hahaha!"

"This old man’s surname is Wei. You can call me Woodcutter Wei. I’ve lived here for years—an old friend of Fu Nantian’s. But I usually spend my days chopping wood in the mountains, so you wouldn’t have seen me."

With that, he generously offered his wine gourd.

Impressed by his openness, Yi Feng accepted it warmly.

"I see. Thank you for the wine, Senior!"

Hearing that the man was Fu Nantian’s friend, Yi Feng already had an inkling—this guy was probably no ordinary figure.

If the old man claimed to be a sage, his friends wouldn’t be average either.

Not one to refuse good wine, Yi Feng took a hearty swig.

The moment it hit his throat, his entire body buzzed with exhilaration.

"Ah… Good wine!"

Watching him gulp it down without hesitation, Wei Donghai’s eyes narrowed, a glint flashing within.

He had come precisely to gauge this young man’s depth—to decide whether to take him as a disciple. It was an unspoken competition among their circle of friends.

They called it "internal competition"—each would recruit disciples based on their own merits, taking turns to showcase their skills. After all, reclusive experts had their pride.

But at first glance, Wei Donghai was stunned.

As the "Wine Sage," the liquor he carried was no ordinary brew.

This gourd contained Chiyan Brew, infused with pure Yang energy—a fiercely potent concoction!

Even his old friends had to drink it in moderation.

Yet this kid had just downed half the gourd in one go!

And after a few breaths, he still looked completely unfazed.