Chapter Sixty-Three: Are There Mooncakes Filled with Lentils?

Treasured Artifacts—a unique item circulated in the ancient, enigmatic region known as Xicui. In truth, these artifacts can be likened to those special gifts in various games: click to send, instantly boosting favorability. As for what happens when favorability is maxed out, well, that depends largely on the nature of the game and its age rating.

At the very least, in Xicui, the purpose of these artifacts is to forge bonds with powerful regional Pokémon, essentially the local overlords. The reason people of the Xicui era could guarantee their safety was, in no small part, thanks to the Treasured Artifacts.

“But for me, Treasured Artifacts are nothing more than money and high-quality rare resources,” mused Zhusu Han, gazing contentedly at the modified incense burner extracting attribute energy. He took a satisfied sip of soda and opened a bottle for the Lapras beside him.

The Potion Project—how could I not be the most important figure in it? Besides, the headmaster apparently has no intention of hiding my achievements or name. Yet, no one has tried to tempt me with a mooncake filled with lentil paste, aiming for my weakness.

The beauty trap? If the heart holds no woman, then research remains pure and divine. Even if one were as beautiful as Xi Shi or Daji, Zhusu Han felt a crate of millennium berries would be far more practical—assuming such a thing actually existed. Even using age as a measure of nutritional value, a thousand years is pushing the limit.

What Zhusu Han didn’t know was that when Elder Liu voiced concerns about someone picking the white-haired monkey’s peaches, Joey Jing nearly exploded with fury. Yet, after hanging up, the headmaster calmly reconsidered. As Joey Jing had said: even if such people existed, they couldn’t infiltrate the League or Joey’s system—at most, they’d rank high in a shady organization like Team Dark.

The League’s era was won through fierce competition; the oldest veterans know this best, with the related scrutiny stricter than ever. So, what is Joey Jing afraid of? It’s obvious: she fears some mysterious interloper will snatch away her precious student.

If the League were a university dormitory, then Joey Jing would be the one who mingled with siblings daily, only for a newcomer with divine powers to suddenly shine. She worries her brothers suffer, yet fears they might drive a luxury car.

This is a student’s own achievement, so why shouldn’t the student’s prefix be ours, right? Not to mention, Rocket Group—Joey Jing doubts they aren’t intrigued by Zhusu Han’s “genius researcher” persona.

This person, sealed in ice and carrying their own epitaph, may hold only a fragment of the Potion Project in their memory. Joey Jing hopes to boast of Zhusu Han’s research during annual reports to her clan, standing proudly atop the desk, ready to slam it at any criticism.

So, as long as what Zhusu Han requests doesn’t require special approval, give him whatever he wants. And then, mobilize all the young security staff to intercept anyone trying to poach him—even the driver uncle is included.

The driver uncle was utterly bewildered, nearly thinking the headmaster had received insider information about some audacious villain planning to seek doom at Joey Academy.

“Extraction successful. The nutrient solution is ready,” Zhusu Han announced, holding a bottle of pink nutrient solution, within which energy cubes shimmered with crystalline brilliance. By appearance alone, it resembled canned yellow peaches.

Yet, even by looks, it could pass for a modern art piece.

“No, no, this isn’t for you. Are you going to compete with the little sister at home for food? I’m not that destitute yet,” Zhusu Han pushed Lapras’s big face aside. The nutrient solution, uncapped during preparation, emitted a fragrance that attracted Pokémon from both home and outside, peeking in.

Whether it’s for experimental verification of bedtime knowledge or other purposes, Zhusu Han earns a lot, but his spending matches it. In some sense, even if not indulgent, Sakaki’s critique of his lavish spending rings true.

He had already finished reading the thin manual on basic Milcery cultivation, along with an overview of incubator types.

In short, the incubators delivered were of good quality, but nothing particularly high-end. Zhusu Han originally planned to crush the energy cube from the first nutrient bottle and pour it into the incubator for a sweetwater egg bath, ensuring ample nutrition during incubation.

But upon inspection, he found that such mid-process supplementation wasn’t supported. Normally, when a Pokémon’s life wave reaches the threshold, the incubator’s isolation glass opens automatically, awaiting the Pokémon’s birth.

If the incubator were prematurely opened during incubation, disrupting its preset data, forced early hatching would be the least of the consequences.

Wild Pokémon eggs are no different—unless faced with an extreme event, the egg is always placed in the optimal spot.

“One bottle to start, now for the second,” Zhusu Han began crafting a second nutrient solution using ten-year berries, this time purely for energy replenishment, without attribute energy enhancement.

The first bottle was for Milcery’s constitution, the second as a precaution against malnutrition during hatching.

There’s no risk of waste, as even leftovers will be handled by the two big mouths at home.

“One bottle of pearl milk tea, one bottle of rich fruit juice—not bad.” He placed both bottles in the incense burner, not out of concern for Lapras sneaking a taste, but because its preservation conditions would ensure the nutrients didn’t dissipate.

By his calculations, Milcery should hatch within the next couple of days. Zhusu Han now played the role of Egg Guardian King, afraid to miss any detail inside the incubator.

Even Lapras felt the same, reducing daily training to await the birth of its first little companion.

A sense of responsibility as the big sister had emerged; during this time, Lapras even sought out other Pokémon to refine its Life Drop move.

It could now evolve from droplet to stream, though the effect didn’t last long.

“Wuu wuu,” Lapras nudged Zhusu Han, asking if he needed a better, quieter environment for incubation.

“You mean a laboratory-grade ecosystem? No need,” Zhusu Han replied. “The Pokémon egg is healthy, so such a setting isn’t necessary.”

Compared to the robust constitution of Pokémon, requiring a sterile ward would only mean something was wrong with the egg.

“Hm? Why so many people?” Zhusu Han frowned; today Joey Academy seemed to have many guests.

Although he didn’t know every man inside the academy, he had a general impression. Like a few huskies suddenly mingling among wolves—the contrast was striking.

Zhusu Han stroked his chin: “Eating in the cafeteria, unfamiliar faces, dressed like elites, the hem of their clothes bulged by Poké Balls at their waist.”

Ah, understood—they’re here for the reusable potion launch.

He glanced briefly and lost interest. Food comes before all else, especially since Machamp, his favorite Pokémon chef, was in charge today.

No other reason—Machamp’s cooking is genuinely swift, able to prepare four large dishes at once while maintaining quality.

Its speed matches Zhusu Han’s eating pace. Even among chefs, Machamp’s prowess as a Fighting-type shines.

These outside investors ate quietly, none seemed to mind Zhusu Han’s white hair. Or perhaps their minds were preoccupied with upcoming negotiations.

[Just knock down the price by another cent]
[No, no, another cent and there’s nothing left]

The scene practically writes itself.

After the meal, Lapras used an Ice Beam to create a small platform on the lake, contentedly sipping a creamy berry jam slushie through a straw.

Zhusu Han sat atop Lapras’s shell, sipping roseberry pulp tea from a thermos, observing the passing visitors on shore.

The roseberry tea had a unique, elegant aroma. As for this post-meal activity, there was no ulterior motive—he simply wanted to see if he’d run into anyone familiar.

The kind of “familiar” where Zhusu Han knew the other’s flaws, but the other had no idea who he was.

“Well, speak of the devil.” Zhusu Han finished his tea, smiling at the young figure on the shore.

He hadn’t expected the first “familiar face” to be him.

In the Pokémon world, many hairstyles seem to scream “card shark” to the card players—even if the person isn’t named Yu.

But if that person’s hairstyle has a card shark flair, wears a cape, and is accompanied by a graceful Dragonair…

The future Flying-type Elite Four, Dragon Champion, Lance.

“Flying Dragon Champion” fits well, so long as he doesn’t ride dragons right into your face.

Official and unofficial monikers include Dragon Master Lance, Little Lance, Ah Lance, Dodo Lance, and so forth.

Joey Academy produced a “young genius researcher,” so Smoke City would naturally send someone of similar age to join the festivities.

One wonders if Little Camelia is with him—Lance’s cousin, future whip-wielding Gym Leader of Smoke City.

The Potion Project could have far-reaching effects, perhaps prompting Lance to appear and build public recognition.

From this, it seems the Dragon House has already chosen Lance as its “Crown Prince.”

Though, this prince is a bit rebellious.

“Unexpected encounter—I thought I’d run into Rocket Group or the Elite Four instead,” Zhusu Han glanced at Lance, then at the incubator in his arms, a peculiar idea surfacing.

“Heh, if I meet them in the future, it might be worth having a little fun.”

On the shore, Lance and Dragonair shivered simultaneously as they strolled, instantly scanning their surroundings with vigilance.

Having awakened and gradually strengthened his extraordinary powers, Lance seemed to sense a strange, unknown malice from some unseen angle.