After reeling in several fat, splashing fish in rapid succession, Flandre suddenly noticed something unusual. She turned her head to look at Hong Meiling's fishing rod and found the gatekeeper sitting there completely motionless, staring blankly at the water. The fishing rod in her hand was just as dead-still as she was.
Curiosity completely getting the better of her, Flandre walked over, proudly lugging a massive, half-meter-long fish she had just pulled from the current.
"Meiling, why aren't you catching anything?"
Hong Meiling slowly tilted her head toward Flandre, her face nearly turning green with sheer frustration. What do you mean 'why aren't I catching anything'? What am I supposed to do if the fish flatly refuse to take my bait?!
Before she could even open her mouth to offer a defensive excuse, she saw Flandre pointing a tiny finger right next to her floating bobber.
"Oh, look! Why is that fish just hovering right next to your rod? It's even spitting water at it over and over. How fun!"
Hong Meiling leaned over the bank to look exactly where Flandre was pointing, and her jaw nearly dropped. It was exactly as the little girl said—a remarkably fat, arrogant fish was indeed loitering right by her plastic float, casually blowing bubbles.
Just as her eyes locked onto the creature, the fish performed an incredibly bold, mocking maneuver. With a sudden, energetic burst of its tail, the fish leaped clear out of the river, soaring gracefully over the resting fishing rod before splashing back into the depths. It was a perfect, dramatic arc, looking precisely like a certain student named Shirou Emiya performing the high jump on the twilight school grounds of another world.
Seeing this blatant disrespect, Hong Meiling's blood instantly boiled. She felt deeply, personally provoked by a creature that was supposed to have a measly seven-second memory!
Drain the water! She had to completely drain this entire river right now and teach these arrogant creatures a permanent lesson!
Hong Meiling jumped to her feet and glared fiercely at the rushing water. Holding her breath and focusing her inner Qi, she clenched her fists tightly, fully prepared to unleash a devastating Mountain Breaker: Colorful Polar Cannon to show these damn fish exactly who the hell was boss of the riverbank.
Fortunately for the local ecosystem, her fishing rod violently twitched at that exact second. Quick as a flash, her reflexes took over and she yanked the line up, only to find a tiny, pathetic fry no longer than the palm of her hand dangling weakly on the hook.
She looked back at Flandre's side of the bank; the pile of glistening fish over there was already stacked significantly taller than the little blonde girl herself. Hong Meiling's temper flared once again at the absolute injustice of it all.
At that exact moment, Sakuya Izayoi gracefully walked over from the camp, her eyes sweeping over the massive haul.
"Oh? You two managed to catch this many fish?" Sakuya murmured, leaning down. "Just this medium-sized one will do nicely; it's more than enough for the family to eat tonight. Please release all the others back into the river once you've finished having your fun."
After expertly selecting a prime specimen from Flandre's towering mountain, Sakuya turned on her heel and calmly walked back toward the cooking fires.
Hong Meiling looked down at the solitary, pathetic little thing resting in her own fish basket, then turned to look at Flandre's small hand, a bright, beaming smile suddenly returning to her face.
"Little Flan, have you ever heard of an incredibly exciting, traditional recreational activity called 'blast fishing'...?"
However, before Hong Meiling could initiate her chaotic plan to introduce the local wildlife to explosive force, the two of them were loudly called back to the central tent by Patchouli Knowledge.
Patchouli was exceptionally interested in the sociological observations they had gathered from the restricted Infected quarter yesterday afternoon. Since they currently had nothing pressing to do while the soup simmered, she planned to chat more thoroughly to understand why exactly there was such a severe, violent cultural divide between the Infected and the non-Infected populations of Terra.
Hearing Patchouli's analytical question, Flandre merely shook her head, her wings fluttering idly. She didn't truly understand why this extreme divide existed either; from her brief perspective, it was as if everyone in this world simply took the hatred entirely for granted.
All the non-Infected population harbored a deep, instinctive terror of any physical contact with the Infected, acting as if a single, casual breath from an unfortunate person could instantly infect them (though, in reality, certain radical Infected possessing specific Originium Arts could indeed achieve that). But under normal, daily circumstances, ordinary physical contact would absolutely not cause a healthy person to contract Oripathy. Or rather, if the nations of Terra actually wrote and distributed logical, scientific guidelines on how to safely interact and live alongside the Infected, ordinary civilians would find that sharing a community wouldn't actually have any negative impact on their daily health.
Patchouli didn't feel discouraged by Flandre's simplistic view; instead, she gave a serious, contemplative nod. Although she hadn't gleaned any profound medical data from the child's words, she vaguely realized that aggressively cutting off communication channels and segregating the two factions seemed to be a deliberate, systemic choice made by the ruling classes of most Terran nations.
However, as she carefully reviewed the compiled global intelligence sheets resting in her hands, she felt the underlying truth might not be entirely driven by pure, cartoonish malice. Perhaps a massive part of the hatred was deeply related to the exorbitant, predatory pricing of local medicine.
After all, according to the financial trade data she had obtained, the market price of Oripathy suppressants was astronomically high. The critical catch was that these expensive drugs couldn't even cure the disease completely; they merely curbed the violent onset of crystallization by temporarily reducing the active concentration and cellular energy of the Originium particles within the patient's body.
Never mind a standard, low-income working family—even for an exceptionally well-off, middle-class household, the continuous, lifelong cost of this basic medical treatment would easily lead to absolute bankruptcy if a single family member fell ill with Oripathy. And in the tragic end, after losing every single coin they owned, the patient would still succumb to the disease anyway.
It was highly likely this exact cycle of inescapable financial despair that forged the massive, unyielding divide between the two populations. After all, in the terrified eyes of the non-Infected, Oripathy was nothing short of a literal death sentence. Contracting it didn't just mean a painful physical demise; it meant the immediate financial ruin and social exile of one's entire extended family.
As for the desperate Infected, a certain percentage would inevitably choose to go to violent, illegal extremes—plundering others' property or turning to violent crime—for the sole purpose of surviving another week and buying the precious medicine needed to extend their lives. This continuous cycle of survival and crime only served to artificially increase the deep societal divide and mutual hatred between the two sides.
The absolute best, most logical way to solve this global crisis would be to simply synthesize a definitive drug that completely eradicated Oripathy from the body.
But in reality, based on Patchouli and Eirin's deep understanding of the natural properties of Originium and the precise cellular mechanics of the disease, there was highly likely a terrifying, unimaginably massive organization or underlying cosmic force actively orchestrating this global status quo from behind the scenes. Rashly introducing a absolute cure for Oripathy into the market would very likely alert that hidden party immediately.
After all, this civilized world had already existed for tens of thousands of years; the residents of the Mansion refused to believe that not a single historical genius or ancient scientist had ever discovered the underlying molecular secrets behind Originium mutation. The grim reality, however, was that Oripathy remained stubbornly incurable across the entire planet, without a single officially documented case of full recovery in any historical text Patchouli had read. This total lack of medical progress made the ancient yokai very wary.
The supernatural beings living within Gensokyo were all centuries old and exceptionally cunning, as shrewd and self-preserving as could be. Under these highly suspicious circumstances, they naturally wouldn't choose to stick their necks out and play the role of global saviors.
After all, according to Eirin's physiological findings, the yokai possessed absolutely zero Originium within their systems, and their supernatural cells harbored no biological affinity for fusing with the mineral, meaning they were physically incapable of ever becoming Infected. Eirin Yagokoro only cared about analyzing Oripathy because it happened to be the most unique, characteristic local feature of Terra and the disease with the highest active infection rate; otherwise, she wouldn't have wasted a single second of her immortal life observing it.
As for synthesizing a full cure, Eirin could easily find a chemical pathway if she truly wanted to dedicate her mind to it. But she shared Patchouli's cautious philosophy: it was more than enough for them to show just a tiny, modest bit of medical skill to slightly improve the active efficacy of standard Oripathy suppressants and lower the production cost by a small fraction.
Standing out too prominently on a global stage might attract the immediate, hostile attention of whatever mastermind was pulling the strings of this world. And since this chaotic planet wasn't their actual home turf, they currently had to patiently wait for that old gap hag, Yukari Yakumo, to manually open a dimensional boundary line to take them back to Gensokyo. Until then, keeping a low profile was paramount; otherwise, it would be far too easy for catastrophic accidents to occur.
Meanwhile, right beside the beautiful Kazimierz marshlands, the rich, mouth-watering aroma of Sakuya's freshly prepared fish soup began to waft through the air, instantly drawing everyone's culinary attention.
Just as the group was preparing to sit down and enjoy their dinner, everyone's eyes simultaneously turned toward a dense, nearby reed bed.
A dozen or so armed figures were currently stealthily creeping out from the tall stalks not very far from their campsite. The trespassing party was being extremely cautious, carefully placing their boots so their advanced tactical movements wouldn't make any loud noise. If the Scarlet Devil Mansion group weren't all extraordinarily powerful, supernatural beings with heightened senses, they might not have noticed the ambush until the killers were standing right upon them.
"Well, those people certainly didn't travel all this way out here with good intentions," Hong Meiling commented casually, resting a hand on her hip as she watched the rustling reeds.
"Can I please handle them, Big Sister?" Flandre asked eagerly, her small wings instantly fluttering as she grew visibly itching for a good fight.
"Absolutely not. Engaging in crude, messy violence is simply not something a proper young lady should—" Remilia instinctively began to refuse, deeply worried that exposing her little sister to too much mindless slaughter might negatively affect her fragile psychological sanity.
She looked down, seeing Flandre's wide, pleading eyes staring back up at her, brimming with pure, restless excitement.
Remilia let out a defeated sigh, waving her hand. "...Fine, go ahead if you want to play so badly!"