```
Before long, Greg Jensen, who was cultivating, was invited over by Theresa Locke.
As soon as he entered the room, all eyes were upon him.
Doubt, scorn, mockery—amidst the variety of gazes, there was a prevalent sense of distrust.
Greg Jensen was indifferent. These people were mere ants to him; had it not been for Theresa Locke's sake, he wouldn't have come to Mystic City at all.
So, their attitudes meant nothing to him.
Noah Locke approached with a feigned smile and enthusiastically reached out for Greg Jensen's hand, but the latter subtly avoided it.
Unperturbed, he said with a smile, "Barry, you're finally here. Please, come inside."
"Hmm."
Greg Jensen nodded and said as he walked, "Prepare a large pot, set it up in the courtyard, and fill it with water—it will be needed later."
"Er, alright."
Noah Locke thought it strange but turned and instructed, "Well, what are you waiting for?"
"Right away, sir."
The butler, Afu, hurriedly left.
