A gentle autumn drizzle swept across the mountain peaks, veiling the granite cliffs in cool silver mist.
At the entrance plaza of Mount Qingcheng Scenic Park, the smell of roasted chestnuts and sweet red-bean cakes drifted through the damp air. Yet nothing smelled more intoxicating than Grandma Chen’s nine-cauldron canteen.
The fragrant aroma of braised spiritual pork belly, scallion oil noodles, and hot shrimp wontons wafted across the entire courtyard.
Standing fifty paces away near the turnstiles, two figures in puffy pink bunny suits swallowed their saliva in unison.
Former Sect Master Xuanji adjusted the mesh eyeholes of his rabbit head. His stomach let out a pathetic, echoing growl that vibrated through his foam costume.
“I can smell the scallion pancakes,” Xuanji muttered, his voice trembling with sheer desperation. “They just pulled a fresh tray of golden scallion pancakes from the skillet. I have not tasted hot spiritual grain in three weeks.”
Grand Elder Kunwu leaned against his broom, his pink velvet ears drooping in the drizzle.
“Don’t torture yourself,” Kunwu grumbled. “Grandma Chen’s canteen is strictly reserved for park staff with a Goodness Score of eighty or higher. With my miserable twelve points, the security array would fry my tail if I took three steps toward that door.”
