The grand central kitchen terrace of the Myriad Spirit Safe hall was usually a place of leisurely experimentation. On ordinary summer afternoons, one might find Lin Xiao roasting skewers of marinated river carp over sweet applewood coals, or brewing flagons of iced plum tea with Su Ling’er and Gu Qingfeng while listening to the wind chime among the bamboo.
Today, the terrace looked like a grand supply marshaling yard.
Thirty huge red-bronze woks, each eight feet across and forged from heat-conducting mountain copper by Tie Shan’s apprentice bears, were arranged in three parallel rows along the stone apron. Beneath each cooking pot, trenches had been dug into the bedrock, connected to channeled gas vents and dry cedar kindling. Hundreds of beastfolk volunteers—badger cooks in white aprons, nimble fox maidens carrying cedar trays, and broad-backed boar-kin hauling heavy woven sacks—moved with practiced, rhythmic care.
Lin Xiao stood at the center of the terrace, his midnight-blue scholar sleeves rolled past his elbows, wearing a wide white cotton cooking apron over his linen robes.
“Roll out the barrels from Cellars Four, Seven, and Twelve!” Lin Xiao’s clear voice carried effortlessly across the shouting workers and clattering timber. “Wash the spirit rice in three rinses of clear springwater! Keep the starch water in the side troughs—don’t dump it, we’ll use it to cool the horses and cattle!”
