The autumn breeze blowing through the porch of the Myriad Spirit Safe hall carried the comforting fragrance of simmered mountain broth, seasoned cedar wood, and fermented golden pears.
Under the warm glow of spirit-stone lanterns strung along the pavilion roof edges, Lin Xiao stood over a broad, bubbling clay pot. In his eighteen-year-old human guise—slender, clad in comfortable azure-and-gray linen robes with his sleeves rolled neatly to the elbows—he looked more like a relaxed village scholar preparing dinner for his family than the undisputed master of a newly recognized land-wide sovereign domain. With an unrushed, rhythmic motion, he dipped a polished bamboo ladle into the broth. He lifted a shimmering cascade of golden soup infused with shredded silver-ear mushrooms, dried mountain bamboo shoots, and tender slivers of cured spirit-boar belly.
“Another five minutes on the simmer, and the mushroom fat will have emulsified perfectly,” Lin Xiao remarked, a contented smile softening his youthful features. “Gu Qingfeng, if you drink any more of that pear wine on an empty stomach, you’ll ruin your palate before the noodles even hit the broth.”
Reclining against one of the carved wooden porch posts with his patched green robes loosely belted, Sword Saint Gu Qingfeng took another leisurely swallow from his chipped gourd. He gave a scratchy, good-natured laugh, his unkempt gray hair swaying in the evening draft.
