The timber gatehouse of Camp Hope smelled of dried cedar shingles, fresh sawdust. The rich, pungent aroma of hot spiced plum wine simmering over hot coals.
Lin Xiao had resumed his eighteen-year-old scholar avatar, dressed in his favorite loose azure linen robes woven with silver spirit-silk along the hem. He sat at the head of a long, rough-hewn pine campaign table, his stance relaxed and easy. Pinned securely into the dark hemp ribbon binding his raven hair was Xiao Bao’s little woven straw grasshopper, its reed legs bobbing slightly in the mountain draft. On the table rested a steaming iron kettle of roasted barley tea, a row of carved birch cups. A wide wooden platter piled high with freshly peeled winter turnips, cut into thick, crunchy white wedges that glistened with cool juice.
Gathered around the table were the core pillars of the Myriad Spirit Safe hall.
To Lin Xiao’s left sat Su Ling’er, her brush moving with fluid, mesmerizing grace across an open parchment ledger as she finalized grain allocations, firewood reserves, and medical inventories. To his right, Xiao Hei lay stretched along the timber floorboards in his twelve-foot eclipse wolf form, his massive black glass chin resting flat against the wood, ruby eyes glowing with steady, suppressed martial vigilance.
