The midnight hunger of a Primordial Slime was a force of nature that no cosmic peace treaty could ever shrink.
Within minutes of Su Ling’er’s soft laugh, the southern entrance of the bathhouse row of stone pillars opened. Guided by four young foxfolk attendants in white cotton tunics, a massive floating repast was escorted out toward the central pool.
It wasn’t an ordinary serving dish. It was a huge, eight-sided storm-cedar tray measuring six feet across, hand-carved by Tie Shan from a single slab of lightning-struck timber and finished with nine layers of waterproof red stone lacquer. Fitted beneath its outer rim were hollow copper flotation chambers. He allowed the heavy wooden vessel to float upon the stone water with easy, level floating lift.
The attendants nudged the tray into the Tier 2 pool. Then, Xiao Long’s draconic whiskers rose from the intake weir.
With tiny hydro-moving finesse, the Nine-Clawed Flood Dragon wove a gentle, barely noticeable heat eddy beneath the tray, gliding it smoothly toward the center of the pool like a royal barge navigating a calm lake. Not a single drop of liquid sloshed. Not a single fine china bowl rattled.
The floating feast came to rest between the underwater cedar benches. Then, the aroma made every bather in the pavilion turn their heads.
