The small iron brazier hissed as three droplets of water spilled over the ceramic rim.
Kaelen Vance knelt beside the low charcoal stove, holding a pair of brass tongs in his right hand. He did not use spiritual fire to heat the clay kettle. A single spark of Saint Vessel flame would have flared his dantian, shattering his True Fallow State and resetting his precious alchemy timer.
Instead, he blew gently on mundane oak charcoal, watching the dull red embers pulse with natural heat.
“You’ve been boiling that water for forty minutes, Brother,” Mina murmured, sitting on the goose-feather cushion with her knees tucked against her chest. “The mountain wind’s blowing all the steam away.”
“Good jasmine tea demands patience, Mina,” Kaelen replied smoothly, setting the brass tongs down on a clean cloth. “Diligent cultivators always burn their tea leaves because they use heavenly flame to rush the boil. They end up drinking bitter charcoal water and convincing themselves it builds character.”
He adjusted the straw hat tilted over his eyes.
“Suffering isn’t a flavor profile,” Kaelen added. “It’s merely poor culinary preparation.”
Besides, nursing a slow kettle kills an entire hour without requiring me to swing a sword, Kaelen thought with quiet satisfaction. Every minute the kettle simmers is another sixty seconds on the slate.
