The warmth of the baked-clay cup felt shockingly human against Lin Ke’s calloused palm.
He sat on a low dark rock bench at the foot of the continent-sized end-post of Epoch Zero. The cooling ocean below hummed with its steady, liquid-helium whisper, venting thin wisps of supercooled vapor through the floor grates. Fifty leagues above his head, the first conflict block of the cosmic review hung suspended in the void. It glowed in deep emerald and violet glowing against the black high sky.
Apothecary He leaned over the bench, smelling of bitter licorice, dried ginger, and clean mountain rain. The old healer’s leather apron was stiff with dried salve and charred fleece from a hundred battlefields. But his hands were steady as a rock.
The old man didn’t offer a pill or a bone needle. He simply handed Lin Ke a chipped celadon bowl filled with steaming, dark brown herbal tea.
“Drink it,” He growled softly, his voice devoid of its usual cold and exact venom. “It’s roasted chicory root and sweet wild gentian. It won’t increase your training by a single breath. But it will coat your gullet and keep your hands from shaking.”
Lin Ke lifted the bowl with both hands and took a slow, measured sip.
