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墨書 Inktalez
It was the Duanwu Festival, commonly referred to as Wudu Day. Unlike the later traditions of eating zongzi and racing dragon boats, people would hang calamus and mugwort, drink realgar wine, and generally stay indoors unless absolutely necessary.
"You're really going through with this, aren't you? Are you sure?"
"If that's settled, I'll put up the notice of closure."
"Post it! Do it right now!"
Misha borrowed a cart from Qilang. With two adults and two children, plus a bundle of wisteria branches tucked into Sang Qingxiao's hair, they set off at dawn the next day.
"Have the meals been delivered?"
Misha nodded. "Just in case you feel like extending your stay, I've sent three days' worth of meals. With your talisman protecting them, they won't spoil."
"How thoughtful of you!"
Sang Qingxiao sighed. "Misha, you can't let that disciple of yours charm you away. What will we do if you leave?"
"He hasn't mentioned anything about me leaving since that day. Besides, your Small Tavern was doing just fine before I came along."
"Who told you to be so capable and spoil us?"
"Is that my fault?"
As the cart rolled out of the city gates and headed south, it was Sang Qingxiao who made the request for Old Vine to dig into the earth at midnight to find a spot.
This area was nestled between mountains and rivers, sparsely populated with only a few distant households visible.
Before the cart even came to a stop, Old Vine eagerly jumped out of the window and dashed into the deep forest.
Sang Qingxiao chose to set up camp by a stream. As soon as they got out of the cart, he bounced off with the two little ones to play in the water—catching fish, grabbing shrimp, and collecting snails. Soaked through and still unsatisfied, they found a muddy patch where they pulled the kids in to catch loaches, eels, crayfish, and frogs.
Fortunately, they were two little boys. At first, they were frightened by the strange creatures in the mud but held back their screams. As they played on, their courage grew; they became quicker than Sang Qingxiao at catching.
Once their bamboo basket was full and their stomachs began to rumble, they hurried off to find Misha.
Not far from the stream, Misha had found a spot to set up a tent borrowed from Qilang. She built two stoves: one for boiling water for tea and another that had warmed milk ready for one adult and two children. She poured a bowl of hot milk for each of them to ward off dampness and prevent colds while urging them to change clothes in the tent.
Sang Qingxiao emerged first. Misha sat across from her and handed her a roasted sweet potato that was caramelized and fragrant. "The beggar chicken will take a while longer. What are you going to do with all those things you picked from the mud?"
Sang Qingxiao was lost in the sweetness of the roasted sweet potato. She took a big bite and burned her mouth but couldn't bear to spit it out. After some time, she finally swallowed it down comfortably before replying, "No rush on cooking; we can take some home. Some need to be purged first anyway. Don't underestimate these muddy finds; they're tender."
"I trust your cooking skills. Shouldn't we call Old Vine back to eat together?"
"No need; it's probably off visiting friends. It won't go hungry in these mountains." Sang Qingxiao sniffed. "This tea smells wonderful; pour me a cup too."
"Are you going to drink it like that? Do you want it in a bowl?" Misha carefully poured a small cup and handed it to Sang Qingxiao.
Sang Qingxiao took a deep gulp, savoring the tea. It was even more fragrant than it smelled.
Misha glanced at her with disdain. "Those demon clans sent the herbs over together. I noticed the quality was excellent, so I sent a letter asking them to send more. In my spare time, I roast it myself."
"You can roast tea too?"
"My master loves tea and always says that roasting it can calm the mind, and that the way of tea contains Zen philosophy. I've been learning this from him since I was young."
Misha took a small sip and commented, "This batch is still lacking in terms of roasting time."
"It's already so fragrant, and you're still complaining?"
Misha's expression darkened; after all, it was still not as good as what her master made.
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