In the grand hierarchy of uncomfortable experiences, sharing a crowded tea house with humans who won't stop staring at you ranks somewhere between having your scales polished with sandpaper and being forced to attend a celestial poetry recital where the featured poet has confused quantity with quality.

  For Xiaolong, who had spent the better part of five millennia being either properly feared or appropriately worshipped, this newfound status as a curiosity was proving to be one of reverse cultivation's more unexpected challenges.

  Dawn was still at least an hour away, yet the tea house hummed with early morning activity. Madame Peng's kitchen staff clattered about preparing breakfast while merchants organized their departure and farmers collected for pre-work meals.

  At the center of this human hurricane sat Xiaolong, attempting to look like someone who had slept on a mattress apparently stuffed with uncooperative hedgehogs rather than a being who could realign constellations with a casual flick of her tail.

  "You appear... unrested," Li Feng observed as he joined her at the corner table, his own movements displaying the irritating grace of someone perfectly at peace with their physical limitations.

  "The bed and I reached a philosophical impasse," Xiaolong replied, sipping the tea a server had grudgingly provided. "It insisted on being made of what I believe were repurposed torture devices, while I maintained that sleeping surfaces should demonstrate at least a passing acquaintance with the concept of comfort."

  Li Feng's lips twitched in what was becoming a familiar almost-smile. "Village accommodations prioritize durability over luxury. Madame Peng probably inherited those beds from her great-grandmother."

  "Who presumably acquired them from ancient demons specializing in lower back pain," Xiaolong muttered.

  She shifted uncomfortably on the wooden bench, experiencing yet another novel aspect of humanity: morning stiffness. In her true form, she could remain motionless for decades without the slightest discomfort.

  This human vessel, however, registered complaints about a mere eight hours of inactivity with the petulant insistence of a spoiled imperial heir denied a favorite toy.

  Breakfast arrived in the form of steaming rice porridge topped with pickled vegetables and what the server claimed was salted fish but Xiaolong suspected might actually be preserved shoe leather. She poked at it suspiciously, another habit she'd unconsciously adopted from observing humans.

  "It's traditional village fare," Li Feng explained, consuming his portion with pragmatic efficiency. "Simple but sustaining for the journey ahead."

  Xiaolong forced herself to take a bite and was surprised to discover that, while entirely lacking the celestial flavors she preferred in her true form, the humble dish possessed a certain earthy satisfaction.

  Human taste, it seemed, was calibrated to find pleasure in far simpler sensations than draconic palates required.

  "It's... adequately nutritive," she conceded, which by dragon standards counted as effusive praise for lesser cuisine.

  "High praise indeed," Li Feng replied with that subtle humor that continued to catch her off guard. "I shall inform Madame Peng that her cooking has been deemed 'adequately nutritive' by the discerning Cultivator Xiaolong. She'll no doubt include this testimonial when advertising her establishment."

  Xiaolong felt a strange sensation in her chest that took her a moment to identify as the precursor to laughter—a response dragons rarely experienced except when witnessing the catastrophic failure of rivals. This spontaneous amusement at simple conversation was yet another peculiarity of her human experience.

  Before she could formulate a suitably dignified response, the tea house door burst open with enough force to rattle the wooden cups on their table.

  Three men entered with the unmistakable swagger of those who believed their arrival improved any gathering, an opinion clearly not shared by the collective groan that rippled through the early morning patrons.

  "The Yu brothers," Li Feng murmured, his posture subtly shifting from relaxed to alert. "Minor cultivators with more ambition than talent. They work as enforcers for merchant caravans crossing disputed territories."

  Xiaolong assessed the newcomers with the automatic calculation of a predator categorizing potential threats. The resemblance between the three was obvious—similar broad-shouldered builds, similar crude facial features, similar expressions of perpetual dissatisfaction with the universe.

  The eldest appeared to be in his early thirties, the youngest perhaps twenty, all wearing mismatched cultivation robes that suggested they had acquired their training piecemeal from whatever sources were available.

  "Earth cultivation," she noted, recognizing the distinctive density in their spiritual signatures. "Rudimentary, but substantial physical reinforcement."

  Li Feng glanced at her with mild surprise. "Good observation. They studied briefly under a Black Iron Sect outer disciple before being expelled for disciplinary issues. Now they leverage what little cultivation they achieved for personal gain."

  The brothers settled at a table near the center of the room, loudly demanding service with the particular tone of those who believe volume directly correlates with importance. The servers responded with the resigned efficiency of those who had learned that certain customers were best served quickly and with minimal interaction.

  "We should depart soon," Li Feng suggested, finishing his tea. "Our path to the sect requires a full day's travel to reach suitable camping grounds."

  Xiaolong nodded agreement, relieved at the prospect of leaving the crowded human settlement for open mountain paths. She had just risen from her seat when fate, with its characteristic sense of cosmic timing, decided to complicate matters.

  "Well, look who's gracing our humble village!" The voice, pitched deliberately to carry across the entire tea house, belonged to the eldest Yu brother. "The great Elder Disciple Li, mighty water cultivator of the Azure Waters Sect!"

  Li Feng paused, his expression settling into polite neutrality—the face of someone who recognized trouble but hoped to avoid it through civilized restraint. "Good morning, Yu Dashan. I trust your caravan duties keep you well employed."

  The greeting was perfectly balanced between minimal courtesy and minimal engagement, but the eldest brother was clearly not interested in peaceful exchanges. He rose from his table, gesturing for his siblings to join him as he approached.

  "Employment is plentiful when you don't limit yourself to sect restrictions," Yu Dashan replied, stopping close enough to their table that Xiaolong could smell the fermented rice wine still lingering on his breath from the previous night's indulgences. "Unlike some who waste their talents fetching water for village peasants."

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  The tea house had grown unnaturally quiet, the audience for this confrontation settling in with the practiced readiness of those who viewed public disputes as premium entertainment.

  Xiaolong found herself experiencing an unexpected territorial response—an almost instinctive urge to establish dominance over these lesser beings who dared challenge someone under her protection.

  Wait. Under her protection? When had she started thinking of Li Feng that way?

  "The Azure Waters Sect considers service to communities part of our cultivation path," Li Feng responded calmly. "Different traditions value different virtues."

  "Pretty words from a pretty boy," the middle brother snorted. Yu Ershan was slightly shorter than his elder sibling but compensated with additional belligerence. "Black Iron Sect says water cultivators are just afraid to face real combat. Always flowing away instead of standing firm."

  This simplistic characterization of cultivation philosophies might have been dismissed as mere ignorance, but Xiaolong recognized the deliberate provocation for what it was. These men weren't seeking philosophical debate; they were deliberately trying to provoke Li Feng into a confrontation.

  "Perhaps we should continue this discussion another time," Li Feng suggested, his tone remaining even despite the transparent insults. "We have a long journey ahead."

  He started to move past the brothers with Xiaolong close behind, but the youngest Yu sibling—a youth whose cultivation base was notably the weakest of the three—stepped directly into their path.

  "Not so fast," Yu Sanshan said, his voice cracking slightly with the effort of sounding intimidating. "We heard you brought a foreign cultivator to our village. Don't you know there are proper protocols for introducing outsiders to protected territories?"

  The artificial nature of this confrontation became increasingly obvious. Someone had deliberately set these minor cultivators on their path—likely after noticing Xiaolong's unusual spiritual signature the previous evening.

  "I am an Elder Disciple of the sect responsible for this region," Li Feng stated, a note of authority entering his voice for the first time. "I require no permission to travel with a cultivation colleague."

  "Maybe in Azure Waters territory," the eldest brother countered, "but this village sits at the boundary between sect influences. Black Iron Sect has equal claim to oversight here."

  This was, Xiaolong noted, technically accurate from a human political perspective, though entirely irrelevant from a draconic one.

  In dragon terms, territorial disputes were simple: the stronger dragon claimed the territory, and the weaker either submitted or was eliminated. These tedious negotiations between relatively equal powers seemed unnecessarily complicated.

  "Elder Brother," she said, addressing Li Feng with deliberate formality, "perhaps we should simply continue our journey. These... cultivators... clearly have important enforcement duties to attend to."

  The dismissive nature of her statement was impossible to miss, particularly the barely perceptible pause before the word "cultivators"—as though she found the classification technically applicable but fundamentally generous.

  The insult landed precisely as intended. The youngest brother's face flushed red, while the middle brother's hand moved toward the crude iron sword at his waist.

  "And who exactly are you to dismiss us?" Yu Dashan demanded, turning his full attention to Xiaolong. "No sect markings, no recognized cultivation aura. For all we know, you could be a demonic cultivator infiltrating our territories."

  Had Xiaolong been in her true form, such an accusation would have resulted in the immediate reduction of the accuser to dust. Even in her current limited state, she felt an almost overwhelming urge to demonstrate exactly how far beneath her these insects truly were.

  Li Feng must have sensed her rising draconic indignation, because he smoothly stepped between them.

  "Cultivator Xiaolong is my guest and studies specialized techniques that naturally mask common recognition patterns," he explained with remarkable patience. "I personally vouch for her character and abilities."

  "Your vouching doesn't carry weight in balanced territories," the middle brother insisted. "Proper protocol requires demonstration of cultivation base to local authorities before unrestricted movement is permitted."

  This was, Xiaolong knew from her extensive observations of human cultivation society, complete fabrication.

  No such protocol existed, particularly for boundary villages too small to host permanent sect representatives. The brothers were simply inventing rules to justify harassment.

  "And you three represent local authorities?" she asked, allowing just enough draconic resonance to enter her voice that nearby teacups vibrated slightly. "How fascinating. I wasn't aware that the Black Iron Sect had fallen so far as to appoint failed outer disciples as regional representatives."

  The eldest brother's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You know nothing about us."

  "I know enough," Xiaolong replied, drawing on millennia of diplomatic experience to craft the perfect insult. "Your spiritual signatures reveal incomplete foundation work, meridian development stunted by improper circulation techniques, and spiritual cores barely stabilized beyond the initial condensation phase. What I don't know is why you believe this qualifies you to demand demonstrations from cultivators clearly beyond your comprehension level."

  The tea house had grown so quiet that the sound of a teacup being placed on a table echoed like thunder.

  Even Li Feng seemed momentarily taken aback by the precision of her assessment and the devastating delivery of her dismissal.

  The Yu brothers, however, reacted with the predictable rage of the justly but publicly humiliated.

  "You dare—!" the youngest spluttered, his hand moving to his weapon.

  "I would reconsider that action," Li Feng advised quietly. Though he hadn't moved, the water in every cup and pot within the tea house had gone completely still, as though time itself had frozen liquid mid-ripple. The display of control was subtle but unmistakable to anyone with cultivation sense.

  The middle brother, marginally more perceptive than his siblings, clearly recognized the warning for what it was. He placed a restraining hand on his younger brother's arm.

  "Big words from strangers passing through," he said, attempting to salvage some dignity. "But words don't prove cultivation base. Actions do."

  "We have no interest in proving anything to you," Li Feng replied. "Now, please allow us to pass."

  For a moment, it seemed the confrontation might end there. The villagers had begun to shift uncomfortably, the entertainment value of the exchange now overshadowed by genuine concern about cultivation conflicts erupting in their tea house.

  Madame Peng hovered near the kitchen entrance, her expression suggesting calculations about potential property damage versus the social capital of an interesting story to share for months afterward.

  Then the eldest brother made a critical error in judgment.

  "Fine, go ahead and hide behind your water sect tricks," he sneered. "Take your foreign demon-woman and run back to your mountain. Everyone knows the Azure Waters Sect has grown weak, too afraid to even defend their river valley territories from proper cultivators."

  Had he insulted only Li Feng, matters might have remained salvageable. But the casual addition of "demon-woman" when referring to Xiaolong—who had been called many things across the millennia but never something so insultingly plebeian—crossed a threshold in draconic tolerance.

  The air in the tea house suddenly felt thinner, as though oxygen itself had decided to keep a respectful distance from what was about to unfold.

  Xiaolong's hair shifted subtly through shades of midnight blue to deep purple, a chromatic warning sign that went completely unnoticed by the brothers but caused Old Man Zhao, observing from a corner table, to quickly down his tea and shuffle toward the exit.

  "You seem," Xiaolong said, her voice unnaturally calm, "to be laboring under several misconceptions that I feel obligated to correct."

  Li Feng glanced at her sharply, clearly sensing the dangerous shift in her spiritual energy. "Xiaolong, this isn't necessary—"

  "First," she continued as though he hadn't spoken, "the proper term would be 'demoness-woman,' though the redundancy reveals your limited vocabulary. Second, I am not foreign but rather unaffiliated, a distinction beyond your provincial understanding. Third, and most relevantly..."

  The temperature in the room dropped several degrees as she smiled—an expression that contained all the warmth of a glacier contemplating a particularly disappointing village in its path.

  "I do not hide behind anyone or anything."