"Little Mei has always been unusual," Li Feng explained as they continued toward the tea house. "The villagers say she was born during a celestial convergence that happens only once every sixty years. Some believe it granted her special perception."

  "She seems... insightful," Xiaolong agreed neutrally.

  "Children often see what adults have trained themselves to ignore," Li Feng observed. "Water can be clearest at its source, before it gathers the sediment of experience."

  These philosophical observations were interrupted by their arrival at the tea house entrance, where a formidable woman of middle years stood with arms akimbo, surveying them with the practiced eye of someone who had spent decades evaluating whether visitors would improve or detract from her establishment's reputation.

  "Elder Disciple Li," she greeted, performing a respectful if perfunctory bow. "The Azure Waters Sect honors us with your return."

  "Madame Peng," Li Feng returned the greeting with perfect form. "Your tea house remains the jewel of Boundary Village."

  The obvious flattery seemed to please the proprietress, who preened slightly before turning her evaluative gaze on Xiaolong. "And who might this be? Not another sect disciple, judging by the robes—or lack of proper ones."

  Xiaolong had not considered that her clothing might identify her as an outsider. She had manifested simple traveling garments during her transformation, but they clearly lacked whatever identifying elements would mark her as affiliated with an established cultivation tradition.

  "This is Cultivator Xiaolong, a independent practitioner I encountered during my pilgrimage," Li Feng explained. "She accompanies me to study certain water techniques unique to our sect."

  Madame Peng's expression made it clear that "independent practitioner" ranked only slightly above "suspicious vagrant" in her estimation of desirable guests. "I see. And does Cultivator Xiaolong have the means to pay for accommodations, or is the sect's account to be charged?"

  This direct question about finances caught Xiaolong flat-footed.

  Dragons had no concept of commerce as humans practiced it—they simply took what they wanted or created what they needed. The idea of exchanging symbolic tokens for goods and services seemed needlessly complicated compared to the straightforward draconic approach of "I want this, it's mine now."

  "I will cover her expenses until we reach the sect," Li Feng interjected smoothly, saving Xiaolong from having to fumble through an explanation of her financial situation (or lack thereof).

  Madame Peng's expression softened marginally at this guarantee of payment. "Very well. I have two rooms available on the upper floor. The evening meal will be served shortly in the main hall."

  She led them into the tea house, which proved to contain a surprisingly spacious common area filled with mismatched tables and chairs. A few early diners already occupied the space, nursing cups of tea and engaging in the low-level murmur that constitutes village gossip exchange.

  All conversation momentarily ceased as they entered, every head turning to evaluate the newcomers before resuming with notably increased vigor.

  "Information travels faster than spiritual energy in small communities," Li Feng murmured as they followed Madame Peng up a narrow staircase. "By morning, everyone will have an opinion about you, most of it wildly inaccurate."

  "Is this typical human settlement behavior?" Xiaolong asked, genuinely curious about this social phenomenon.

  "Universal, I believe. Elder Wei says gossip serves as social cultivation—refining information through repeated transmission until something resembling truth eventually precipitates."

  This explanation contained a certain elegance that appealed to Xiaolong's scholarly nature. Dragons engaged in their own form of information refinement, though it typically involved more formal declarations of knowledge ownership and occasional ritual combat over disputed facts.

  The upper floor contained a narrow hallway with six doors—presumably the available guest rooms. Madame Peng stopped before two adjacent doors near the end of the corridor.

  "These will serve your needs," she announced, producing iron keys from somewhere within her voluminous sleeves. "The water closet is at the end of the hall. Breakfast is served from dawn until the second bell. Cultivation exercises are permitted only in the rear garden, not in the rooms." This last instruction was delivered with the emphatic tone of someone who had learned its necessity through unfortunate prior experience.

  Li Feng accepted the keys with appropriate gratitude, passing one to Xiaolong. "Thank you, Madame Peng. We'll join the evening meal shortly."

  Once the proprietress had departed, he turned to Xiaolong with a slightly apologetic expression. "The accommodations will be basic by any standard. Village tea houses prioritize function over comfort."

  "I require little," Xiaolong assured him, which was true in the sense that dragons considered physical comfort largely irrelevant. Their true forms could rest comfortably on jagged mountain peaks or beds of razor-sharp crystals without discomfort.

  They parted to inspect their respective rooms, agreeing to meet downstairs for the evening meal. Xiaolong entered her assigned chamber and immediately understood Li Feng's warning about basic accommodations.

  The room contained exactly three pieces of furniture: a narrow bed that appeared to have been constructed by someone with only a theoretical understanding of human spinal structure, a small table that listed alarmingly to one side, and a stool that looked as though it might disintegrate if subjected to more than fifty pounds of pressure.

  The floor was bare wood, the walls unadorned save for a single scroll bearing the calligraphed message "Water Finds Peace in Stillness," which Xiaolong suspected was meant to discourage complaints about the accommodations rather than offer genuine spiritual insight.

  A small window provided the room's only natural light, offering a view of what appeared to be the village pigpen. The aromatic evidence suggested this proximity was not an advantage.

  Xiaolong stood in the center of the room, experiencing another novel human emotion: disappointment. Not the grand existential disappointment dragons occasionally felt when contemplating the universe's inherent entropy, but the petty, immediate disappointment of physical circumstances failing to meet even modest expectations.

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  "Humans live like this voluntarily?" she murmured, prodding the mattress experimentally. It responded with a sound like dying vegetation being compressed by a landslide.

  After a brief inspection confirmed that the room contained no additional amenities or hidden features that might redeem its spartan nature, Xiaolong decided to rejoin Li Feng downstairs. She emerged from the room just as he was exiting his own.

  "Your chamber meets your needs?" he inquired politely.

  "It is..." Xiaolong searched for a diplomatic description, "...adequate for temporary occupation."

  Li Feng's lips twitched in what might have been suppressed amusement. "Madame Peng believes excessive comfort leads to spiritual stagnation. Her accommodations certainly encourage guests to avoid stagnating any longer than necessary."

  This observation contained such a perfect blend of politeness and understated criticism that Xiaolong found herself revising her opinion of human social skills.

  Perhaps there was more subtlety to their interaction than dragons had given them credit for.

  They descended to the main floor, which had filled considerably during their brief absence. Nearly two dozen villagers now occupied the various tables, creating a buzz of conversation punctuated by occasional laughter and the clinking of ceramic cups.

  The atmosphere held a warm camaraderie entirely absent from draconic gatherings, which tended toward formal ritualism or barely suppressed dominance contests.

  "Elder Brother Li!" called several voices simultaneously as they entered. Various villagers gestured invitingly toward their tables, clearly eager to claim the cultivator's attention.

  "Your popularity is evident," Xiaolong observed.

  "The Azure Waters Sect provides flood control and weather moderation for this region," Li Feng explained modestly. "Their hospitality reflects gratitude for practical assistance, not personal admiration."

  Before Li Feng could select a table, a small figure darted between the crowded seating and skidded to a stop before them. Little Mei, face flushed with the important mission of host, pointed triumphantly toward a corner table.

  "I saved seats!" she announced proudly. "Away from the noisy people, near the window for air." She leaned closer to Xiaolong and added in a stage whisper audible to half the room, "I know big creatures don't like feeling trapped."

  This pronouncement, fortunately, produced more amused chuckles than suspicious glances. The locals clearly filed Mei's comments under "charming childhood imagination" rather than "alarming insight into cosmic disguises."

  Li Feng accepted the child's guidance with grave courtesy, allowing her to lead them to the corner table where she had indeed reserved seats by the simple expedient of placing small rocks on the stools. She removed these with ceremonial flourish, presenting the seats as though offering thrones.

  "Thank you, Little Mei," Li Feng said solemnly. "Your hospitality honors Boundary Village."

  The formal acknowledgment clearly delighted the child, who beamed with pride before scampering off, presumably to inform others of her important role in the evening's arrangements.

  No sooner had they seated themselves than serving staff appeared with steaming bowls of rice and platters of simple but aromatic dishes—stir-fried vegetables, river fish in pungent sauce, preserved meats with mountain herbs. The speed of service suggested that Li Feng's status as an Elder Disciple of the region's dominant sect guaranteed preferential treatment.

  Xiaolong studied the array of food with scholarly interest. In her true form, she consumed for pleasure rather than necessity, typically favoring rare celestial fruits or the essence of ancient spirits. These humble village offerings represented an entirely different culinary tradition—one based on necessity and available resources rather than indulgence.

  She watched Li Feng carefully, mimicking his movements as he served himself modest portions and manipulated the wooden chopsticks with practiced ease. Her first attempt at using the unfamiliar utensils resulted in a piece of fish performing an impressive aerial maneuver before landing in the cup of a startled elderly man at the next table.

  "My apologies," Xiaolong offered, mortified by this display of incompetence. Dragons prided themselves on perfect execution of all physical tasks; such clumsiness was beneath their dignity.

  The old man merely fished the morsel from his cup with good humor. "Better aim than my grandson," he chuckled. "He once managed to get a dumpling stuck to the ceiling."

  This casual acceptance of imperfection was another cultural surprise. In dragon society, such an error would have resulted in immediate loss of face and possibly a formal challenge to restore honor. These humans seemed to find her clumsiness endearing rather than contemptible.

  Li Feng discreetly demonstrated a simplified chopstick grip. "Like this," he murmured. "The trick is to hold the upper one like a brush while keeping the lower one stationary."

  Xiaolong adjusted her grip accordingly, her perfect proprioception allowing her to immediately replicate the correct position. Her next attempt successfully conveyed food from plate to mouth without unintended detours.

  "You've never used chopsticks before?" Li Feng asked, keeping his voice low to avoid broadcasting this peculiar gap in her knowledge.

  Xiaolong considered various explanations before settling on a partial truth. "My... tradition uses different implements."

  "Interesting. Most cultivation sects throughout these regions have used chopsticks for centuries. Even Western mountain traditions adopted them for practical dining, if not ceremonial meals."

  This innocent observation highlighted another oversight in her human disguise. Basic cultural knowledge that any human would possess regardless of origin was conspicuously absent from her understanding. She needed to establish some explanation for these gaps that wouldn't raise further suspicion.

  "I was raised in significant isolation," she improvised. "My masters focused on cultivation techniques rather than social customs."

  This explanation seemed to satisfy Li Feng, who nodded thoughtfully. "That would explain certain... peculiarities in your manner."

  Before Xiaolong could determine whether to be relieved or offended by this assessment, they were interrupted by the arrival of Old Man Zhao, who settled himself at their table without invitation or preamble.

  "The Azure Waters disciple and his mysterious companion honor our humble establishment," the elder announced, pouring himself tea from their pot with casual presumption. "What fortuitous winds blow you back to our village, young Li?"

  "Completion of my communion with the Fourth Sacred Waterfall," Li Feng replied respectfully. "I return to the sect to prepare for the fifth pilgrimage."

  "Ah, the Frozen Moment Waterfall," Zhao nodded sagely. "Treacherous journey that one, especially for a water cultivator. Ice that changes state unpredictably has trapped many an unwary pilgrim."

  He turned his rheumy yet penetrating gaze to Xiaolong. "And what of you, traveler? What quest brings one of your... stature... to our insignificant village?"

  The emphasis on "stature" carried unmistakable double meaning. Xiaolong was increasingly certain the old human possessed some form of spiritual perception that penetrated deeper than ordinary sight.

  "I seek understanding of the Way of Flowing Water," she replied carefully. "Elder Disciple Li has graciously allowed me to observe his techniques."

  "Has he indeed?" Zhao's bushy eyebrows waggled with unfortunate suggestiveness. "And what does a mountain learn from studying a river, I wonder?"

  The metaphorical nature of his speech provided convenient ambiguity, but the underlying message was clear: he sensed something of her true nature, even if he couldn't precisely identify it.

  "Mountains and rivers have much to teach each other," Xiaolong responded, adopting his metaphorical approach. "The mountain provides direction, but the river shapes the mountain over time."

  Zhao cackled with delight at this philosophical parry. "Well spoken! Perhaps there is wisdom in your strange journey after all." He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "But be warned, great one who walks small—not all in the Azure Waters Sect will welcome external philosophies. Some mountains are more stubborn than others about being shaped."

  With this cryptic warning delivered, he rose from the table as abruptly as he had arrived, shuffling away to spread his particular brand of unsettling insight to other diners.