A gust of wind swept a cold drizzle inside the small stall, scattering the fragrance of jasmine tea from the kettle Lin Fan had set up on the counter's modest clay stove. Rain pattered steadily against the worn cobblestones outside, keeping most potential customers away from the old streets. Currently, only short and frowny Bai Mei occupied the space, hunched over his cup.

  Lin Fan hugged his thin faint blue robe tighter, feeling the chill seeping into his bones. His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for the kettle. He always hated the cold as it meant sickness and sickness meant downtime for his Sunrise Servings stall. Any day he took a break meant one less meal for his family of four.

  The rain drummed rhythmically against the canopy of leaves overhead, creating a melancholy melody.

  "Why don't you buy some extra clothes?" Bai Mei asked, studying Lin Fan from across the wooden counter beneath the protective canopy of the large tree spreading around the stall.

  Lin Fan sighed. "I will, next winter. This one is tight," he said, stirring the tea with a wooden ladle.

  The amber liquid rippled around, steam curling upward in delicate wisps, forming a nice tranquil moment amid their worries.

  "I will give you some loan. It's just a few copper." Bai Mei tapped his finger on the counter separating the internal and outside area.

  Loan.

  Lin Fan hated that word. It was the loan that had put their family in this state. If he could avoid one thing in this world, it would be a loan.

  "No need," Lin Fan said, glancing at the earthenware pots he had prepared inside.

  They carried the stall's evening menu. One tray contained fresh ginger and neatly chopped spring onion. Another pot held marinated pork belly, waiting to be transformed into his signature stew. The rich aroma of garlic and star anise already perfumed the small space.

  Lin Fan adjusted the woven leaf cover over the pot with careful hands.

  His father always said the food should be maintained at a proper temperature so the taste would be preserved. The few customers who visited his eatery came for the consistent flavor he had provided for the last year, so he couldn't let his reputation go to waste.

  The thought of his father pierced Lin Fan's heart like a rusted needle, familiar yet sharp. He reached beneath the counter, fingers finding the small leather-bound ledger hidden between jars of dried spices like a shameful secret. The book's spine was cracked, the pages worn thin as temple prayer slips from constant handling.

  "Checking your fortune again?" Bai Mei's eyebrows lifted, his lips twisted in a knowing smirk that made Lin Fan's skin prickle.

  Lin Fan flipped to yesterday's entry. Six copper coins, scratched in faded ink like dying wishes.

  The day before, five.

  Before that, a slightly better day at eight copper.

  Sometimes, when the weather was fair and laborers stopped by after their shifts at the docks, he could clear eight copper in a single evening.

  Eight coppers. A fortune. A joke.

  "At this rate," Lin Fan muttered, closing the book with a thud, "I'll clear my father's debt in about four thousand years. Maybe five."

  "That bad?" Bai Mei's frown deepened. He took another sip of tea, the steam momentarily fogging his vision.

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  "A thousand silver doesn't disappear overnight." Lin Fan's voice dropped to barely above a whisper, as if even speaking the amount might summon the debt collector. "Not when you earn copper by copper. Like gathering dewdrops to fill an ocean."

  Down the street, the Central District's spires rose above the modest buildings of their neighborhood, towers catching what little sunlight penetrated the rain clouds, golden light streaming down like the heavens favoring the wealthy alone.

  "One thousand silver was worth a place in the upper quarters. But he spent it here. I don't know why." Lin Fan sighed.

  The Luminous Jade City's upper quarters seemed to exist in a different realm altogether, one where silver flowed like the tea Lin Fan now poured, where cultivators walked with straight backs and dry robes despite the downpour.

  As if summoned by Lin Fan's thoughts, a young woman in pale blue robes glided past the stall, one hand extended lazily above her head. Water droplets curved around an invisible dome, sliding away before they could touch her immaculate hair. Not even a cultivation technique worth mentioning to her kind—just a casual manipulation of the world that Lin Fan could only dream of.

  "My cousin works as a manservant for a minor cultivator," Bai Mei said, his eyes following the woman with a mixture of awe and resentment. "Says his master spends a thousand silver on a single meal sometimes, just because some special herb might help with his cultivation. One meal, Fan. One thousand silver for a single meal."

  Lin Fan's hand tightened around the ladle until his knuckles bleached white. "Must be nice," he whispered, the words tasting like ashes in his mouth.

  A lone figure hurried through the rain, ducking beneath the shelter of Lin Fan's stall. Old Xu, the scribe who worked at the nearby administrative office, shook water from his gray hat like a dog after a swim, droplets scattering across the worn boards.

  "Old Xu, you are here." Lin Fan smiled at the old man, his wrinkles reaching his foreheads and into his long hairline.

  "Thought you might be closed in this weather," Old Xu said, rubbing his hands together, the friction making a soft whisper against callused skin. "But I smelled your tea from down the street. The usual, if you have it."

  Lin Fan's smile came automatically as he reached for a clean bowl. "One pork belly with extra scallions. Just finished preparing the marinade."

  As he worked, Lin Fan's hands moved with practiced efficiency, each motion precise despite the simplicity of his tools. His father had taught him to listen to the ingredients, to feel their essence. "Food speaks," he'd say, "but most are too deaf to hear."

  The pork sizzled as it hit the hot iron, screaming its secrets to Lin Fan alone. Its aroma intensified as he added a splash of rice wine saved for special dishes, the alcohol releasing fragrant ghosts that danced around his face.

  Something stirred in Lin Fan's chest as he cooked, a warmth that didn't come from the stove, a tingling in his fingertips that traveled up his arms. For a heartbeat, he could almost see... something... flowing from his hands into the food.

  A trick of steam and light, surely.

  "You have your father's touch," Old Xu commented, watching Lin Fan work, his rheumy eyes suddenly sharp with interest. "He could make even the simplest dishes taste like they belonged in the Central District. Something special in them. Something... alive."

  "He had real talent," Lin Fan agreed, swallowing the lump in his throat that threatened to choke him. "I just follow his recipes."

  But that wasn't entirely true. Sometimes, when his father cooked, Lin Fan had seen him close his eyes, breathing in rhythm with the bubbling broth, his hands hovering just above the food as if drawing something invisible into it. When Lin Fan asked about it, his father only smiled and said, "One day, when you're ready, I'll explain."

  That day never came.

  Xu smiled as he accepted the steaming bowl, dropping three copper coins into Lin Fan's palm. The scribe closed his eyes as he took the first bite, a look of peace washing over his weathered face.

  "Worth every copper, even in this rain," he murmured before hurrying back toward his office, hunched protectively over the precious bowl.

  Lin Fan watched him go, the three copper coins warm in his palm. Three today. Six yesterday. A long path to a thousand silver.

  The rain continued its relentless drumming as Lin Fan's gaze drifted to the small cloth pouch tucked beside his stove—his father's final spice blend. There was a diary inside. Lin Fan just didn't have courage to try those expensive recipes.

  Lin Fan rubbed the ring his father had gifted him, feeling the cool metal against his skin. The old ring with silver markings glinted faintly in the dim light. If he sold it, how much would he get?

  But no matter the time, he would never sell this ring. It contained his father's love, his warmth. Something special, something warm entered him whenever he rotated the ring around his finger. Something magical.

  "Lin Fan?" Bai Mei's voice broke through his reverie. "You still with me?"

  Lin Fan blinked. "Just thinking," he said quietly.

  The strange warmth lingered in his fingertips, waiting. Something important was coming. Lin Fan could feel it in his bones, even if he couldn't name it. Something that would change everything.

  He just hoped it would come before it was too late.