The next morning dawned with a cool mist that curled over the tiled rooftops of Yongzhou village.
The mountains in the distance were veiled in silver fog, and the chirping of early sparrows echoed in the courtyard.
Mianmian rose before the sun had fully cleared the horizon, her heart steady but her mind alive with anticipation.
Today she would see her master, not just as a student returning home, but as a chef preparing for the greatest challenge of her career.
She dressed neatly, tying her hair into a low bun, then placed her recipe book carefully under her arm.
Every page carried her sweat and years of work, over two hundred recipes, tested, failed, refined, and perfected. The book had grown heavier with her journey, both literally and metaphorically.
Carrying it with both hands, she walked across the wooden corridor of the small guest room where she'd spent the night, the smell of sandalwood and dried herbs filling the air.
