By the time they returned to the edge of town, the sun was already slipping low, painting the tiled rooftops in a soft gold. Lin Xun carried the pouch of Hollow Valley leaves carefully, feeling the faint, steady pulse of Qi that seemed to seep through the cloth. Even now, away from the mist and the pale-eyed creature, the leaves held that quiet, unblinking presence.
Shen Lan walked beside him without speaking, her expression calm but alert. She had cleaned her blade on the way back, but a faint scuff still marked the edge from the creature's claw. That, more than anything, reminded him how close the fight had been.
When the teahouse came into view, Lin Xun let out a slow breath. The warm wooden walls, the narrow porch, the faint smell of tea lingering in the air… it was like stepping back into a world that made sense. He pushed the door open and the familiar chime of the hanging bell greeted them.
Inside, the light was dimmer, softened by the paper screens. Everything was in its place... the polished counter, the shelves of clay jars, the small round tables with their waiting cups. For a moment, Lin Xun simply stood there, letting the quiet wrap around him.
Shen Lan set her sword by the wall and took a seat near the window. "You should brew it tonight," she said softly. "Before the leaves forget the valley."
He nodded, already moving toward the counter. The pouch felt heavier as he set it down. He untied the cord and eased it open, careful not to spill any of the precious leaves. They were darker than most tea leaves, almost black, with a faint silver sheen when the light caught them. The scent was unlike anything he had smelled before... cool and deep, like the stillness before snowfall, with a faint edge of something sharp.
Lin Xun selected a small clay pot, one that had belonged to his grandfather. It was unadorned, the glaze worn smooth by years of use, but it held heat well and never masked the fragrance of the tea. He measured out just enough leaves for two cups.
The water he used was from the hidden cistern in the courtyard, drawn that morning before they left. It was cold and clear, carrying a hint of mineral sweetness. As it began to warm over the small brazier, he watched the rising steam, letting his breathing match its rhythm.
When the water reached the right point... just before boiling, he poured it over the leaves. The steam that rose was unlike any he had seen before. It swirled slowly, curling upward as if reluctant to leave the pot, and in its patterns he thought he saw faint shapes… a mountain ridge, a winding river, the still surface of a lake under a starless sky.
Shen Lan did not speak. She simply watched, her gaze sharp yet patient.
The infusion deepened quickly, the water turning a soft grey-green. The fragrance filled the room, cool yet warming at the same time. Lin Xun felt it settle into his chest, as if the air itself carried Qi.
He poured the first cup and slid it toward her. She took it without hesitation, cradling the porcelain in both hands for a moment before raising it to her lips.
Her eyes closed briefly as she drank. When she set the cup down, there was a faint change in her expression... a softening, almost imperceptible, but enough for him to notice.
"It is… clean," she said at last. "Like water drawn from a well no one has touched in a hundred years. And beneath it… strength, waiting to be called."
He poured his own cup. The first sip was cool on his tongue, then warming as it slid down his throat. The Qi within it spread through him like threads of silver light, settling in his limbs, steadying his heartbeat. There was no rush, no overwhelming surge... only a deep, patient strength that seemed willing to wait until he needed it.
Before he could speak, the door opened.
A man stepped inside, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing travel-worn robes of pale blue. His hair was tied back, but a few strands had come loose, and his eyes were sharp as they swept the room. A sword hung at his side, the hilt worn but well cared for.
"I heard this place serves more than just tea," the man said, his voice low but carrying.
Lin Xun set his cup down, meeting the man's gaze. "We serve tea to those who appreciate it. If you are here for something else, you may be disappointed."
The man's mouth curved slightly, though it was not quite a smile. "I'll take my chances."
Shen Lan said nothing, but her hand rested lightly on the table, her fingers close to the hilt of her sheathed blade.
Lin Xun considered him for a moment, then reached for another cup. "One serving," he said. "This is not an ordinary tea, and it will not be brewed again tonight."
The man took a seat at the table nearest the counter. He watched closely as Lin Xun measured out the leaves, poured the water, and let the tea steep.
When the cup was placed before him, he did not drink immediately. He lifted it, inhaling the steam, his eyes narrowing slightly as if recognizing something. Only then did he take a slow sip.
The change was subtle, but Lin Xun saw it... the way the man's shoulders eased, the faint deepening of his breath. His eyes grew distant for a moment, as though he were listening to something far away.
"This tea," the man murmured, "could steady a blade in the middle of battle. It could keep a cultivator standing when others would fall." He set the cup down gently. "Where did you find leaves like these?"
Lin Xun's voice was even. "They are not for sale."
The man's smile returned, faint but sharper now. "Pity. My sect would pay well for such a brew."
Shen Lan's gaze hardened, but Lin Xun only said, "Then your sect will have to find its own path to the Hollow Valley."
A flicker of amusement passed through the man's eyes. He rose without another word, left a small silver coin on the table, and walked out into the fading light.
Silence lingered for a few moments after the door closed.
Shen Lan looked at him. "That man will speak of this tea."
"I know," Lin Xun said quietly. He looked down at the cup in his hands, the steam still curling upward in slow, deliberate swirls. "And when he does, others will come."
Shen Lan reached for her sword. "Then we will be ready."
Outside, the street was calm, the scent of cooking fires drifting through the air. Inside, the teahouse felt warmer than it had all day, yet somewhere in that warmth was the faint, cold memory of the Hollow Valley… and the knowledge that their quiet days might soon come to an end.
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