By the time Ananya and Yao Qing left the shop, the sun hung high in the sky, beating down on the bustling capital streets.
Vendors shouted prices, rickshaw wheels rattled over cobblestones, and the air was heavy with the scent of sesame oil, sugar syrup, and fresh-cut bamboo.
Ananya adjusted her scarf, squinting at the rows of shops. "We'll need almost everything—tables, chairs, a stove, spices, and some seeds for the garden behind the shop."
Fen Yu clapped her translucent hands. "A garden! I'll grow flowers!"
Wei Rong snorted. "You'll scare them into blooming early."
Li Shen's voice came softly, "Let her dream. Gardens remember kindness."
Ananya hid a small smile. "Then let's start before the market closes."
They reached a stretch lined with carpenters, the rhythmic clatter of chisels filling the air.
Planks of polished wood gleamed in the sunlight; sawdust floated like fine mist.
The master carpenter looked up from his bench. "Looking for furniture, ladies?"
Ananya nodded. "Four tables, eight chairs. Strong, not fancy. And a long bench for the kitchen."
The man rubbed his chin. "Maple wood, sturdy, lasts through storms. Forty coins for the lot."
"Thirty-five," Ananya replied calmly. "And you'll deliver it by evening."
The carpenter chuckled. "You bargain like my mother. Fine, thirty-five. But you owe me tea when your shop opens."
"Done."
Fen Yu spun in delight. "We're going to have real tables! No more floating plates!"
Wei Rong rolled his eyes. "You can't even sit."
"I can hover politely," she huffed.
Their next stop was the blacksmith's lane, where smoke coiled from forges and the clang of iron rang out like music.
Ananya inspected the stoves — large, round, with adjustable vents for heat.
"This one," she said, touching the smooth edge of a clay-and-iron hybrid. "Compact, perfect for our kitchen."
The smith grinned. "You've got a sharp eye, miss. It's a good make — three taels."
"Two and a half," she countered without missing a beat.
He laughed. "You'd rob a saint. Two and eight."
Ananya smiled slightly. "Done."
Wei Rong murmured, "I like this side of her."
Li Shen's calm voice followed, "This side was always there. The palace just never looked for it."
They loaded the stove onto a small handcart along with copper pots, a large ladle, and an iron wok polished smooth as glass.
The smell of pepper, cumin, and dried orange peel filled the air.
Ananya lifted a handful of star anise and inhaled deeply — sweet, sharp, comforting.
"These," she said, nodding to the merchant. "And a little turmeric, dried chili, and sesame."
Yao Qing held up a pouch. "Do we need more salt?"
"We'll take coarse salt," Ananya said. "Cheaper, and better for storage."
Fen Yu sniffed theatrically. "All this talk of food and no one feeds me."
Wei Rong teased, "You'd season yourself if you could."
Li Shen added mildly, "You already have too much spice."
Ananya shook her head, amused. "If you three came back to life, you'd argue over breakfast."
Their last stop was a small stall on the quieter end of the street, where an old woman sold vegetable seeds.
Bundles of herbs and garlic hung from the roof, and jars of tiny seeds gleamed like pearls under the light.
Ananya crouched beside the baskets. "How much for these mint seeds?"
The old woman smiled, her eyes kind. "For you, child, take them with coriander and radish — good for spring planting."
Ananya hesitated. "No, I'll pay."
"Then pay me with a smile," the woman said, tying the small pouch of seeds. "May they grow strong."
Ananya bowed her head slightly, her voice soft. "Thank you."
As they walked away, Yao Qing glanced over. "You're really going to plant them?"
"In the backyard," Ananya said. "Fresh herbs make simple meals feel rich. And tending them… might make me feel human again."
Fen Yu hovered low, humming. "I'll water them! With ghost rain!"
Wei Rong muttered, "That's called dew, idiot."
Li Shen smiled faintly. "Let her think she's helping."
By the time the sun tilted westward, their handcart was overflowing — new tables, chairs, a stove, pots, sacks of flour, and a small pouch of seeds resting on top like treasure.
Yao Qing wiped sweat from her forehead. "If we keep going like this, the shop will be ready in two days."
Ananya smiled lightly. "If the ghosts don't break everything first."
Fen Yu gasped. "We'd never! Well… not on purpose."
Wei Rong snorted. "Yet."
The city glowed gold in the afternoon haze as they crossed the old stone bridge. The water below rippled, reflecting light like glass.
Then Ananya slowed.
Near the end of the bridge, by a shuttered food stall, two children sat — a thin boy and girl, clothes torn, knees drawn up to their chests.
Their faces were pale, eyes dull with hunger, but they watched every passerby with silent hope.
Ananya paused, her expression unreadable beneath her scarf.
Even Fen Yu went still, her glow dimming slightly.
For a heartbeat, no one spoke. The noise of the city faded behind them, replaced by the soft whisper of the wind over the bridge.
Ananya's gaze lingered on the children for a moment longer — then she turned back toward The Whispering Bowl, her steps slower, more thoughtful than before.