Morning.
In the courtyard of a home in Tongyi Square.
After washing up, Yang Jing wiped his face with a cloth towel.
On the eight-immortals table in the main house, Yang An had already laid out the meal.
There was a large basin of tiger meat stewed until tender, its broth thick and steaming.
Beside it sat a dish of pickled vegetables and two bowls of white congee, their rising steam turning to mist in the morning light.
"Hurry and eat while it's hot. I stewed this tiger meat for half the night and even added some warming, restorative herbs."
Yang An grinned as he ladled a bowl of congee for Yang Jing. "The training ground trials are exhausting. Eat up and replenish your strength."
Yang Jing sat down, picked up his chopsticks, and took a piece of tiger meat.
The meat was tender, with a faint medicinal fragrance. It was clear a lot of care had gone into its preparation.
