The golden light of late afternoon spilled across the small yard like warm honey, softening the edges of the wooden clinic and the modest house beside it. The broken fence from the earlier fight had already been patched with fresh planks, and the only reminder of violence was a faint scuff mark in the dirt where Liu Qinglan had swept her opponents away. Elder Feng stood in the center of it all, his plain traveling cloak still draped over his shoulders, looking strangely out of place among the simple surroundings. Yet his presence no longer felt threatening—only heavy with the quiet authority of someone who had spent decades commanding clouds and mountains.
Uncle Li cleared his throat, rubbing his calloused hands together as if trying to shake off the tension of the past hour. He glanced at the powerful elder, then at the worried faces of Mei and Zhang Wei, and finally at Liu Qinglan, who still stood with her head slightly bowed.
"Esteemed Immortal," Uncle Li said in his rough but respectful voice, "the sun is already low. You've traveled far to find your disciple. Why not stay and share a simple evening meal with us? It's nothing fancy, but the boy here cooks better than most restaurants in the city."
Elder Feng raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching with faint amusement. He had expected fear, awe, or perhaps cold formality. Instead, this old villager was inviting him to dinner as though he were any passing traveler. The elder's stern expression softened by a fraction.
"I would be honored," he replied, bowing his head slightly. "It has been many years since I last tasted the honest flavors of the mortal world."
Mei's eyes widened like saucers. She tugged at Zhang Wei's sleeve and whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear, "He's really staying? The big immortal is eating with us?"
Zhang Wei smiled gently and patted her head. "Yes, Mei. Come on—let's prepare something good."
The three of them—Zhang Wei, Uncle Li, and Mei—moved toward the small outdoor kitchen area while Liu Qinglan remained behind to speak with her master. Elder Feng followed her a few steps away, and their conversation drifted softly on the evening breeze as the others worked.
"What realm have you reached in your recovery?" Elder Feng asked quietly, hands clasped behind his back.
"Roughly half my original strength, Master," Liu Qinglan answered. "The boy's herbal treatments were… surprisingly effective. And the breathing method he learned in a single afternoon has already stabilized my meridians faster than I expected."
Elder Feng hummed thoughtfully. "That boy… his talent is not normal. Peak Qi Condensation in such a short time. The sect will want to know more about him."
Their voices faded into the background as Zhang Wei, Uncle Li, and Mei focused on dinner. Tonight's dish would be Clay-Roasted Fish—a simple but deeply flavorful village recipe Zhang Wei had perfected over the past weeks using the fresh river catch they had bought earlier.
First, Zhang Wei cleaned the three silver-scaled fish thoroughly by the water basin, scaling them with quick, practiced strokes of his small knife and removing the guts without wasting a drop of the fresh blood. He made three shallow diagonal cuts along each side so the seasonings could penetrate the flesh. In a wooden bowl he mixed a generous handful of chopped wild green onions, thin slices of ginger, crushed mountain basil, a few fragrant Clear Dew Grass leaves for a light citrus note, and a pinch of salt harvested from the riverbank. He stuffed the belly of each fish with part of the mixture, then rubbed the rest over the skin along with a precious drizzle of sesame oil.
Mei helped wrap each fish carefully in large, clean banana leaves they had gathered from the edge of the forest, folding them like little packets so no steam could escape. Uncle Li, meanwhile, prepared the clay. He mixed fresh river mud with a bit of straw for binding until it reached the perfect sticky consistency, then patted a thick layer around each wrapped fish until they looked like small, rough clay balls.
They carried the three clay-covered packets to the simple earthen oven Zhang Wei had built beside the house. He lit a low fire of dry pine branches and let it burn down to glowing red coals. Once the heat was steady, he placed the clay balls directly onto the coals and covered them with more hot ash and embers. The packets would bake slowly for nearly forty minutes, the clay hardening as it trapped every drop of moisture and infused the fish with the deep, smoky aroma of herbs and river freshness.
While the fish cooked, the rich, earthy scent began to drift across the yard. Elder Feng's conversation with Liu Qinglan paused mid-sentence. He lifted his nose slightly, nostrils flaring in quiet surprise.
The five of them eventually gathered around the low wooden table as the sun dipped behind the mountains, painting the sky in soft pinks and oranges. The clay balls had been lifted from the fire with long sticks and now sat steaming in the center of the table. Zhang Wei gently tapped each one with a wooden mallet; the hardened clay cracked open cleanly, revealing the perfectly cooked fish inside. The banana leaves unfurled like gift wrappings, releasing a cloud of fragrant steam that smelled of ginger, basil, and the clean sweetness of river fish.
Everyone stared for a moment.
Mei and Uncle Li hesitated, chopsticks hovering uncertainly. They had never eaten at the same table as a real immortal before. Elder Feng noticed their discomfort and let out a low, warm chuckle—the sound surprisingly human.
"No need to be so formal," he said, picking up his own chopsticks. "We eat together like ordinary people tonight. I won't bite, and I certainly won't let you all starve while I feast alone."
Uncle Li let out a nervous laugh. "As you say, Esteemed Immortal. We won't die from sharing a meal, after all."
The first bite changed everything.
Elder Feng lifted a flaky piece of fish to his mouth. The moment the tender flesh touched his tongue, his eyes widened. The fish was perfectly moist, infused with the deep herbal aroma that had been sealed inside the clay. The ginger gave it a gentle warmth, the basil added a bright, fragrant lift, and the natural sweetness of the river fish shone through like a hidden treasure. He took another bite. Then another. Soon he was eating with quiet focus, barely pausing between mouthfuls.
"This… what is this dish?" he asked between bites, voice filled with genuine wonder. "I have dined in the grand halls of the capital and tasted spiritual delicacies from the sect's inner kitchens, but nothing has ever tasted quite like this."
Zhang Wei smiled modestly. "It's just clay-roasted fish, sir. We use whatever herbs we can find in the forest. Nothing special."
Liu Qinglan watched her master with a mix of amusement and mild embarrassment. "Master, please show some restraint. You are an elder of Azure Cloud Sect…"
"But it's delicious!" Elder Feng protested, already reaching for the third fish. His usual dignified posture had loosened; his shoulders relaxed, and a faint, contented smile played on his lips. "If we had wine of equal quality to accompany this, the evening would be perfect."
By the time the last bone was picked clean, Elder Feng leaned back with a satisfied sigh. His belly was slightly rounded beneath his robes—an undignified but utterly genuine sight. He let out a deep, rumbling laugh that echoed across the quiet yard.
"Hahaha! In all my years, I never imagined a simple village meal could make an old man like me forget his dignity so completely."
The table erupted in soft laughter. Mei giggled behind her hand. Uncle Li grinned from ear to ear. Even Zhang Wei couldn't hide his smile. The tension that had hung in the air since the elder's sudden arrival had melted away, replaced by the simple, honest warmth of shared food and honest company.
Finally, Elder Feng reached into his sleeve and placed three small, glowing crystals on the table. They pulsed with soft spiritual light—mid-grade Spirit Stones, each one worth more than the entire village could earn in a year.
"This is payment for the meal," he said, voice steady once more. "And for the care you have shown my disciple these past weeks. It is far too little, but it is all I carried with me today. If fate allows, we will meet again."
Uncle Li stared at the stones, eyes wide. "Esteemed Immortal… this is far too much. We only—"
"It is exactly enough," Elder Feng interrupted gently but firmly. "Consider it both payment for the food and thanks for protecting Qinglan. I do not forget kindness."
He stood, and Liu Qinglan rose with him. She turned to the three villagers, her expression softer than it had been in weeks.
"Thank you," she said quietly, bowing deeply to each of them in turn—first to Uncle Li, then Mei, and finally Zhang Wei. "For everything. I will not forget this place."
Zhang Wei met her eyes and gave a small nod. "Take care, Sister Qinglan. If you ever need a quiet place to rest again… the door is always open."
Elder Feng placed a hand on Liu Qinglan's shoulder. The air around them shimmered faintly as he activated a movement technique. In the blink of an eye, the two of them rose into the darkening sky like two leaves carried on an invisible wind, disappearing beyond the treetops without another word.
The yard fell quiet once more.
Uncle Li stared at the three Spirit Stones still glowing softly on the table. Mei reached out and touched one with a single finger, as if afraid it might vanish. Zhang Wei remained seated, looking up at the empty sky where the two cultivators had disappeared.
The simple house at the edge of the forest felt a little emptier now, yet somehow fuller at the same time.
Outside, the first stars began to appear. Inside, the faint scent of herb-roasted fish still lingered in the air, a reminder that even the most powerful immortals could be moved by something as ordinary—and as precious—as a shared meal.
Tomorrow would bring whatever it brought.
Tonight, they simply sat together a little longer, letting the warmth of the evening settle over them like a soft blanket.