The moment the waiter called out, half the room stirred, everyone turning to greet Master Nine as he strolled in.
Master Nine chuckled, his voice thick and phlegmy. Before long, he settled into a private seat by the window.
Both wide-latticed windows stood open. Across the way, Emerald Lake wound like a jade sash, and a gentle breeze drifted in now and then, soothing the spirit and making everyone feel even lazier.
The usual three dishes arrived in short order. They were all offal, various kinds of marinated meats simmered over low heat all night until tender, their flavors thoroughly infused. A generous ladle of chili oil was added, and the dishes were brought to the table atop a blazing red-clay brazier, filling the room with their fragrance.
This food had no place at a proper banquet, yet countless high-born figures couldn't bear to part with it. Master Nine was one of them.
After half an incense stick's worth of time, Master Nine finished his meal. The waiter, who had been serving him all along, briskly removed the brazier and cleared the table, then spread a square of soft satin over it. Before long, a complete tea set was brought out.
Master Nine waved his hand, and the waiter withdrew.
In a rush, more than a dozen people swarmed over like flies drawn to the smell of blood, all greeting Master Nine and trying to curry favor.
Master Nine gazed out the window, his round face bathed in the lake breeze. He gave the crowd perfunctory replies, looking listless.
Indeed, anyone who saw the same scene here day after day would likely grow numb to it.
Suddenly, a remark pierced Master Nine's heart like an awl. The lethargic, weary Master Nine instantly sprang to life as if he'd been jabbed