At the same time, Guests Always Come Restaurant, third-floor quiet room.
This place was usually not open to the public, for it was the proprietress's private place of cultivation.
Of course, not being open to the public was only relative.
Because a certain troublesome little girl was not bound by that rule at all. Whenever she wanted to come, she would simply force her way upstairs, never treating herself as an outsider.
And when she ate, she never paid!
Still, the furnishings in this quiet room on the third floor were fairly simple. The furniture was all made of ordinary wood, uncarved and undecorated. It stood in complete contrast to the bustle, clamor, and ostentatious immortal dining halls of Food Ward's other restaurants.
At the very back of the room stood a counter, with shelves inside holding several bottles and jars of unknown contents.
Through the window, one could see the treetops in the restaurant's rear kitchen courtyard. Yet perhaps because the room had been sealed off with soundproofing talismans, even with the window open, not a trace of the noisy voices outside, the clatter of pots and bowls, or the sound of stir-frying could be heard.
In short!
Here, there was only the stillness filling the room, along with the faint, curling fragrance of some unknown but pleasant sandalwood incense rising from the censer.
"..."
At this moment, the owner—proprietress—of Guests Always Come, that old woman, sat in a grand master's chair. On the low table beside her rested a pot of tea and an unidentified green plant.
The tea was merely ordinary spring tea, not some immortal-grade spiritual plant, and the water was only common mountain spring water. Yet her movements as she brewed the tea were exceedingly slow and steady, careful as though she were performing some