"Lord Zuo is old! Can he still eat?"
Qu Jinkui returned from Book Mountain, shed his splendid robes for a cook's garb, and changed from a duke who fought for his state back into the finest chef of the age. Yet what he had painstakingly prepared was no grand banquet beneath heaven, but merely a pot of rice... rice that had been cooking since before the campaign against Book Mountain.
This was Huangliang Terrace. Firewood still burned in the old stove, steeped in history.
Firelight flickered across Zuo Xiao's face. Ever attentive to his appearance, he was now squatting beside Qu Jinkui, watching the stove with him. His face showed little expression. "Will this rice still cook? If your skills have gone rusty, call my grandson's wife over."
Without taking his eyes from the heat, Qu Jinkui tugged at his sleeve. "Your grandson's wife has never touched spring water with all ten fingers. All she can make is burnt rice. My granddaughter's husband, though, could come lend a hand... he's very good at boiling water!"
After returning from Mount Sumeru, Zuo Xiao had come here and waited for the fragrance of rice. Even military affairs were delivered by his subordinates for him to handle here temporarily.
Though no emotion showed on his face, though he could still join in the banter, his tension and urgency had already spilled into plain sight. This was a "big brother" Qu Jinkui had never seen before.
Yet white vapor curled above the steamer. It was on the verge of condensing, but always lacked just a trace of flavor.
Slowly, he fed in Dao substance and adjusted the heat. "Almost... almost."
Each grain of this Dao substance was distinct, shaped like millet grains. Its name was [Yellow Millet].
The Dao Kingdom had the Yellow Millet