Song Wen took out a copper kettle and condensed another kettle of clear water.
After heating the water to a boil, he took out several verdant leaves and tossed them into the copper kettle.
At once, the mist rising from the copper kettle carried rich spiritual energy and a faint, delicate fragrance.
Song Wen took out two porcelain cups and filled them with tea from the kettle.
"Miss Qing Lian, this is spiritual tea from our Human Race. Please, take a seat and see whether this tea suits your taste."
After speaking, Song Wen lifted his robe hem and sat down on a stone stool. He then raised his porcelain cup and drained it in one gulp.
As the scalding tea entered his stomach, he suddenly came to a realization:
At some unknown point, he had developed the habit of drinking a cup of spiritual tea after every such affair.
Qing Lian across from him had also "sat" upon a stone stool.
Only, her posture was somewhat peculiar.
Her snake tail coiled tightly around the stone stool, supporting her body with the coiled tail beneath her.
She picked up the teacup and curiously examined the curling steam. Then, she carefully brought it near her nose and sniffed it.
The fresh fragrance instantly slipped into her nostrils, making her lively vertical pupils light up at once.
"It smells so good!"
Imitating Song Wen, she poured the tea into her mouth in a single gulp.
Her willow-leaf brows immediately furrowed.
"Why is it bitter?"
"Tea brewed by the Human Race, whether ordinary tea drunk by mortals or spiritual tea drunk by cultivators, carries a bitter, astringent taste when it first enters the mouth. But if one savors it carefully, one may appreciate the lingering sweetness that follows the bitterness."
As Song Wen