Beyond the gate lay no immortal palace.
The first thing Serina saw was a bluestone road. Low tiled houses lined both sides, dried chilies and corn hanging beneath their eaves, a few dozing cats huddled at the foot of the walls. In the distance, cooking smoke rose, roosters crowed, and an old man wheeled past with a barrow piled with freshly picked vegetables. The smell of porridge was stronger here, mingled with woodsmoke and an unfamiliar fresh scent reminiscent of mugwort.
This place looked nothing like the "cultivation world" she had imagined. No floating immortal mountains, no immortals riding swords, no magnificent golden palaces. Just an ordinary village waking up. Morning light slanted in through a hollow in the eastern hills, washing the stone road in warm gold.
The gray-robed man-Wujiu, his name was Wujiu-led her around two corners and stopped outside a little shop with a tattered cloth curtain. A simple drawing of a bowl of porridge had been sketched on it in charcoal, with a crooked name beside it: "Anhe."
"My place." Wujiu lifted the curtain. "It'll do for a meal."
Six wooden tables stood inside, all wiped clean. A yawning young shop assistant sat in the corner and drawled, "Boss," when Wujiu came in. Behind the stove, steam bubbled from a large iron pot while a plump woman stirred the rice broth with a long-handled ladle.
"Two bowls of plain porridge, a plate of pickles, and a spoonful of honey." Wujiu settled into a seat by the window with practiced ease and pointed to the stool opposite. "Sit."
Serina sat down and placed her canvas bag beside her feet. She looked around. A few yellowed talisman papers were pasted on the walls, but they were nothing powerful, just ordinary wishes for "prosperous business" and "a place of