Her mother always said that cultivators had no need to indulge their appetites.
Yet over those three days, her mother cooked for her every day.
Back then, Jiang Ling had not understood. She had thought her mother was simply doting on her.
Only many years later did she understand that, in her own way, her mother had been leaving her one last taste of "home."
Jiang Ling sat in the courtyard, watching her mother bustle about in the kitchen, and suddenly felt that days like these were wonderful.
Her father sat beside her without speaking, simply keeping her company.
When the dishes were brought out, Jiang Ling froze.
Every dish was a favorite of hers, and they covered the whole table.
"Mother, isn't... isn't this too much?"
Her mother smiled and put some food in her bowl. "Eat more."
Jiang Ling buried her head and wolfed down the food, her mouth stuffed full as she mumbled, "Mother, your cooking is the best!"
Her mother watched her with a smile, but her eyes reddened.
Jiang Ling looked up. "Mother, what's wrong?"
Her mother shook her head. "Nothing."
Jiang Ling nodded, thought nothing more of it, and went back to eating.
That meal lasted a long time.
Jiang Ling finished every dish, rubbed her round belly, and leaned back in her chair, looking utterly content.
"If only I could eat your cooking every day from now on."
Her mother smiled without saying anything.
Even more than a hundred thousand years later, she still had not forgotten that meal.
Many years later, wandering alone among the stars, she would occasionally try to cook a meal.
But no matter how she made it, she could never recreate... that taste.
After dinner that day, Jiang Ling nestled in her mother's arms and watched the