Another day. Another quiet morning.
The sky above the Phoenix and Dragon Dojo was still painted in pale shades of blue and gold, the first rays of sunlight brushing across tiled rooftops and spirit trees heavy with dew. The air was crisp, cool, and unhurried.
Wang Chen sat leisurely beneath a pavilion, one leg resting over the other, looking every bit like a man who had transcended worldly concerns.
He couldn't care less about anyone in the Upper Realm trying to rewrite the laws of reality. As long as they did not threaten him, his disciples, or his peace, they could tear the heavens apart for all he cared.
One cup of tea before sunrise.
Another after sunrise.
This, in his mind, was the proper way for a hidden master to live.
He hummed a faint, out-of-tune melody while lifting the porcelain cup to his lips. The tea was freshly brewed, steam curling lazily into the air. The aroma was delicate but layered—subtle sweetness beneath a sharp clarity that lingered on the tongue.
