Thousand flavors restaurant

A man in silky red robes crouched in the area that had just been devastated by the green swallow's attack. Two swords hung at his right hip, sheathed in black scabbards engraved with scarlet clouds. His deep black hair was tied in a half-bun, half-ponytail style, and he appeared to be in his late thirties. He had a medium build, scarlet-red pupils, and pale white skin that looked as if it hadn't seen the sun in a millennium.

He scooped up a handful of sand from the spot where the Ao Yin Bone Saber had fallen. Letting the grains slip between his fingers, he scrutinized them closely before brushing the remaining sand from his hands.

"Dong Yanlin, you silly boy," he muttered. "Not only did you lose my leopard storage pouch, but you couldn't even hold onto Master's Ao Yin Saber after breaking its first seal. So much for an 'easy score.' Now that you're dead, I'll be the one bearing the brunt of his wrath—especially with his foul mood growing worse by the day."

He let out a low sigh, his scarlet pupils glinting with irritation.

"I'll never understand why Master, the man infamously known as the Bloodless Refiner, spoils you so much. Always a handful, always leaving me to clean up your messes. With the trace locator array dismantled I can't even track it anymore, and the Ao Yin droplet I planned to use to track master's saber just stopped working."

The red-robed man paused, his scarlet eyes flickering with a hint of worry. "For my sake, I hope the saber wasn't destroyed."

His gaze swept over the decimated area, narrowing slightly as though searching for clues.

"Judging by the ambient energy and the scale of the attack, it seems like the work of a Palace Realm cultivator. But then again..." He trailed off, a mysterious red light forming in his hand. He scooped up another handful of sand, scrutinizing it closely before finally gazing up at the sky.

"It doesn't feel quite complete."

A contemplative expression crossed his face, his eyes gleaming with an enigmatic light as they locked onto a specific point in the sky.

"Could it have been an artifact? Or perhaps a talisman?" he mused. "If it's the latter, there might still be hope to salvage this..." He sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly, though his expression remained thoughtful.

The red-robed man rose to his feet, levitating effortlessly off the ground. His graceful ascent, as though carried by the wind itself without the aid of an artifact or spell, was a clear indication that he was, at the very least, a cultivator who had reached the Palace Realm.

Cultivators not naturally predisposed to flight only gained the ability to fly upon breaking through to the Palace Realm. At that stage, they no longer needed to rely on spirit beasts or flight-based artifacts like flying ferries to traverse the skies.

They could also employ techniques such as riding swords specifically crafted to enhance their flying speed, rivaling even the swiftest spirit beasts known for their aerial prowess.

This ability to fly—and the immense speed it afforded—was one of the reasons cultivators at the Palace Realm and above were so dangerous, particularly to those at lower stages. Their unmatched mobility and versatility made them formidable adversaries, nearly impossible to evade.

As the red-robed man ascended, his face tightened momentarily, his nose twitching as he sniffed the air. A small smile crept onto his lips, the expression hinting he had found something.

"There is a unique aura in the qi here," he muttered as he took another whiff. "the aura of a natural treasure, mmh, and a powerful one at that.." he added as his smile grew wider.

"Seems the heavens haven't abandoned me. Perhaps it'll lead me to whoever has my pouch and, with luck, Master's saber."

One of the two long swords at his waist unsheathed itself, swiftly appearing beneath his feet. The blade shimmered with a deep menacing red as it hummed slightly, almost as if in ravenous glee.

Man and sword instantly transformed into a crimson streak that tore through the sky, heading in the direction Haishi and the rest had taken.

....

Within the Cultivation Order court grounds, Yang Qing and his company made their way down an alley lined with various buildings, neatly arranged and spaced on either side.

This alley lay within the same compound as the Cultivation Order courts, which were divided into several zones, each sparsely spread out. The courts themselves were centrally located, while certain areas were off-limits to the public—such as the carriage storage and special stables for spirit beasts. However, there were also open areas, like the one Yang Qing and his companions were heading toward.

This part of the compound housed a variety of businesses, including restaurants, inns, pavilions, and courtyards available for rent. It was designed to cater to those involved in cases being heard and deliberated within the Order. Since teleportation arrays were strictly forbidden on the grounds unless special permission was granted, traveling back and forth became tedious and burdensome for many, particularly cultivators with weaker cultivation or those whose sects or families were located far from the court.

To accommodate these parties, the Order allowed businesses to set up within its grounds, providing much-needed services. The rates were kept affordable to ensure that cultivators could use them at their discretion.

These businesses flourished, soon becoming popular not only with those attending cases but also with the staff of the Order, many of whom became regulars. Yang Qing was leading Cheng Yuan and the others to one of his favorite spots—the Thousand Flavors Restaurant.

The restaurant was four stories high and built entirely from red starlight wood, known for its sturdiness and ambient, inviting effect. The wood gave the place a warm, comforting atmosphere, making it feel as if one were gathered around a campfire with friends, sharing laughter and a hot meal. Many of the young staff members of the Order were frequent visitors, drawn to the restaurant's cozy ambiance. Yang Qing had chosen it for this very reason, knowing it would help Cheng Yuan, who was a bundle of nerves, relax.

They arrived at the entrance, where a servant hurried over with a warm, familiar smile upon recognizing Yang Qing and his companions.

"Welcome, Judge Yang Qing, Judge Mao Yunru, Inquisitor Yi Jie, and esteemed master. Shall I guide you to your usual spot?" the young servant, who appeared to be about 17, asked warmly.

"Cao Ying, still as cheerful as ever. Sure, lead the way. Thank you," Yang Qing replied with a smile, patting the young servant on the back. "Your presence here will be missed. Your rest period from the institute is almost over, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's almost over," Cao Ying said with a small sigh. "I have just three days left before I need to return. If it weren't for the instructors' threats about what happens if we're even a second late, I'd wish to extend my stay here. It's so much more relaxing and enjoyable compared to the institute's brutal, competitive atmosphere," he lamented, leading Yang Qing and the others further into the restaurant.

"Haha! Every student feels the same when a break is about to end," Yang Qing said with a chuckle. "Even I did, and so did Yi Jie here—and of course, the ever-studious Mao Mao." He gestured playfully toward Mao Yunru before turning back to Cao Ying.

"But take my advice, little Cao: don't be late," Yang Qing said, his voice and gaze turning ominous.

 "Those instructors are demons in human clothing. They're very creative with their punishments," he added in a whisper, with a look of slight dread coloring his face.

"There was once a young cultivator—full of promise and dutiful to his family—who arrived late because he was helping his parents and grandparents. But those instructors didn't care. They sealed his meridians and made him attend classes for a week with no cultivation.

Here's the kicker? Those classes were more than ten kilometers apart, and some were even on top of hills that touched the skies!!

The poor guy collapsed every single day, ended up with blisters the size of mushrooms, and got even more punishment for being late to those classes. I mean, how's someone with no cultivation supposed to travel over ten kilometers in ten minutes or less?"

Yang Qing's face flushed with indignation as he rambled, but before he could get further lost in his tirade, Yi Jie stepped in. "Alright, let's keep moving," Yi Jie said, cutting him off. Yang Qing finally settled down as they made their way inside.

Mao Yunru couldn't help but shake her head, knowing full well the "dutiful young cultivator" in Yang Qing's story wasn't late because of any filial piety. The truth was far less noble. That so-called dutiful cultivator had eaten a few dozen questionable crimson boars with some friends.

The boars, rumored to have strange mutations, had been discarded by a certain restaurant. When the young cultivator heard about it, he and his friends pooled their money and bought the entire batch—despite repeated warnings from the restaurant owner that consuming them might be dangerous. Predictably, they ignored the warnings, roasted the boars that very night, and indulged themselves.

The result? They all passed out and remained unconscious for two days, which led to the young cultivator and his friends being embarrassingly late.

The young cultivator, of course, was none other than Yang Qing himself, and one of his accomplices was Feng Xin. Yang Qing had even tried begging his parents to cover for him. Naturally, his parents did what any good parents would do—they betrayed him to his teacher, urging them to be as ruthless as possible with the punishment.

After his grueling weeklong punishment, Yang Qing was never late again. However, his reckless enthusiasm for eating questionable food remained as strong as ever, much to the dismay of those around him.