When the copper kettle in the Xuan'an Bureau kitchen whistled for the third time, Pi Yanlin picked up the tea tray. Beneath a blue cloth, three white porcelain cups sat in perfect order, jasmine petals floating on the surface of the tea like a thin dusting of snow.
The silver thread in his sleeve coiled twice around his wrist, its touch as cold as a serpent’s tongue—a mark refined last night using the Soul Technique, designed to cling to the hems of the greedy.
The red lacquer on the Spirit-Suppressing Pagoda gate shimmered with a dull light in the morning mist. Old Man Zhao was crouched by the threshold, puffing on a dry tobacco pipe; the embers glowed and faded, casting deep shadows into the wrinkles around his eyes. Hearing footsteps, he hastily hid the pipe in his robes and looked up, forcing a smile. "You're quite diligent today, Handyman Pi."
Chapter 38