Morning light generously spilled over the sunny-rain market of the Serenitea Pot, gilding the bustling streets and alleys with a dazzling layer of gold. The domineering, charred aroma of Akaho corn pierced the air, while the hawkers' cries, the housewives' shrewd bargaining, and the crisp clinking of Mora wove together into a secure, lively scene full of human warmth. Jingyi led three children from the schoolhouse as they wove through the crowd, her fingertips brushing absentmindedly against the coarse pottery jars at a pigment stall—indigo as deep as an ancient pool, ochre bearing the heavy weight of The Chasm. The children chattered endlessly, arguing fiercely over whether to paint the shimmering, gold-flecked ripples of the Bishui River or the deep, mysterious mineral veins of The Chasm.
"Bang!"
A muffled thud rang out, like a heavy object crashing against rotted wood.
Chapter 129