The night on Celestial Light Mountain was unusually still. The silver moon hung low, its light spilling over the bamboo groves and terraced gardens.
While most disciples exhausted themselves racing across ridges and valleys for herbs, Kent remained in the secluded courtyard of his pavilion, alone.
Before him stood a heavy bronze cauldron etched with faint dragon-carvings. This is his old Dragon-Phoenix Cauldron. Its body was cracked in places, patched with bands of spirit metal—it was not pretty, nor was it new. But Kent's gaze on it was steady, as if it were an old friend.
He arranged the lotuses gathered by his one-eyed bandit pet across the mat before him. Moon-Seal Lotus. Frost-Petal Lotus. Shade-Lotus. Each flower glowed faintly in the moonlight, each one resonating with ancient qi.
