The night had unfurled its indigo wings over Mondstadt, cloaking the city in a velvet shroud pierced by the twinkle of stars and the soft glow of lanterns swaying along cobblestone streets. The wind whispered through the cliffs, carrying the faint scent of dandelions and the distant tang of cider from the Angel's Share, where raucous laughter spilled into the dusk. The windmills creaked in a gentle rhythm, their blades slicing through the breeze, while the Statue of Barbatos loomed high above, its stone gaze a silent sentinel over the city's heart. Near the bustling square, the Deer Hunter restaurant glowed with a rustic warmth, its wooden facade alive with the flicker of hearthlight, its sign swaying faintly as the promise of a feast drew the night's hungry souls.
Inside, the air thrummed with anticipation, the wooden tables scarred by years of revelry now crowded with eager faces—merchants pausing mid-sip, bards clutching lyres, townsfolk craning necks toward the kitchen where Sarah emerged, her apron dusted with rice flour, her hands cradling a covered dish. Lumine sat near the hearth, her blonde hair catching the firelight, her golden eyes glinting with a traveler's curiosity as she leaned forward, her white dress still streaked with dust from hauling crates. Paimon fluttered beside her, her starry cape fluttering with glee, her silver hair bouncing as she clapped—"Golden egg fried rice—finally!" Wendy lounged nearby, his green cape draped over a chair, his Anemo Vision glinting at his hip, a Maine Coonmon purring at his feet, its fluffy tail swishing with a sulky air.
Sarah's words lingered in the air—"Harlan's the real genius—gave me this recipe"—a spark that ignited nods from the trio, their reverence for Galehaven Comics a shared flame. "A top chef, huh?" Paimon mused, her tiny hands clasped with longing—"Imagine Harlan cooking—drool city!" Lumine chuckled, her golden eyes dancing as she ruffled Paimon's hair—"Dream on—he'd call you emergency rations first." Paimon huffed, her starry cape drooping—"Not food—Paimon's premium!"—her voice a squeak of defiance as she muttered—"Sell you to him—unlimited snacks for me!" Lumine's grin widened, her retort a playful jab—"You'd miss me too much."
Sarah smiled, her tone warm—"How about a taste?"—her hands steady as she set the dish down, its lid a barrier to the marvel within. The rice's scent curled through the room—buttery, rich, a golden promise that teased the senses—its glow a faint shimmer beneath the cover, a secret begging release. "Don't mind if we do!" Wendy chirped, his bard's grin flashing as he scooped a portion, the Maine Coonmon nudging his leg with a hopeful mew. Lumine and Paimon followed, their spoons dipping into the gleaming pile, its grains glistening like tiny suns, its steam a dance of warmth in the hearth's glow.
Silence fell, broken only by the clink of spoons—then Paimon's eyes widened, her voice a burst of awe—"Wow—best ever! Worth every crate!" Lumine nodded, her golden eyes softening—"Better than honeyed carrots—new Deer Hunter classic." Wendy said nothing, his head buried in the bowl, his spoon a blur as he devoured it, his Anemo soul alight with bliss. Paimon yelped—"Hey—slow down, bard—save some!"—her tiny hands snatching at the dish, her starry cape flaring as she joined the fray. Sarah exhaled, her grin softening—"Glad you like it"—her cook's heart swelling with pride, her mind tracing Harlan's gift—a recipe no Teyvat chef could rival, a magic she'd wield to feed her city.
The door swung open—creak—a gust of night air sweeping in with a tide of townsfolk, their faces alight with curiosity, their voices a chorus drawn by the golden flash that had pierced Mondstadt's dusk. "What's that smell?" a merchant gasped, his pouch of Mora clinking as he sniffed—"Never caught that before!" A bard clutched his lyre—"Golden light—in a dish? Unreal!" A seamstress peered over shoulders—"Deer Hunter's new trick?" The crowd swelled, their boots scuffing the hardwood, their eyes glinting with hunger as the scent enveloped them—rich, buttery, a lure no soul could resist. "Miss Sarah—gimme one!" a blacksmith bellowed, his hammer-calloused hands slapping the counter—"Two for me!" a florist chimed, her coins a jingle of intent.
Sarah beamed, her apron a banner of triumph—"Hold on—I'll cook more!"—her voice a spark as she darted back, the kitchen's clatter a hymn to her craft. The restaurant, once a quiet nook, erupted into life—tables filled, chairs scraped, the hearth's glow a backdrop to the chaos as golden egg fried rice became Mondstadt's night song. Lumine watched, her golden eyes wide—"From empty to packed—crazy." Paimon nodded, her mouth full—"All 'cause of this—Harlan's a wizard!" Wendy licked his spoon, his grin sly—"One dish from Little Master—imagine the whole book cooked. Mondstadt'd riot, Teyvat'd bow."
The thought lingered—Harlan's comics, a trove of culinary wonders, each page a potential feast. "Just one recipe did this," Paimon mused, her starry cape fluttering—"All of 'em? Shock city—and beyond!" Lumine's lips quirked—"Liyue's got Xinyuexuan, Liuli Pavilion—fancy stuff Zhongli loves. But this? Mondstadt's hooked—taste trumps borders." Wendy chuckled—"Even I'd trade cider for this—Harlan's rewriting appetites." Sarah returned, her arms laden with trays, her grin wide—"Fresh batch—dig in!"—the lids lifted in unison—whoosh—a golden wave surging forth, its light flooding the square, painting the night sky in a radiant dawn.
"Golden legend!" a knight gasped, his spear forgotten as he shielded his eyes—"Blinding—beautiful!" A baker squinted—"How's it glow—magic grain?!" A traveler, weathered by the Seven Nations, gaped—"Eaten everywhere—never this!" The light was a spectacle—dazzling, warm, a beacon that rivaled Barbatos's statue, its rays spilling through windows, glinting off cobblestones, drawing gasps from every corner. "No dark tonight!" a child cheered, her pigtails bouncing as she tugged her mother—"Look, Ma—sun's back!" The crowd pressed closer, their awe a tide that drowned the night's hush, their hands shielding eyes as they peered through fingers, the glow a marvel etched in Mondstadt's soul.
"Eat—it'll cool!" Sarah called, her voice a lifeline through the shock, her grin steady as she navigated the chaos. The reminder snapped them free—spoons clinked, mouths opened, the golden rice vanishing in a symphony of flavor—sweet, savory, a buttery dance that silenced the square. Plates gleamed clean, licked bare, yet hunger lingered—"More!" a merchant bellowed—"Best ever!" a seamstress sighed—"Liyue's got nothing on this!" a knight declared. Lumine watched, her golden eyes glinting—"A famous scene—Mondstadt's golden night." Wendy strummed an impromptu tune—"A ballad's born—'The Rice That Shone.'"
Whispers rippled—"Where'd Sarah learn this?" a florist asked, her bouquet forgotten—"Comic shop reward—Little Master," Sarah replied, her tone warm with gratitude—"Harlan's gift." Eyes widened—"That place? 100,000 Mora a read?" a blacksmith grunted—"Thought it was a scam!" A bard strummed—"Golden rice—proof it's real!" Doubt melted—Harlan's legend grew, Galehaven a nexus of wonder, its comics a key to Teyvat's heart. "Tomorrow—I'm there," a knight vowed—"Rewards like this? Sign me up!" The night burned on, Mondstadt ablaze with rice and revelation, Harlan's shadow a golden thread in its tale.
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