"No," Yu Xuan said calmly, before leaning back in his stool, eyes still observing the gentle steam rising from the flame spirit dumplings.
"It's actually the opposite. I like it. The noise, the crowds — even the fast food has its own charm. But… I can imagine higher-level cultivators, those whose senses are razor-sharp, would find it unpleasant. To them, those things would taste hollow."
The middle aged man paused.
His gaze shifted toward Yu Xuan with quiet interest. "…You're not wrong," he said at last.
"The higher one climbs, the more silent the world becomes. Their senses heighten, their patience thins. Most begin to reject anything mediocre, not just in food, but in people, in art, in conversation. Everything must be refined."
"But I guess fast food still makes the most money, right?" Yu Xuan asked, half-joking, half-serious.
The middle-aged man's brow twitched — perhaps intentionally, perhaps not.
