Year of the Sapphire Ox – Time to Shine
Three Hooves, Friday the 15th – Flying Sword Sect, East Courtyard Pavilion
The East Pavilion was silent but not empty.
Sunlight spilled through plum blossoms as if filtered through divine calligraphy, every petal casting a shadow like a signature across the silk-draped tea table. The ancient plum tree bloomed without prompt. It did not bloom for seasons. It did not bloom for fame. It bloomed because the tea ceremony beneath it deserved to be honored.
The koi pond beside it shimmered faintly with spiritual resonance. The fish themselves, all twelve generations of them bred to recognize Dao fluctuations, were gathered near the stone edge, gazing upward in solemn reverence.
And seated in perfect symmetry, like tiny priestesses in a shrine to etiquette and catastrophic potential, were Xu Meilin and Xu Lihua four years old, already storming Heaven's Pride rankings with a teacup in one hand and destiny in the other.
Across from them sat six sect princesses, all of them within the tender age range of six to ten, all of them spiritual talents, all of them visibly… nervous.
They had a right to be.
"Thank you for attending," Meilin said, voice cool and crystalline, like a polite snowfall that could crush armies under the right pressure.
"We have prepared teas matched to your inner constitutions," added Lihua, her tone bright, warm, and just slightly condescending.
"We hope they'll aid your cultivation," Meilin continued, unfolding her fan to reveal a sigil of iced camellia.
"And if not," Lihua smiled, showing just one perfect baby tooth, "you'll at least learn your threshold for grace."
First Cup: Wei Feiyan
Crystal Lake Sect. Fan-user. Authority-flavored. Age 9.
Her jade-handled cup shimmered as Jasmine Snowmist filled it, the scent rising like a critique spoken through silk.
She sipped.
Internally: Oh no. They know.
Externally: "Crisp. Delicate."
Her fingers tightened subtly on her fan. The tea was elegant.disciplined, subtle, a floral blade wrapped in ice. This was not a casual brew. This was a warning, coded in petals.
Second Cup: Zhao Ruqing
Solar Sect. Light-thrower. Ego with legs. Age 8.
Her cup gleamed, black onyx with gold inlay, the kind of cup that said "I will still speak over you during council."
The tea? Blazing Osmanthus bold, with a hint of spiritual pepper that could potentially awaken minor deities.
She took a sip.
Paused.
Coughed.
Internally: Why does my spine feel like it's running laps?
Externally: "Very… spirited."
Xu Lihua cocked her head. "Really? We had the spicy version prepared for the elders."
Third Cup: Mingzhu
Frosted Summit. Ghost child. Six. Emotionally aligned with ancient temples and whispered regrets.
Her tea: Moon Lotus Dew. Barely more than mist on the tongue. A tea brewed for people who believed even emotions should be steeped in silence.
She sipped. Slowly. Carefully.
Then blinked once. Her aura shifted just a little.
Meilin murmured softly, "She liked it."
Mingzhu nodded. Slowly. Reverently.
No one dared speak louder.
Fourth Cup: Huo Lanxia
Blazing Peak. Pyromaniac with dimples. Age 7.
Tea: Phoenix Redburst. Legal only in certain quadrants of the Central Mainland. A spiritual firework show in liquid form.
She slurped it. Loudly. The cup flashed once. The air caught fire.
Lanxia shrieked with joy. "YES! SPICY!"
Then coughed. Then slapped her own chest. Then gave two thumbs up.
Zhenyan, sipping tea from the veranda, exhaled. "That one's going to need a leash."
Liang, beside him, laughed. "Not it."
Fifth Cup: Lin Xiuying
Elegance made flesh. Poison body awakening. Future problem solver and probable mother of small wars.
Her cup was translucent crystal. The tea? Autumn Mist Plum. Soft, mournful, refined.with a barely perceptible undertone of poison, like a polite dagger hidden in a poetry scroll.
She drank. Slowly. Eyes flickered.
Internally: They don't just know what I am. They respect it.
Externally: "Elegant choice."
Minzhi, watching from a second-story veranda, smiled behind her veil. She'd brewed that tea herself. With gloves.
Sixth Cup: Lin Meiyu
Blind. Prophetic. Detached from linear time and invested in nonsense.
Her cup shimmered with ink scripts only visible through spiritual sincerity.
Tea: Silent Wind White. Soft, grounding, with taste notes of cloud, parchment, and metaphor.
She sipped.
Her aura usually a storm of spinning divinations stilled.
Just for a breath. Just for a blink.
Internally: This is what peace feels like.
Externally: She smiled.
"No prophecies today," she murmured. "Just… tea."
Then came dessert.
Spiritual food trays floated in on lotus petals, each precisely enchanted to hum at a vibration that harmonized with the recipient's dantian.
Molten sesame buns glowed like sun cores. Frost-plum tartlets shimmered with cold aura.
Each girl received two.
Each matched to their cultivation path.
Zhao Ruqing took one bite, paused, and trembled with repressed emotion.
Feiyan's second tartlet nearly knocked her qi into realignment.
Mingzhu cradled hers like it had a name.
Lanxia… bit both, screamed "OH YEAH," and then tried to snort the spiritual steam.
The air shifted.
The pavilion breathed.
And then they all felt it.
A subtle… loosening.
Their bottlenecks.
Nothing shattered. Nothing screamed.
But something moved. Something softened.
Like the door to the next stage had cracked open.
A draft of progress drifted in.
Every single one of them froze.
Internally: WHAT.
Externally: polite sipping.
The koi glowed. The tree bloomed again. The air shimmered like a satisfied sigh.
Zhao Ruqing stared at Meilin's still hands. "She brewed it. She planned it."
Lin Xiuying whispered, "That's Tea Dao. Advanced. At four years old."
Meiyu tilted her head. "The Dao likes them."
No one argued.
But from beneath the outer edge of the koi pond, something else stirred.
A small creature, no larger than a squirrel, watched the proceedings from under a rock.
It looked… normal.
Fluffy. Innocent.
But it moved wrong. Too smooth. Too thoughtful.
A disciple walked past. Paused. Blinked. Looked again.
The squirrel was gone.
Only a faint trail of corrupted qi remained disguised as plum nectar.
The Devils were testing the perimeter.
They hadn't sent demons.
They'd sent a creature too cute to question.
But as the squirrel slipped through a crack in the stone wall, it paused once… and turned its head.
Its eyes glowed.
Not red.
Not black.
But the sickly, seeping violet of corrupted luck.