Song walked out of the Lee family compound and down the hill, all the while cycling his qi and pushing it against his dantian in a steady flow.

  [“That sounded like ‘Oh’”] Cyrus said, and Song practiced it once more. It was hard, but it was good practice, and it kept Cyrus entertained. [“Perfect, you did it again.”]

  Besides, Song was desperate for any way to speak to Cyrus without embarrassing himself out loud.

  Like now.

  [“So, where’re we actually going?”]

  “We’re headed to the guanz,” Song whispered, then smiled awkwardly at a group of yellow-eyed Jo shepherds. The faint scent of grass and earth followed them as they passed Song on their shift change. “If it’s like usual, they should be there right around now.”

  Song’s heart beat faster the closer he got to their destination. He’d been away from crowds since he’d deviated, not wanting everyone to see his shame. So how was it that half the village was out in force today, and all of them were staring at him?

  Though it was probably his imagination.

  [“Are glowing yellow eyes normal in your village?”] Cyrus asked. [And what the heck is a guanz?”]

  “Those are the Jo Family’s martial Sign, along with the scent of loamy earth. And a guanz is a traveler’s restaurant. Chef Cho makes the best buuz dumplings in the village, and even Mother recognizes his skills. He also has personal connections with the traders in Chengdu, so he has the widest variety of Imperial teas in the village.”

  [“Oooh – sounds tasty. We gotta swap some time so I can eat again, man. I haven’t had a good meal since the feast.”]

  “You mean my feast,” Song grumbled, remembering. He tossed a fresh volley of qi at his dantian. “I’ll consider it if we ever leave the village... I don’t want to chance you walking around in my body where everyone knows me.”

  [“That’s fair. And that last bit of qi sounded like ‘aaa’, by the way. Now you have all the vowels!”]

  Cho’s guanz was immediately recognizable, not only by the painting of a bowl of dumplings on the yurt’s roof, but also by the large sign hanging above the door that read ‘guanz’. An awning hung over a carpeted sitting area outside, letting customers enjoy a cool breeze under the hot summer sun.

  Song walked right on past; he and his friends generally preferred the cozier inside of the yurtwagon anyway.

  The middle-aged and paunchy Cho looked up from his work – simmering dumplings in a wide wok over a wood-fired stove at the centre of the yurt. He wiped sweat from his ruddy brow and narrowed his eyes, then widened them in surprise. “Is that you, Lee Song? I haven’t seen you for weeks. Where’ve you been?”

  His voice always somehow reminded Song of the trumpeting of a goose.

  “Hello, Chef Cho,” Song gave a curt nod, respectful, but ignoring the old gossip’s question. “Are Jinu and Dami here?”

  “Aye, they came in a while ago. Tell them to buy something or get out,” Cho thumbed behind his cooking area to the back side of the yurt. He dried his sweaty hands on his apron, frowning. “And leave that… weird stick behind the bar if it's a weapon.”

  Song passed Cho his staff, then dropped his silver tael on the counter. “I’m buying today. Please put this on my tab.”

  “Hah! So you’ve been out earning money, lad? I heard about that grasswolf by the way, good job. I don’t suppose you’d like to replace this silver with the gold from that, would you?” Cho waggled his bushy eyebrows.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “Don’t push your luck, Chef, I’ll start with a round of airag, and some banshai tsai.”

  “Hah! You are a man now!” Cho laughed and went to grab some wooden mugs. “Wook must be proud! I’ll bring the banshai tsai around in a minute.”

  Song took the mugs of wine to the back of the yurt. The chatter was much quieter compared to the busy streets outside, and most customers had bent their heads together in private conversation. He recognized several of brother Juwon’s people from the earlier council, as well as some familiar faces from other families in the village.

  Jo Jinu and Yu Dami sat where they always did, nursing empty cups of tea and looking bored.

  Other than Mae, Song had never really connected with any of his younger Lee cousins… but he’d found a few kindred spirits in the respective youngests of the Jo and Yu main families. Jo Jinu and Dami also lived under the shadow of their older siblings, while struggling with talents that were middling at best.

  Sweat dripped down Song’s neck and he held back a sudden nervous gulp as he approached his friends.

  Before he could say anything, Yu Dami said in a melodious voice. “Oh, Jinu. Do you smell something? Like horse dung?”

  Jinu had the relaxed posture and bored demeanor of one who spent most of their days watching sheep. The young Jo was wearing an oversized plain woolen deel, with none of the ornamentation many in the village preferred. He had a shaved head, with a long topknot braided down from the top. He pulled at the beginnings of a pathetic moustache that he’d been proudly growing for months before replying, “Hmm… no, just my Sign. Why?”

  “There’s a bothersome horse fly,” Dami said, waving her hand. “It reeks something awful.”

  [“See? Told you – you stink.”] Song could hear the smirk in Cyrus’s voice.

  Dami was the opposite of Jinu – a slender fairy, with a heart-shaped face, wide eyes, and full lips, all accentuated by Yu family cosmetics. Her dress was multiple layers of flowing pink and white silks in the Imperial guzhuang fashion, with brocade flowers in her long black hair. Her only jewelry was a pair of wide gold-disc earrings that dangled from her ears.

  “If it bothers you, we can go outside, maybe play a few songs,” Jinu lazily blinked a pair of yellow eyes, and patted a wide leather frame drum lying on the ground next to his shepherd's crook.

  “Maybe,” A long purple octopus tentacle covered in suckers snaked out from the left sleeve of Dami’s dress and caressed the long wooden tsaar flute lying on the table. “But whatever will we do without a topshur to complete the arrangement?”

  [“Oh, God. I know what you are now!”] Cyrus’s voice interrupted. [“You’re a BAND kid! AGH! I’m stuck in the head of a NEEEERD!!”]

  Song twitched, but managed to ignore the Canadian. He cleared his throat. “If you need a topshur, I'm handy with one.”

  “Oh?” Jinu raised one sardonic eyebrow at Song. “The cicada has finally emerged from its shell? Shame. Now I owe Cousin Doyoon five silver coins.”

  Dami looked at the wall of the yurtwagon and huffed. “Ugh. I can’t stand all these insects crawling about. I should complain to Chef Cho.”

  Song bowed at the waist. “I’m truly sorry. I… I had a really rough time forming my dantian. I wasn’t ignoring you two on purpose.”

  “That’s not what Tae said. He said that you never wanted to see us again, because you’d been driven mad,” Dami said archly.

  “Tae—” Song growled. “And you believed him??”

  “No,” Dami sniffed through a nose slightly too wide to be considered beautiful. “Of course not.”

  Song thumped the mugs down on the table. “I really am sorry. Would you forgive me if I bought a round?”

  “We could be convinced. Take a seat!” Jinu grinned, patting the pillow beside him. “You have no idea how long I've waited for this. I was getting sick of drinking alone.”

  “Do you know how bad that stuff is for your liver? No thank you.” Dami rolled her eyes. “But I would oh so love some banshai tsai, thank you Song.”

  Chef Cho soon walked up to their table with a platter covered in steaming porcelain bowls which let out a mouthwatering scent.

  [“Drooool.”] Cyrus mumbled. [“What is that? Is it some kind of dumpling soup?”]

  Song nodded. That was partially true. Banshai tsai was unique to Nakjo, a soupy combination of Imperial tea and small boiled bansh dumplings. The translucent balls of dough and meat were filled with mutton and some shredded daikon. Before being served, mare’s milk and salt were added to the broth, giving it a creamy texture. Chef Cho was famous for adding a small amount of mutton fat to the mix as well, which made the overall flavour a bit stronger. Song usually preferred his with a side of spicy fermented Silla kimchi.

  “A toast! To Song, for managing to make it through qi deviation, and forming his dantian!” Jinu called, raising his mug high.

  Dami sniffed her own airag suspiciously, then lifted it into the air. Jinu and Song raised their eyebrows at her, and she shrugged. “For Song.”

  Song laughed at that, and raised his own for a heady *clink* of mugs coming together.

  It was good to be back.

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