The journey down the other side of the Celestial Lotus Summit began cloaked in silence. Not just quiet, but a heavy, pregnant stillness that clung to the air like humidity, making every rustle of leaves or distant bird call seem impossibly loud. It was the kind of silence that made you acutely aware something profound had shifted.
Not that Hwan Do noticed. He was far too busy trying to juggle three precarious bamboo steamers, a bag of dried eel jerky, and a snorting Zhu Bao balanced precariously on his back, all while belting out an off-key rendition of his latest composition, "Soup is Love."
Seo Rin walked several paces ahead, arms crossed, her pace brisk and unyielding, her expression as unreadable as polished stone. Yet, every so often, her eyes would flick back towards the chaotic procession behind her. Then, just as quickly, snap away. Only to return again. Finally, she'd mutter a soft, almost inaudible "Idiot" under her breath, a stark contrast to her usual cutting tone.
Meanwhile: Inside Hwan Do's brain… Okay. So she laughed. Like, a real laugh. I've only ever seen her crack a smile when I accidentally set my own pants on fire or when that nobleman tripped into the duck pond. Does this mean she's warming up to me? Or is she just enjoying watching me struggle with basic survival skills? Maybe she likes me? Nah. That's crazy. That's like expecting a thunderstorm to apologize for ruining your laundry.
He tripped over a rogue root, tumbling forward in a spectacular somersault directly into a thorny bush. Zhu Bao, somehow still perched on his shoulder, didn't even blink. "She definitely likes you," the pig said, as if commenting on the weather.
The Village of Whispering Frogs By noon, the unlikely trio reached the outer edge of a fog-shrouded valley. A crooked wooden sign, weathered and faded, warned them:
"Welcome to the Village of Whispering Frogs. Croak Softly, Lest Ye Croak Forever."
"...Well, that's just peachy," Hwan Do mumbled, peering past the ominous greeting.
Zhu Bao, the Gordon Ramsay of spirit beasts, sniffed the air with a critic's arrogance. "Hmm. Strong essence of boiled algae and spiritual toad breath. I sense… ancient culinary potential."
Seo Rin, already pulling her sword from its sheath to sheathe it again, let out a weary sigh. "We'll stop here for supplies and to rest. But keep your hoods up. This region is known for its…"
"TOURNAMENTS OF HONOR!" a voice boomed, cutting her off.
A small, frog-like man in ceremonial robes, complete with an impossibly long, wispy beard, cartwheeled out of a tea house. He landed in a pose so dramatically intense, so perfectly struck, that his beard flew entirely off his face.
"I am Elder Croaklo, Grandmaster of the Twelve-Tongued Toad Sect! You three have entered the sacred zone of Tea Combat! I challenge you!"
Hwan Do blinked, utterly bewildered. "To… what, exactly?"
"To a duel of infusions!" Croaklo declared, throwing a steaming teapot into the air. It spun five times, glowed with an ethereal purple light, and landed back in his hand without spilling a single drop.
Seo Rin looked heavenward, a silent plea in her eyes. "We don't have time for this."
Zhu Bao nudged Hwan Do conspiratorially. "That's a Toad Tea Master. Unpredictable, slippery, and they have an unhealthy obsession with tea leaves." He added, "...Also, legend says he boiled a sect master alive after the fool called his oolong blend a leftover bathwater."
"...Sounds like a Tuesday for us," Hwan Do muttered, a familiar resignation settling in. "Fine. What are the stakes?"
"If you lose," Croaklo intoned, puffing out his chest, "you must serve the Toad Sect for one month… as a tea leaf plucker."
"And if we win?" Hwan Do pressed, a glint of his usual mischief returning.
Croaklo twirled like a manic top. "I shall bestow upon you… a single sip of the Forbidden Brew of Reflection."
Zhu Bao gasped, a sound somewhere between awe and a pig choking on a noodle. "That tea is rumored to reveal one's true heart!"
Seo Rin visibly stiffened. "Fine," she declared, her voice sharp, before Hwan Do could even think of speaking. "We accept."
The Duel of Tea The village courtyard was swiftly cleared, transformed into an impromptu arena. An ancient kettle, shaped like a bullfrog and boiling with qi-infused water, sat at its center. Hwan Do was handed a simple task: choose a blend, brew, and serve.
He panicked. Absolutely, gloriously panicked.
Then, with a shrug that spoke volumes, he reached into his bag and pulled out:
One suspiciously glowing leftover lotus seed.
A pinch of accidental eel jerky.
Three crushed peach flowers.
And a single, genuine tear he'd shed that very morning when he'd stubbed his toe particularly hard.
"I call this... Life Is Pain But It Tastes Sweet," he announced, pouring his questionable creation with the confidence of a man whose last 'tea' was hot water with a leaf accidentally blown into it.
Croaklo sniffed it. Blinked. Then, with the gravity of a seasoned tea master, he took a sip.
Silence fell over the courtyard. The mist shimmered. Croaklo levitated slightly. And then… the Elder wept.
"My childhood..." he sobbed, tears streaming down his face. "I can taste my mother's stew… and also a curious hint of mild foot pain..." He sank to his knees, utterly defeated. "You win."
Seo Rin's hand twitched toward her sword. "What. Did you. Put in that?"
"I don't know!" Hwan Do chirped brightly. "I just followed my terrible instincts!"
The Forbidden Brew Croaklo, now recovered but still visibly moved, presented a small jade cup to each of them. "One sip reveals your truest desire," he intoned solemnly. "But beware. It also reveals what you fear most."
Hwan Do lifted the cup, sniffing cautiously. "Smells like burnt destiny and peaches."
He took a hesitant sip.
Everything went white.
Then—
A vivid vision slammed into him. He stood before a vast, cheering crowd, wielding a ladle that radiated divine qi. The very skies wept soy sauce, and the world bowed before his magnificent dish. And there, beside him… Seo Rin. Smiling. Not glaring. Not exasperated. Just... smiling. At him.
Then—BOOM! The sky cracked like fragile porcelain. Flames erupted, scorching the blissful scene. The entire image warped, twisted, becoming a terrifying battlefield. Everyone burned. Seo Rin was screaming his name.
"Hwan Do!"
He blinked.
Back in reality. His hand trembled, spilling a drop of the tea.
Seo Rin was watching him, her own cup still untouched. "You okay?" she asked, her voice softer than usual.
"…Yeah," he managed, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. "Just… hot tea."
Zhu Bao, meanwhile, had taken his sip and immediately burst into noisy tears. "I saw my 47th birthday party! It was beautiful! There was cake!"
Later That Night… They camped just outside the village, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and distant cooking fires. Hwan Do sat alone by the small fire, staring into the dancing flames, lost in thought.
Seo Rin approached, silent as moonlight, settling beside him.
"You looked scared," she said softly, her voice barely a whisper against the crackle of the fire.
He managed a weak smile. "Guess I'm not as brave as I pretend to be."
She hesitated, then shifted closer still, her shoulder brushing his. "I didn't drink the tea," she confessed.
"Why not?"
"Because I already know what I want."
He turned to her, eyes wide, hope blossoming in his chest like a rare flower. And just when he thought she might say something, something that would break the tension, that would reshape everything between them—
Zhu Bao exploded from the bushes, shrieking, "TOADS! THIEVING TOADS STOLE MY MUSHROOMS!"
Seo Rin stood in one fluid motion, the moment shattered. "At least the toads have better timing than you."
As she walked off to chase the thieving amphibians, Hwan Do sighed, his hand instinctively going to his rapidly beating heart.
"Stupid timing," he muttered to the embers.
Elsewhere
Deep within a dark, damp cave, lit only by the eerie glow of bioluminescent frogs, the Heavenly Butcher stood before a churning cauldron of cursed broth.
A cultist approached, dropping to one knee, a nervous tremor in his voice.
"My Lord... the boy has tasted the Reflection Brew."
The Butcher grinned, a chilling, predatory stretch of lips beneath his bone mask. "Then his heart is open. The next phase begins."
He dipped a spoon into his broth, watching the murky liquid swirl.
And whispered, his voice a dry rasp like crumbling bones:
"Let the flavors of fate simmer."