Morning air carried the smell of rain on stone.
The street outside was still slow, just a few carts on the far side rolling toward the dock. The light felt washed, as if it had been through the same river I was about to draw from.
I set the kettle on the back ring.
My hands found the bundle of river herbs I had traded for yesterday... narrow leaves, pale green at the tips, holding the memory of the current in their scent. They would not last more than two days, so today's dish was already decided before I had opened my eyes.
River Herb Broth.
Light, clean, sharp enough to cut through a fogged head and set a person straight again.
The board still held yesterday's lines. Crown Rice. Mint Tea. Moon Salt Rice. Fire Crisp Dumplings.
I picked up the chalk and wrote the new name at the bottom, the white powder marking the start of today's promise.
[Kitchen Ledger] Daily Dish Boon (Stall Arc, 1★ cap)
New Dish: River Herb Broth (1★)
Boon: Clear Mind (1★ · 1 hr) — clears mental haze, sharpens focus; paid bowls only; breaks on shouting or a fight under the canvas.
I liked the sound of that. Not every hunger came from the stomach.
I lit the stove. The red five point seal under the stone caught the flame and bent it to my will.
The herbs went in whole. The water changed shade before it reached a boil, the steam already curling with a green note that tasted in the air before it touched the tongue.
I crushed a slice of lemon and set it under the lid. Not enough to sour, just enough to wake the broth. The lid settled without a sound. The heat wrapped around it and stayed steady.
By the time the first footsteps hit the street, the broth was ready.
Two dockhands came first, always the ones to start the day moving.
"Two Mint Tea, one Fire Crisp," the taller one called.
I nodded, filled two small cups, and slid the dumplings into their paper fold. Coin on the counter. Honest.
The boy from the print shop was next. His eyes were red, lids heavy from a night that had run past its limits.
"The new one," he said. His voice carried the weight of too much ink and not enough sleep. "River Herb Broth."
I poured it into a deep clay cup. Leaves floated slow, catching the light like small oars.
He took a sip. I saw his shoulders drop. His eyes cleared enough to find my face instead of the counter.
"Paper's due at noon," he said. "I might even finish it early."
"That's the broth," I said.
He smiled with one side of his mouth and left without changing his pace.
The line moved on. A mother with her toddler took Crown Rice, the child clapping at the steam. A rope guild guard claimed Moon Salt Rice, the faint shimmer settling around his fingers as he ate. Two traders in worn coats spoke in low tones over Fire Crisp Dumplings, chewing without breaking their rhythm.
The broth pot stayed warm.
Its scent reached the edge of the street, pulling in a man I had not seen before.
Leather coat, dust at the seams, eyes that scanned the stall as if measuring its worth.
"What's fair for the broth?"
"Four coppers."
He paid exact. His hands were steady, but there was a cloud in his eyes that even a fair night would not clear.
The cup touched his lips.
One breath. One swallow. His gaze sharpened as if the day had finally found him.
"You'll see me again," he said.
"I will."
Wind pushed the canvas roof. The red seal under the stove held the flame as if nothing outside could touch it.
A crate man came for Mint Tea, leaning on the counter while it brewed.
A woman from the rope guild brought back two empty bowls from yesterday, placing them on the counter without a word. I set her change down anyway.
Halfway to midday, the print shop boy returned.
A folded paper was tucked under his arm. His cheeks had a flush now, his step lighter.
He set a single copper on the counter.
"That's for the taste," he said. "The first one was for the work."
I took it, because refusing would have been the same as doubting him.
The broth kept moving.
A small group of festival crew stopped for a quick meal, ordering one of everything. Crown Rice for the one with the paint on her sleeves. Mint Tea for the rope carrier. Moon Salt Rice for the one rubbing his shoulder. Fire Crisp Dumplings split between two more. And the broth... first taste for the youngest, who drank it slow, eyes fixed on the steam.
The board stayed neat. The coins stayed true.
Near the lull, a merchant I knew only by face took the broth in one hand, a dumpling in the other.
"Going north," he said between bites. "Two days on the road. Your broth will keep me straight."
"Not for two days," I said. "One hour."
"Then I will drink slow."
The last of the broth simmered low. I thought of closing it early, keeping the effect for tomorrow. But the pot was still warm, and the herbs would not wait.
A student came in next, books under his arm, eyes darting between the board and the coins in his hand.
He counted twice before speaking. "The broth."
He drank without a word, then bent over his notes right at the counter, the steam curling into his hair.
He left with three pages filled that had been empty when he arrived.
By late afternoon, the broth pot was empty.
Only the scent remained, clinging to the cloth of the stall, to my sleeves, to the memory of everyone who had tasted it.
I cleaned the pot and set it aside. Tomorrow's dish would come. The board would change again.
But today, the broth had done its work.
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[Kitchen Ledger] Dish Boon, today: Clear Mind (1★ · 1 hr) — paid River Herb Broth only