"Disciple Wushuang, Disciple Yinyin," Xie Ren called out without opening his eyes. His tone was smooth and playful, like a lord waiting for his afternoon tea. "Is it ready yet, or must I survive the day on spiritual air?"
A loud hiss and a sudden puff of smoke burst from the other side of the courtyard near the outdoor stone stove.
"Scoundrel master!" Chen Yinyin's voice rang out, sharp with frustration. "Stop shouting like you're a noble being starved to death!"
Beside her, Mo Wushuang wore an expression of silent defeat as she frantically fanned the smoking skillet.
Her usual sharp, cold aura had long since crumbled beneath this unfamiliar challenge.
On the pan, a once-proud spirit egg now lay completely ruined, its charred remains smoldering, unrecognizable. Smoke curled upwards like a ghost of failure.
