Tae waited impatiently outside the tent while Cyrus puzzled out how to put on a deel, then led him to a yurt that he’d never seen used before.

  The inside was brightly lit with the rising sun, and smelled absolutely divine. A reddish brown oval table took up most of the room, and brocade carpets hung from every wall, depicting rams, horses, and high-flying cultivators. Chohee, Mae, a young boy roughly Mae’s age, and another woman Cyrus didn’t recognize, were laying out platters covered in soups, rice dishes, and other delicacies. The center of the table was dominated by a scrumptious looking whole roast lamb on a fancy golden plate.

  The Patriarch, Seojoon, Wook, Juwon, and two unfamiliar men were seated around the table. Song’s father spread his arms wide, his voice booming with good cheer.

  “Ah! It’s our little Song! Little no longer! Come, come, take a seat!” Lee San gestured at a cushion on the floor beside him.

  Grinning, Tae shoved Cyrus through the flap, and he stumbled forward into the warm and heavenly smelling yurt.

  Cyrus wiped drool from his lips as he made his way around the table. He hadn’t smelled anything so delicious in what felt like millenia. His stomach growled, and Cyrus realized he – well, Song – hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday afternoon.

  His brothers smiled at him as he passed them, though Juwon muttered sotto-voce, “You didn’t pat down or water the horses yesterday, you rascal. Bongbong will want to have words with you.”

  Seojoon gave Cyrus a curt nod, while the two unknown men observed him with a mix of indifference and low-key hostility.

  Who pissed in their porridge?

  “My little star!” Chohee declared. Song’s mother was dressed in a celebratory red and gold deel dress under a scintillating pearl and silver vest. She was stunning for her age, with the barest sign of crows feet, smooth porcelain skin, and a body that would put a figure skater to shame. The tiny horns peeking out over her head explained the reason. She swept Cyrus into a hug. “We’re so proud of you!”

  Cultivation has its benefits, eh? Cyrus thought, as he struggled uncomfortably in her lithe, powerful grasp. This is Song’s mother, Cyrus. Think non-sexy thoughts, think non-sexy thoughts.

  “Um, Mother,” Cyrus gasped out after puzzling through what he should say. Play it like Song, Cyrus! These people are one mistake from roasting you on a spit like that lamb! “I need to go to my seat, please. Everyone’s watching.”

  Chohee held him at arms length, and searched his eyes. After a long moment, she nodded and let him go with a more curt, “Of course, Song.”

  She patted him on the back and returned to fussing over the food. When everything was just right, the two women laid out chopsticks and ladeled portions into everyone’s wooden bowls.

  Cyrus took the seat at San’s right hand, giving a respectful short bow to the Patriarch. San clasped Cyrus on the shoulder, before announcing to the table, “This feast was sent to us by the Jo Family as thanks for saving their flock. Your mother prepared your favourite as well, Song. Roasted mashed daikon from the Yu Family!”

  Chohee gave San a kiss on the cheek as she passed him by, then spooned a large steaming pile of white pungent mush into Cyrus’s bowl, completely covering his rice and lamb. Cyrus stared at the bowl as horror competed with hunger; he hated daikon. But the rest of the food smelled so good, and he had Song’s tastebuds, so who knew?

  To top it all off, Mae had scrambled underneath Chohee’s elbow and added on a solid spoonful of shaved daikon as garnish. She whispered to Song as she did so, “I knew you could do it!”

  Cyrus recovered himself and gave the two a big smile. “Thank you, Mother, Mae.”

  “This is also a belated celebration for opening your dantian and becoming thirteen years old, my son,” San continued, raising an ornate metal cup high in the air. “A cheers for our Song! May his path be paved with fortuitous encounters, and Mount Tai never cast its shadow on his future!”

  “To Song!” Ten silver cups rose to the sound of cheering.

  Cyrus lifted his own cup, then stared at the thick greyish white liquid lapping at the rim. It had a sour smell, like yogurt that’d gone slightly off, and it faintly burbled.

  San noticed his son’s hesitation and clapped him on the back. “Airag! Fresh mare’s milk wine from the Yu’s stores; the specialty of our mighty Nakjo! They sent it along with the daikon to celebrate you becoming a man. Come now, drink! It’ll put hair on your chest!”

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “Goodness knows he needs it!” Wook called from down the table, holding his cup up to Cyrus.

  “I saw him in his yurt just now,” Tae added, “he’s still as smooth as baby Junho!”

  Most of the family laughed, though one of the unknown men sporting horns nearly as long and curled as San’s own, simply scowled and crossed his arms.

  Cyrus held the cup up to his nose and took a sniff. There was a faintly acidic odour, with notes of ripe cheddar. He took a hesitant sip and smacked his lips. It tasted like cottage cheese mixed with soju. Was this alcohol??

  “Drink!” Wook shouted, banging his fist on the table. “Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!”

  He was soon joined by Tae, Juwon, Mae, and the other little boy. Seojoon joined in a beat later, a grin crossing his lips. Chohee’s own smile was motherly as she watched on.

  Cyrus took a deep breath, then tipped his head back and chugged. The airag went down smooth, with a faintly bitter aftertaste. Then it hit his empty stomach like a hammer, and he had to burp down a sudden urge to vomit it back up. The flavour wasn’t unpleasant, just different, with hints of almond and a lightly fizzy body like a desert champagne. When he’d drained the cup, Cyrus banged it on the table with an “Ah!” and wiped his mouth on his deel sleeve.

  There was a raucous cheer, and his brothers thumped the table like madmen. San held up his cup once more and the room fell silent, with only Tae still cheering until Juwon smacked the back of his head. “And I’m pleased to give Song his gold yuanbao for the Emperor’s bounty on grasswolf heads. I’ve pulled it from the family treasury, but it’ll be replaced by the Imperial Officials in Chengdu as soon as the peddlers bring them word. Your first gold earned as a cultivator, Song. Try not to put your life at risk for the next one.”

  San placed an open leather pouch in front of Cyrus, revealing a shining lump of gold in the rough shape of a boat. Cyrus’s eyes widened as he picked the thumb-sized treasure up and held it in his palm. It was heavier than it looked. Is that real gold!?

  One of the two strangers, a man with short horns like Chohee and Tae, tapped his cup on the table. San acknowledged him with a friendly, “Brother-in-law.”

  The man smiled at Cyrus. “Your Aunt Yumi regrets that she couldn't come and congratulate you. She’s watching the children and sends her regards for your celebration.”

  Next, the long-horned man on San’s left cleared his throat and regarded Song. “While you may’ve undergone qi deviation and brought shame to the family, yesterday you achieved something worthy of praise.”

  “Booo–!” Wook began, but petered off as San nailed him with a hard glare from across the table. Mae shot a worried look between Song and her Father, and bit her lower lip.

  The piece of gormless trash continued, ignoring Wook. “The hunters sent word an hour ago that they haven’t found any further evidence of a pack. They’re fairly certain that the one you fought was a starving stray with little qi remaining. Even then, for a boy with no techniques or Wood qi, you’ve saved face in front of the village for our Lee family, and put those unruly Jos in their place.” He raised his fist at the end, punctuating his statement with a punch at the air.

  “Thank you for your praise, Brother Seok,” San said into the suddenly frigid atmosphere. “Now, Chohee and Haru have been up since the early hours preparing all of this, and they’ll have my horns if I let it get cold! Let’s eat!”

  The room descended into the happy sounds of eating as everyone picked up chopsticks and dug in.

  Cyrus tamped down his growing desire to step across the table and punch the one called Seok in his stupid beardless face. What a jerk! Was that Seojoon’s father? No wonder Seojoon was the way he was. Heck, it was surprising that Seojoon wasn’t a bigger dickhead with someone like that for a father.

  Casting the thought aside, Cyrus picked up his chopsticks and pushed aside some daikon mush before pulling out a long strip of roast lamb. The faint scent of cloves mixed with the steam rising off the daikon in a symphony of aromas. With trembling fingers he maneuvered the meat into his mouth, before closing his eyes and chewing with a blissful sigh. The lamb was amazing, perfectly cooked and thick with fat and juices. It had a smokey taste, and practically melted in his mouth, it was so tender.

  He devoured everything on his plate, even the mashed daikon, which while a bit sour, wasn’t as bad as he remembered. The rice was just like his grandma used to make it, savoury and light, with a faint hint of jasmine. The soup was a mare’s milk base, with bits of horse meat floating in it. He ate seconds, even thirds, and was reaching for fourths when he realized there wasn’t any food left.

  Cyrus blinked and looked around the tent. Nearly everyone had already left, leaving just Chohee, the other woman, and the two younger children cleaning up the dishes.

  “Where–?” He started, and then snapped his mouth shut before he made a mistake and said something un-Song-like.

  Chohee chuckled as she gathered up Lee San’s cups and plates beside him. “Everyone’s gone off to work - but don’t worry, the Patriarch has given you the day off. Airag is strong, so be careful when you try to stand.”

  He did feel a bit buzzed. Cyrus raised his hand to his head, then flinched as his fingers contacted a big round goosegg.

  Chohee reached into her belt pouch and handed him a small wooden jar. “This is a poultice for that bruise on your head. Rest; there’ll be plenty of time for more target shooting tomorrow. What do you call that strange weapon you made, by the way?”

  “It’s a sling-staff,” Cyrus said, opening the jar. The cream inside was a smooth white colour, and smelled strongly of medicine. “I, uh, read about it in one of, um, Li Zhui’s works.”

  Chohee smiled. “I see. Well, it suits you. I hope that Hunter An approves. Now, leave and give us some space to clean!” She snapped the edge of her deel at him, and Cyrus fled the tent with his hands raised in a warding off gesture.

  Cyrus wandered back to Song’s tent and ducked inside. He spent a few minutes cleaning up the mess Tae had made, then sat cross legged on the bed.

  Breathe in, breathe out.

  Head of stone. Heart of steel. Hold your tongue. Hide your thoughts.

  Breathe in, breathe out.

  This time, Cyrus dropped into meditation as smooth as silk.