Daily life of a cultivation judge

"Yes.. yes," Sun Biya murmured mechanically, completely taken aback by the whole thing as she absentmindedly put those high spirit stones away. Clearly she hadn't expected Yang Qing to agree that fast, and neither had she expected him to pay for a whole year or display the attitude he was showing at the moment, where it looked like he was offering her a bribe.

For a few seconds, she even second-guessed herself, replaying her conversation with Yang Qing and wondering if she'd misrepresented something, maybe added a perk that wasn't actually part of the benefits for special guests. But she soon realized she hadn't, which only left her more puzzled by Yang Qing's reaction.

Still, as taken aback as she was, she was a professional. It didn't take her long to collect herself and once again wear the friendly smile and affable demeanor she'd had earlier.

"We thank you for your patronage," she said, cupping her fist before moving to add to her statement.

"I should also tell you this—outside of paying in spirit stones, there is another way to access our collections," she said.

"What way?" asked Yang Qing with interest. He wouldn't pass up a chance to save on spirit stones if it presented itself.

"Well, like I mentioned earlier," Sun Biya began as her eyes swept meaningfully around her, her gaze pausing ever so briefly—and intentionally—on the paintings and some of the writings displayed around the room, before finally lingering for just a moment on the mysterious painting, then settling back on Yang Qing.

"If you present something worthwhile, then you'd gain access to our collection for life, without paying anything," she said, smiling pleasantly and going to great lengths to hide the anticipatory excitement in her heart as she looked at Yang Qing.

From his earlier display with the painting, she had already marked him as a talent with prodigious ability in some form of artistry—her bet was on painting, given how quickly he had seen into the essence of the piece behind her. As such, even if it was unlikely, she still held onto the possibility that they might yet add another worthy painting to the collection, and with it, grow the reputation of the teahouse.

Almost all the establishments like theirs operated that way throughout Hebei. Teahouses were attractive because of what they had. The Velvet Orchid Teahouse wasn't the only one with a collection. Many establishments did, and it was those collections they used to reel in more patrons—patrons they would then use to grow their collection, and in doing so, become even more attractive to future guests. The cycle would continue, and over time, the teahouse would slowly morph into a museum, a library, and an institution of learning and exchange—embodying both the face and spirit of the kingdom.

This unique feature of the teahouses in Hebei was one of the many cultural attractions that drew people from far and wide. For teahouses like the Velvet Orchid—and many others—it was seen as a noble mission; some even held ambitions of growing into becoming the legendary sage café.

In the Hebei Kingdom (though the tale wasn't exclusive to them), there was a story that had survived the test of time that was still spoken of with the same fervor, no matter how many years had passed. That story was about a certain teahouse that came to be known as the legendary sages' teahouse in certain circles, though in others it went by different names.

That teahouse was said to have started like any other—a simple wooden building where people from all walks of life could come in, relax, and talk about life over a cup of tea and some snacks.

It became a place of respite for the weary, a place of advice for those in need, and a place of contemplation for those seeking it. It had a little bit of everything for whatever its patrons needed, and it remained that way—weeks after it opened, months later, and even years down the line. Before anyone realized it, that teahouse had grown and outlived some of its patrons, recording imprints of their lives into its very walls.

There was the man who first walked in alone, asking a few friends what to do about a lady he liked. He followed their advice—it failed a few times—and he came back to the teahouse to vent and find solace by its warm hearth. Then, one day, he succeeded. He returned again, this time to share his joy not just with his friends, but with everyone in the teahouse. They all celebrated with him, as some even offered their services for free for the wedding.

The wedding was planned in the teahouse by friends and strangers who, in the planning, turned from strangers to friends. Though the wedding itself didn't take place there, everything leading to it had been birthed and nurtured within those walls. And the journey that came after? That, too, was sure to continue being recorded in the teahouse in one form or another.

A day after the wedding, who walks in through the doors of the teahouse with his wife in hand? None other than the groom himself, looking to show off his wife, as all men should and would, to his friends. After all, what is friendship if you can't flaunt a little and fill them with bitter envy at your new status, while at the same time thanking them for being there through every step that led to that moment, and realizing you'll need them even more for the journey ahead. The good thing is, the list of friends to ask for help has also grown.

The wife, a stranger at first like most before her, soon becomes not only a regular but one of their own. Her presence and essence begin to imprint themselves onto the very fabric of the teahouse. She falls in love with the place so much that she goes a step further than most—she joins the staff.

And so, the teahouse is given yet another front-row seat to one of the most monumental moments in their lives: the birth of their first child, a son.