Daily life of a cultivation judge

The teahouse erupted once more in jubilation at the arrival of a new life within its walls—a life that had already been marked as one of its own before he was even born.

The newlyweds had now become new parents, and with that came fresh panic and fear. Fortunately, the husband was no stranger to that feeling, and he knew exactly where to go. Only this time, he didn't go alone.

The teahouse, with its ever-open arms, welcomed them once again to drink from its cup of wisdom and experience as those within its walls had walked many a time, the path the newly parents were just about to tread on.

Advice and support came in generous amounts, far more than the new parents had expected. Some of it was life-saving, some of it completely useless—or even mildly dangerous—but it was all welcomed nonetheless. And with it, the newest member had many hands and voices to support and cheer him on.

A few years in—after a couple of heart attacks and breakdowns—the newest member could finally recognize and interact with the hands and voices that had supported him all this time. He could finally distinguish them, and better yet, understand them and talk to them. He wasn't as good at it as they were, but it was still exciting—especially when it came to the two pairs of hands and voices that were always with him, the ones that soothed him the most.

If he was being honest, they were also the clumsiest.

There were times he couldn't breathe quite right because they fed him too much, held him too tightly, or at a weird angle. Though to be fair, one of them did make it up to him—by helping him fly. He liked that very much.

From those interactions, the newest member began to realize just how amazing the hands and voices around him truly were. And with that realization, his whole world expanded.

He discovered that one of the hands—though it looked old and wasn't chubby and fleshy like his own—could carve a scary yet majestic-looking creature that he heard was called a dwegon or something. (He hadn't heard too clearly because he was both afraid and really wanted to ride the thing.)

Anyway, that d-something was about the size of fifty of him—and it had been carved in just two hours. It looked alive, and a few times, he was sure it was, which led to a few accidents. Luckily, one of the owners of those hands he liked was always there to fix things.

That was one of the many reasons he liked her. She always knew what he needed. She understood him best.

The other special human with the clumsy hands did too—but somehow, he felt this one understood him just a little more.

Speaking of the special clumsy human, he was yet another surprise for the newest member. The reason? That clumsy human always had shaky hands when he carried him, so much so that he dreaded being held by him and had protested more than once by roaring like a dwegun.

He had assumed that the clumsy human's hands were frail. But then he saw that same human hold something he said was a sword (a word he remembered clearly, since he didn't have an accident when he saw it). And when he swung it, five trees fell.

He couldn't believe that those shaky hands could do that.

The special human had promised to teach him how to do it one day. He had been eager to start right then and there, but the sword was too heavy for him. That only made him more awed when he looked up at his special human with the trembling hands.

All around him, he discovered that the owners of the hands he'd come to know could do all sorts of amazing things. And from those moments, he began to learn their names—starting with the two most special ones, called father and mother.

As for the rest, though he struggled to remember all their names, they had told him he could simply call them auntie, uncle, grandma, or grandpa.

Time slowly moved forward, and the newest member gradually grew into his own. Before long, he was no longer the newest—one of the aunties and uncles had a child, and now he became one of the guiding hands for the new arrival. It was then that he finally understood why his father's hands had always shaken so much.

The good times, as plentiful as they were, didn't last forever. The kingdom to which the teahouse belonged declared war on another, and with it, the embers of the teahouse dimmed slightly, as some of its kindling would be joining that war—among them, the once-newest member's father, along with several of the uncles, and even some aunties, who were just as fierce as the uncles, if not more so.

A farewell was held, and the teahouse—as dutiful as it had always been—stood as a silent, ever-present witness and recorder to it all.

In the days that followed, the teahouse became a harbor of hope and comfort for the regular hands and voices that still frequented it, as well as for new ones who found themselves needing such a place.

The war raged on for years, but the embers of that teahouse continued to glow—kept alive by those who dwelled within it, both old and new. News filtered in—some good, some not.

The good news was that the end of the war didn't seem too far off. The bad news... some of the hands and voices that had once left the teahouse had already been confirmed to never return—their final words forever entombed in the burial grounds of war.

One of those lost, alas, was the special human of the once-newest member—who was no longer new, for he had reached the age where the kingdom demanded of him just as it had of his father. And like his father, he did not shirk from the call.

The same reason that guided his father's answer was the reason he gave his own. He wanted his hands to support a life, just as others had done for him, and just as his father had done until his dying breath.

His mother couldn't take it well, but she understood. And the hands that had faithfully supported her, though fewer now, were still there to hold her in his place and his father's.

So, another hand joined the war. His parting record of life was enshrined in the teahouse, and new hands filled his place, their own journeys adding a fresh column to the teahouse's ever-growing ledger.

Fifteen years later, the war came to an end, and with it, the dawn of a new era for the kingdom. A hero had risen from its flames—a man known by the epithet the Righteous Blue Swordsman. His name was praised and sung throughout the land. If he had wished it, he could have become king.

But as soon as the war ended, he vanished—fading into obscurity as he quietly returned to the warm hands that once held him when he could not yet stand on his own.

He retired to the teahouse, whose doors welcomed him, as they always had, for all who needed them.

Years passed, and with them, old hands quietly slumbered off— the fires of their lives forever recorded in the hearth of the teahouse, as new ones rose to take their place.

The teahouse outlived cities. It outlived its kingdom. And anything and everything it could outlive, it did.Before long, that teahouse had even outlived time itself—immortalizing the spirits of all those who had ever dwelled within its walls.

In the southern continent, there is a renowned rumor of a mystical teahouse that appears in random places, at random times, answering the call of those who need its help. It is said to hold the answers to every question one could ever think of. Anything you ask, the teahouse will warmly provide—or at the very least, the millions of sages who inhabit it will.

Hence why it is known as:The Teahouse Hearth of the Immortal Sages, where all the secrets of Heaven and Earth lie within the palm of your hand, laid bare within a single brew.

This is the ambition held by most teahouses in the Hebei Kingdom.Each one is built upon the hope that, one day, their teahouse too might join the ranks of the Teahouse Hearth of the Immortal Sages.

No one in Hebei has ever seen that teahouse or proven that it exists—but that hasn't stopped them from hoping or believing.

After all, while no one in Hebei has laid eyes on it—and most stories about it are treated as boozy legends passed down by half-sober uncles around a steaming pot—there are still many who believe it does exist. There have even been accounts of legendary figures who rose to shape an era, with rumors claiming their rise had ties to that very teahouse.

Given how mysterious the world was, it would be foolish to dismiss its existence simply because it sounds too unbelievable—especially when the world was filled with things that were just as unbelievable, yet proven to be very real.

And so, even without seeing, many in Hebei continue to believe.

Su Biya believes.Everyone at the Velvet Orchid Teahouse believes.

And it is that belief that spurs them on—to keep building, to keep dreaming, in the hope that their teahouse might one day reach those same heights.