The merchant caravan finally settled themselves around the tables, which were made of an astonishing lattice of wood and glass. The surfaces were unlike anything Khanh or Vy had ever seen before: carved wooden patterns of mythic beasts—guardian lions, phoenixes, cranes, and qilins—layered upon one another, then sealed seamlessly beneath panes of colored glass. The carvings were so skillfully enclosed that wood and glass seemed to merge into one, glowing faintly under the lantern light. Each table glittered like a treasure on its own.
The caravan leader went up to the counter to order food. Meanwhile, Khanh and Vy remained spellbound, drinking in every detail of the place. The waystation buzzed like a festival square. Laughter and voices rose in waves, overlapping so heavily that the hall seemed alive with sound.
"One, two, three—cheers! Two, three—drink! Two, three—cheers again!"
The chants rolled across the room, followed by the pounding of mugs on wood and bursts of raucous laughter. From the noise alone, it seemed as if nearly twenty merchant groups had gathered here at once.
Soon, the servers arrived, balancing wide trays in their hands. Heavy loaves of bread were set down before them, each resting on plates carved with elaborate patterns to rival the tables themselves. Beside them came deep pots of thick stew, its scarlet-orange surface glistening in the lamplight, carrying the fragrance of beef simmered with wine and spices.
"This is bread with beef stew. Please enjoy," one server announced politely, bowing slightly.
Khanh tore off a chunk of bread, dipped it into the thick sauce, and took a bite. At once, the richness of slow-cooked beef spread across his tongue, its savory-sweet depth seeping into the bread. The faint tang of wine lingered behind the spices, leaving a gentle warmth that slid down his throat and pooled in his stomach. His fatigue from the long journey seemed to melt away in that instant.
"So good…" Khanh murmured under his breath, his eyes alight with genuine delight.
The others soon joined in, and the table filled with chatter. People began introducing themselves more openly, telling stories of their homes, and boasting of local delicacies. Cups of wine and mugs of ale passed from hand to hand. Laughter rose louder with each round. Though Khanh, Vy, and Minh Triet were too young to drink, they sat quietly, observing. To them, it was a rare chance to see how adults truly spoke and acted when loosened by drink.
And indeed, as the liquor worked its way into the blood, tongues loosened and restraint vanished.
Before long, the talk turned to the tax official at the checkpoint they had passed earlier. The change was instant—faces darkened, voices slurred but sharp with irritation.
One man, already flushed, slammed his cup down and said with a bitter laugh,
"Every single time we pass through, we've got to hand over a few gold or silver coins. A few coins may not seem much—but think! Fifteen, twenty caravans go by every day. The man grows rich for nothing, just by sitting there!"
Another leaned in, his breath heavy with alcohol, nodding so hard he nearly toppled forward.
"You're right! You are absolutely right!" he said, his words dragging into a drawl. "That useless bastard—just sitting idle, growing fat. Meanwhile we… we're out here night and day, sweating, hauling goods, breaking our backs! And he—he fattens himself off us! Hah!"
A third, swaying where he sat, raised his cup high, his voice thick and mocking.
"And what is he really? Nothing but a fool, a weakling! A parasite living off his ancestors' title! He's not an official—he's just a spoiled brat clinging to his father's bones!"
Another merchant barked a laugh, spilling wine down his chin. He waved his cup, shouting across the table,
"Exactly! That worm insults us every time! Calls us lowly peddlers, hah! Lowly? Without merchants like us, who feeds this land, who moves its goods? Lowly, he says? The joke's on him—without us, he'd starve in his fancy station, crown and all! Hahaha!"
"Damn right!" someone else cried, his voice cracking as he hiccupped. "That man—he'll get what's coming! Mark my words. Karma never spares a leech like that!"
The table roared with laughter and jeers. One man stumbled out toward the latrine, nearly knocking over a chair. Another, red-faced and mumbling, collapsed onto the table and began snoring loudly. Wine dripped from his cup and pooled onto the carved wood and glass, shimmering under the lights.
Through it all, Master Vo Tinh Hai sat calm and composed, drinking heavily but never faltering. His laughter was steady, booming, and his eyes remained sharp, as though alcohol could not touch him.
Eventually, the drinking wound down. The caravan leader signaled for everyone to head upstairs. The group made their way up to the second floor to check into their rooms. The corridor was paved with smooth stone tiles polished to a shine, lanterns hanging high and casting warm golden light. The atmosphere was surprisingly luxurious, giving everyone a rare sense of comfort after the hardships of the road.
Master Tinh Hai instructed Vy to go to the bathhouse downstairs, and to let Khanh and Minh Triet know as well.
The women's bathhouse was located at the far end of the first floor. As Vy slid the door open, a faint fragrance of herbs wafted out. Steam rose thickly from the warm pool, wrapping the air in mist. She eased herself into the water, sighing softly as the heat seeped into her skin and muscles, washing away the exhaustion of the day.
But she soon realized she was not alone.
Through the drifting steam, she noticed three figures. One was a young woman—shorter than Vy, yet with a full, shapely figure. Her hair was pinned with a jeweled flower ornament, the gemstone gleaming brightly even through the haze. At her side were two older women, both perhaps of the same age as Master Ho Lam Uyen, their manner dignified and restrained.
The three spoke in calm, measured tones, every word carefully chosen. Even without hearing the content, Vy could sense the refinement in their bearing.
It took only a glance for her to understand. The young woman was no ordinary traveler. Her air of confidence, her polished speech, her jeweled hairpin—all marked her as someone of noble, perhaps even royal, blood. The older women must be her attendants or trusted companions.
Light from the jewel refracted in the steam, scattering into tiny shards of brilliance that danced across the mist. It was as though the bath itself bent to illuminate her presence.
Vy lowered her gaze, moving quietly into a corner of the pool. Though curiosity burned within her, she dared not approach. Instead, she stayed silent, pretending to focus on the water, though her ears caught every word the three women spoke.
Deep inside, she had a strange, unsettling feeling—that this chance encounter, born of nothing more than weary travelers sharing a bath, would one day ripple outward into something far greater.
And so the long day ended—in drunken laughter, golden lamplight, and curling steam. But beneath it all, unseen threads of fate had already begun to weave themselves together.