Mo Xixi, cheeks faintly puffed, swallowed her last bite with visible satisfaction. Her violet eyes shone, and she gave a very dignified nod.
"This rice ball…" she said, brushing nonexistent crumbs from her robes. "Is fully approved."
She paused.
"It reminds me of the kind they served in our - " Her words stopped mid-sentence.
She looked away, face turning the faintest pink, pretending to be absorbed in cleaning her hands with a bit of cloth.
She never finished the thought.
But for those who knew where she came from, the implication was enough.
The Ashen Curse Cult was not known for its cuisine.
Their rice balls were infamous among the outer disciples - dry, flavorless things, packed tightly with bitter herbs and powdered root meant only to keep the body functioning during long curses, blood rites, or punishment meditations.
They weren't food. They were fuel. Eaten only when the body neared collapse and the mind could barely cling to consciousness.
