The night in the Eternal Night Mansion was calm, quiet — almost deceptively so. The faint hum of spirit lamps glowed through the stone corridors, and from Mo Han's residence came an unusual sound — the frantic scratching of a quill against paper.
Inside the stone house, Fatty Lambu sat hunched over a wooden desk, scribbling furiously on a stack of parchment. His chubby face glistened with sweat, lips moving silently as he wrote line after line. His sleeves were rolled up, hair sticking out wildly, and Dambu, the tiny fire chicken, sat on his head like a glowing ornament.
Across the room, Chi Kai and Jia Kai watched with confusion and growing concern.
"Fatty," Chi Kai said finally, "you've been writing since dawn. What are you doing, a novel?"
"Not a novel!" Fatty snapped without looking up. "A financial record! Every stone, every coin, every herb expense of this insane operation!"
