Sweet steam from the teas curled through the arena like incense, and the pastries vanished from plates as fast as attendants could set them down.
In the glassed upper boxes, cultivators leaned forward with bright eyes and sharper appetites, asking where they could buy such treats, already planning them as travel rations and sect snacks.
A few even shifted in their seats, blinking at the strange ease in their meridians, as if their cultivation had loosened a knot.
The ghost attendants only smiled, hands folded, and apologized with practiced grace.
Below, the mortals had no gilded couches or lacquered sofas. Still, their chairs were soft, the cushions thick, and each seat had a peculiar plank fixed at the side.
Radeon watched one attendant hook pale fingers under it and pull. The plank swung out and locked, becoming a small table.
It was a classroom trick from his former life, stolen clean and reborn here.
