[Cloud City · Apartment · Kitchen]
Yin Wuwang—who had lived three thousand years, ruled over the twelve cities of Northern Desolation, and had countless souls perish at his command—was currently standing before a black machine, lost in thought.
The machine wasn't large. The upper half was a transparent funnel connected to a metal tube below, with three buttons and a dial on the side.
He'd bought this last night when he said he was taking out the trash, sneaking off to the supermarket instead.
Little Deer Assistant 9527 said this thing was called a "pour-over coffee maker." Not the instant kind—the professional kind. Yin Wuwang had stood in front of the supermarket shelf for ten minutes before finally selecting a bag of beans labeled "Ethiopia · Yirgacheffe." He didn't know where Ethiopia was, but Little Deer Assistant said these were among the finest coffee beans in the mortal world, with floral and fruity notes.
Floral and fruity notes. Sounded fitting for Fuguang.
"Master," Little Deer Assistant's voice sounded in his mind, "first you need to grind the beans. That smaller thing beside it is the grinder. Pour the beans in and press that button—"
Yin Wuwang poured the coffee beans into the grinder.
He pressed the button.
The machine let out a sharp whine, and the entire kitchen shook with it. Yin Wuwang's fingers instinctively pulled back—not from being startled, but from combat reflex. In the cultivation world, vibrations at this frequency usually meant a formation was being forcibly breached.
"Master, that's the grinding sound." Little Deer Assistant hurried to explain. "Normal! Not an attack!"
Yin Wuwang pressed his finger back down, expression unchanged.
Five seconds later, the beans had become fine powder. He opened the lid, and a rich aroma hit him—bitterness with a hint of caramel sweetness, mixed with some indescribable floral note.
He sniffed.
Not unpleasant. But far cruder than spirit tea from the cultivation world. Spirit tea's fragrance naturally emanated from the leaves, light and clear; coffee's fragrance was only released after violent crushing, heavy and turbid.
"Next, boil water." Little Deer Assistant continued the tutorial. "Ninety-two degrees is optimal. Place the filter paper in the funnel—yes, that round paper—then pour in the coffee grounds. After the water boils, let it cool slightly before pouring. When you pour, draw circles from the center outward, keeping the speed even—"
Yin Wuwang picked up the kettle.
Draw circles, from the center outward, speed even.
This was almost identical to the spiritual energy infusion technique used by demonic cultivators. When channeling spirit fire into a pill furnace, you started from the furnace's core and spiraled outward—too fast and the furnace exploded, too slow and the energy stagnated.
He turned his wrist, and hot water traced a perfect concentric circle from the spout, landing on the coffee grounds. The powder began to swell and bubble, slowly rising as if awakening.
Little Deer Assistant was stunned: "...Master, your pour-over technique is steadier than ninety percent of professional baristas."
"Three thousand years of pill refining. Pouring water is nothing."
Deep brown coffee liquid dripped one drop at a time into the glass pot below. Yin Wuwang watched the rate—neither fast nor slow, as even as if timed.
The last drop fell.
He poured the coffee into two white mugs and carried them to the dining table.
Set them down. Stepped back. Surveyed.
The liquid levels in both cups were identical; the steam rose in nearly identical curves.
Perfect.
His reason for doing this was simple.
The character profile stated: "Jiang Ye brings Shen Han coffee every morning. Black coffee, no sugar."
For the past few days, Yin Wuwang had been buying it from the convenience store downstairs at the station. Paper cup, black liquid, tasted about as good as bitter medicine. He'd taken one sip himself and decided it was worse than the most unpalatable pill he'd ever refined—but coffee couldn't get much worse than this, right? He'd lived three thousand years; half the things he'd drunk could kill a mortal. What difference did one cup of coffee make?
So he'd naturally assumed Xie Qingyan didn't care either.
But last night, when Yin Wuwang passed by the study around midnight, he'd glimpsed a detail through the door gap—
The coffee he'd brought back that afternoon sat on Xie Qingyan's desk.
Full. Not a single sip taken.
Yin Wuwang hadn't thought much of it at the time. He'd assumed Fuguang just forgot.
But in the small hours, when he went to get water and passed the kitchen, he found a washed mug in the sink—not a coffee cup, but an ordinary cup from the cabinet. At the bottom was a faint ring of tea stain.
Xie Qingyan hadn't drunk the coffee. He'd brewed his own tea.
Yin Wuwang had stood in front of the sink, staring at that mug for a long time.
Then he made a decision: tomorrow, brew a proper cup of coffee himself.
His logic was this—the convenience store coffee was too low-quality. Maybe if the coffee was good, Fuguang would be willing to drink it. Just like how common-grade pills in the cultivation world tasted bitter, but high-quality spirit pills were mellow and sweet with a lingering aftertaste. Different quality, different experience.
So this morning, he'd gotten up at six.
7:10 AM.
The study door opened.
Xie Qingyan walked out. White shirt, dark trousers, hair swept behind his ears with his fingers, still carrying the faint weariness of insufficient sleep. A very shallow bluish tinge under his eyes—almost unnoticeable unless you looked closely.
But Yin Wuwang noticed.
Xie Qingyan walked to the dining table and paused mid-step.
He looked at the two cups of coffee on the table. The deep brown liquid was still steaming, and the air was filled with a rich floral-fruity fragrance.
Xie Qingyan's gaze moved from the coffee cups to Yin Wuwang, then back to the cups.
He sat down and picked up a cup.
Yin Wuwang leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him. Outwardly calm. Actually more nervous than the first time he'd opened a furnace to refine Heavenly Tribulation Pills.
Xie Qingyan raised the cup to his lips and took a sip.
Then his brow furrowed.
Not the kind of frown that said "too bitter." A deeper frown, carrying some instinctive rejection. Like at a banquet in the cultivation world when someone unknowingly served him a dish he wouldn't touch.
He set the cup down.
"What's wrong?" There was an almost imperceptible tension in Yin Wuwang's voice.
Xie Qingyan looked at him, silent for two seconds.
Then he said something that made Yin Wuwang freeze.
"I absolutely hate drinking coffee."
The tone was flat. No disdain, no accusation. Just stating a fact. But his expression—in three thousand years, Yin Wuwang had never seen that expression on Xie Qingyan's face.
Distaste.
Xie Qingyan. The world's greatest Sword Sovereign. Cold, composed Fuguang Zhenren, whose emotions never showed on his face. In front of a cup of coffee, he showed distaste.
Yin Wuwang's mind went blank for a second.
"The one who likes coffee is Shen Han." Xie Qingyan added. "Not me."
That sentence was like a needle, piercing precisely into one of Yin Wuwang's nerves.
He remembered now—the character bio said "Shen Han drinks black coffee every day." That was the character's preference. Not Xie Qingyan's.
He'd treated the character's preference as Fuguang's preference.
[End of V2_Chapter 29]
Next: Green tea with sugar, a new travel mug, and three thousand years of never knowing this one thing.