A Lavish, Yet Unpalatable Dinner

Having concluded the minor disagreement with the Sir Černý family, Noren settled her attention upon the meal before her.

The dinner spread presented by the Sir Černý household was undeniably lavish, a feast for the eyes that promised much, yet its flavor proved remarkably uninspired.

The repast comprised a vibrant salad of turnips, fennel, and beets; onion pie crafted from butter and fine flour; a suckling pig, its mouth agape around a crimson apple; an entire haunch of venison, served whole rather than sliced; stewed beans; white bread; and a seasonal vegetable soup.

For seasoning, each diner found only a small pat of butter and a pinch of fine salt on the side plate to their left, intended for spreading upon the white bread or dipping the accompanying meats.

Though the meal was undeniably abundant, the culinary prowess of the Sir Černý household’s chef was, to Noren’s discerning palate, far from praiseworthy.

Indeed, upon discovering the suckling pig was woefully undercooked, Noren promptly set aside her carving knife, electing instead to simply butter her white bread and consume it with generous sips of wine.

Some moments later, as dinner neared its conclusion, servants presented the culminating sweet: honey-roasted cheese, lavishly sprinkled with raisins and almonds.

Noren ventured a small bite, only to find a cacophony of flavors warring upon her tongue.

Had Sir Černý and Johanna not been observing her with such bright, expectant gazes, clearly anticipating accolades for their lavish dinner,

she might well have retched on the spot, then rinsed her mouth thrice over.

“Are you satisfied with this meal, Miss Noren?”

Confronted by Johanna’s query, Noren struggled to swallow the cheese. Its cloying, pungent odor threatened to seize her breath, yet she managed to force a pleasant smile.

“Satisfied, indeed. It was a truly lavish meal. However, if I might impose, another glass of that delightful grape fruit wine I sampled upon my arrival this afternoon would be most welcome to cleanse my palate.”

Medieval dining, Noren knew, was rarely about culinary delight; rather, it served as a rich tapestry of class metaphors.

Consequently, the dinner’s extravagance felt like an egregious waste of ingredients, a sight that pained Noren deeply. She yearned to excuse herself and storm into the kitchen, demanding to know how the chef could possibly concoct such an abominable creation as roasted cheese.

At least, she mused, there was no grotesque pig-chicken abomination, a small mercy amidst the culinary misfortune.

“Riva, wine.”

Johanna clapped her hands, and Riva, the maid attending the noble diners, acknowledged the command with a slight nod. Shortly thereafter, she returned bearing a distinctive silver wine pitcher, its single handle and pointed spout holding a full gallon of grape fruit wine.

The blonde maiden consumed a full three quarts before she could barely quell the lingering cheesy odor in her mouth.

“Hoo,” Noren exhaled slowly, her features finally relaxing as a long, relieved sigh escaped her lips.

Igor, a man of keen insight, having long suffered the cold indifference of his own family, perceived Noren’s displeasure with heightened sensitivity, just as he noted her evident fondness for the grape fruit wine.

He turned, addressing Sir Černý. “Father,” he began, “since Miss Noren holds such a high regard for this particular wine, might we not offer her two barrels as a gift?”

Before Sir Černý could even formulate a reply, his older brother, Ryan, already steeped in drink, bellowed forth:

“Two barrels? What nonsense! Two barrels, you miserly wretch! If Noren enjoys it, then give it all to her! All of it! Without a single coin!”

Igor clamped his mouth shut, casting a quick glance at his father. His suggestion of merely two barrels had, in fact, been a calculated maneuver, accounting for his father’s notorious parsimony.

“Hsss~”

Sir Černý’s head tilted back ever so slightly, and with an audible intake, he seemed to draw all the cool air from the room deep into his chest and lungs.

Half a minute later, the old man, his facial muscles contorted in a grimace of genuine anguish, expelled two streams of hot air from his nostrils, as if the very temperature within the wooden manor had risen by a single, tangible degree.

“Then…” Sir Černý’s aged, wrinkled lips parted, yet the words that should have followed remained stubbornly unspoken.

While an heir’s generosity was commendable, his heart ached at the thought of parting with his wine. To bestow it all upon this noble maiden would be tantamount to an uncompensated gift of dozens of pounds of silver.

It was common knowledge that Osbrück’s esteemed wines commanded a price of six silver coins per gallon in Prague.

Witnessing his father’s internal struggle, Igor sighed inwardly. The proposal for the wine gift had been his own, and should it result in a substantial loss for his father, he knew he would likely incur the full force of his father’s wrath.

Igor’s mind raced, and a solution quickly presented itself.

“Brother,” Igor interjected smoothly, “I am certain Miss Noren has deeply appreciated your generous spirit, but considering she has brought only four carriages, how could she possibly accommodate dozens of barrels of grape fruit wine from our cellars?”

“Perhaps…”

“Why not select the two finest barrels of this particular vintage?” Sir Černý interrupted his younger son, then turned his gaze to Noren. “And, Miss Noren, should you deplete them, you are most welcome to send someone to my estate’s winery for more.”

Noren, having observed the trio’s strange performance with a sense of bewilderment, blinked her long eyelashes slowly before taking another sip of the grape fruit wine.

“Very well,” Noren replied, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Though I insist on offering two barrels of my own home-brewed ale as a reciprocal gift.”

“That would be truly splendid!” Sir Černý exclaimed, clapping his hands together in approval. A palpable sense of relief washed over him, assuaging his earlier misgivings about the exchange.

With the agreement for the wine exchange settled, Sir Černý raised his tall silver goblet. “Finally,” he declared, “let us toast this beautiful lady.”

With a chorus of assent, all present raised their cups.

“To the generous knight!” “Praise be to Jesus!” “To Noren!” “To the beautiful lady!”

****

As dinner concluded, the company began to disperse from the table.

Noren retired to her guest room, where the window stood ajar, and a solitary candle flickered with a modest flame upon the wooden table beside it.

A thoughtful maid, it seemed, had lit the candle in anticipation of her return.

Furthermore, a wooden chamber pot had been discreetly placed beside the bed, offering guests the convenience of privacy should nature call during the night.

Noren pulled the wooden chair closer to the window and settled herself. Beyond the pane, the night unfolded in exquisite beauty.

A luminous moon graced the heavens, its light revealing stars like jewels scattered across a black gauze gown. In the distance stretched an endless forest, from which emanated the haunting hoots of owls and the ceaseless symphony of insect chirps.

In the courtyard behind the wooden manor, Tolke was engaged in conversation with a soldier.

Tolke, it seemed, had recounted some jest, for the soldier was now pounding his chest and laughing with unbridled mirth.

‘Tolke is truly becoming quite the storyteller,’ she mused. ‘He will soon mature into a formidable poet.’

The blonde maiden nodded with a sense of satisfaction, then reached out to pinch the candle flame between her fingers, extinguishing it before settling into bed.

‘By my reckoning, it has been half a month since I last practiced the Nianhua Finger, dating back to before our departure,’ she thought.

The maiden lay upon the bed, her legs pressed together, knees touching, the soft flesh of her thighs brushing against her trousers, a pleasant sensation of fine linen against her skin.

Perhaps it was the red wine she had consumed earlier, for a warm current seemed to flow from her lower Dantian, specifically the Qihai acupuncture point. Whatever the cause, a potent desire to practice her martial arts now surged within her.

In a fleeting vision, a majestic white tiger plunged into a frigid pool, emerging from its bath with fur thoroughly drenched.

‘Then… perhaps a little practice?’

Though she had been so mentally adrift at the dinner table that she’d imagined green-skinned imps, Noren knew—as did anyone with a modicum of understanding—that prolonged suppression could only prove detrimental to one’s well-being.

Noren, yielding to instinct, extended her right hand, only to halt abruptly mid-air.

Her hand remained poised, suspended in the silent air.

She withdrew her right hand, her gaze meticulously tracing the contours of her five fingers, her palm, and the delicate skin of her hand’s back.

Her five fingers were long and slender, yet possessed a pleasing fullness; her palm felt warm, like polished jade, and a robust lifeline stretched across her wrist, seemingly without end.

Before the awakening of her pure blood, four distinct calluses had marred the base of her fingers.

Now, however, the skin of her palm felt utterly renewed, as if freshly minted, with only a faint, residual roughness persisting at the web between her thumb and forefinger.

Noren quietly turned her beautiful hand over, her emerald eyes meticulously scrutinizing every angle.

‘My fingernails are clean, yet without the ritual of washing, a part of me—my subconscious, perhaps—insists on feeling unclean.’

She hesitated, pinching her wrist for a moment, before finally pursing her lips. ‘Tsk—never mind,’ she muttered, ‘perhaps my enthusiasm will only burn brighter if I postpone it until next time.’

She lowered her hand, closed her eyes, and drifted towards slumber.

Her consciousness slowly began its descent, as warm dreams gradually enveloped her form, clinging to her like a gentle embrace. It was as though she were stepping, inch by deliberate inch, into the vast ocean, feeling the warm currents rise to cover her ankles, then her thighs, her neck, until her entire being was submerged.

Tonight, she was certain, would bring a deep and peaceful slumber.

Noren’s brows naturally smoothed, her muscles throughout her body relaxed, the restless heat in her lower abdomen subsided, and the bloodstone qi membrane efficiently absorbed the lingering bathwater from the white tiger’s fur.

****

As time ticked steadily onward, a faint green luminescence began to materialize within the swirling mists of her dreamscape.

Noren found herself lying on a sun-drenched beach, clad in a swimsuit, surrounded by a vibrant throng of women in an array of school swimsuits and bikinis.

Tall and short, voluptuous and petite, with hair ranging from raven black to platinum blonde, and skin tones from sun-kissed amber to porcelain white—every conceivable form of feminine beauty was present. Some engaged in spirited games of beach volleyball, their ample bosoms swaying with each movement; others frolicked, splashing water, the glistening droplets tracing paths down their fair necks; still others drifted idly on swimming rings, their slender calves dangling beyond the buoyant circle, their delicate, pearl-like toes playfully teasing the tiny fish in the azure waters.

Noren, her eyes discreetly hidden behind large sunglasses, furtively observed them, a faint smile gracing her crimson lips.

‘Ah, life is truly beautiful!’

Just as she anticipated savoring this tranquility, a voice abruptly shattered the peace.

“Noren, Noren, something terrible has happened, something truly terrible!”

A tiny person, no larger than a finger, suddenly materialized before her eyes. This diminutive being was exquisitely crafted and adorable, though its gender remained indiscernible. Three pairs of gossamer, dragonfly-like wings vibrated rapidly on their back.

“Dís, not you again! Go away, go away, go away! Don’t disturb my sunbathing!”

Noren dismissively waved the small figure aside, returning her attention to the beautiful scenery, emitting appreciative ‘hissing’ sounds.

“Noren, I’m serious, I’m not lying, wake up now!” Dís urged, their voice laced with anxiety.

“It’s too big! That high-cut monokini is basically useless, her entire brown aureola is exposed!” The blonde maiden exclaimed anew, completely disregarding Dís’s words.

Seeing that the blonde maiden treated them as if they were invisible, Dís puffed out their cheeks in annoyance. With a furious flap of their wings, they slapped against the lens of Noren’s sunglasses. Their two delicate little feet then vigorously kicked the bridge of her nose.

‘Tsk—you’re so annoying!’

The blonde maiden removed her sunglasses, curling her fingers, ready to flick the bothersome creature away.

‘Hmm?’ The instant she took off her sunglasses, Noren noticed the tiny creature had transformed into a ball of green light, blinking and sparkling.

Before she could react, the green light abruptly expanded. A colossal tsunami, thousands of feet high, surged from the horizon, its endless waters obscuring the sky.

The next moment, the world spun violently, and she plummeted directly towards the ocean surface high above.

“Boom!”

A thunderclap jolted Noren awake.

She sprang upright from the bed, her face ashen, clutching her forehead with both hands as her brain throbbed from the strenuous activity of the dream.

She couldn’t quite recall what she had dreamed, only vaguely remembering a world enveloped in scorching bright light, filled with many, many pale, heavy things.

Glancing out the window, the real world remained cloaked in darkness; it had been a fleeting dream.

‘I should have just… relieved myself earlier,’ the maiden murmured softly. ‘At least after expending some energy, I could have enjoyed a peaceful sleep.’ Now, all traces of sleepiness had vanished, and closing her eyes only made her head feel swollen.

Noren rose and walked to the window, intending to pass the time by gazing at the night view, hoping sleepiness might soon return.

However, she discovered something new on the windowsill. Leaning closer, she saw it was an iron claw.

While wondering what this object could be, a large head suddenly peered in.

Noren initially mistook it for a thief and prepared to deliver a punch, but a subconscious glance revealed no body attached to the large head as she looked further back.

A layer of goosebumps erupted on her skin.

In that same instant, another flash of lightning illuminated the large head outside the window.

It was the head of an adult male—a broad skull, a chin like a shoehorn, and covered in festering sores.

Noren’s breath caught in her throat, her face paling even further.

The lightning vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving one woman and one head staring wide-eyed at each other in the darkness.

“Ahhhhhhh—” The head let out an astonishing shriek.

Startled, Noren unleashed a powerful palm strike. With a resounding crash, a shower of sawdust and dust erupted.

As the dust settled, the windowsill lay shattered by the immense force, the wooden table was split in two, and a gaping hole had been punched into the wooden floor beneath her feet.

Yet… the head was nowhere to be seen.

A bead of cold sweat trickled from the maiden’s temple, tracing a path down her cheek.