July, Phoenix Mountain.
In his decade-long incense-making life, Gu Yu had never been as fidgety and expectant as today.
Early this morning, he went into the backyard of the Cottage of Pure Mind, jumped into the incense cellar, and came back up with two trays of incense sticks—one tray of Peach-blossom Incense and Essence-gathering Incense each. After half a month of cellaring, all excess of energy had dissipated and the medicinal properties mellowed, rendering the former all the more flamboyant and seductive, while the latter more profound and composed.
Returning to his room of meditation, he ignited an Essence-gathering incense stick and sat down uprightly, meditating.
The tip of the stick sparkled, slowly releasing a streak of white fume which rose and froze in midair. Instead of dissipating, it aggregated, gradually gathering into a lump of fog.
