At the Spirit Bridge, wisps of smoke drifted from a modest courtyard where a young girl in a simple linen dress stood before a large pot. Her expression was blank as she stirred the contents with a wooden spoon.
Madame Maya observed from a distance, her face scrunched in discomfort. "This smells terrible," she muttered under her breath. "Even if it doesn't taste good, it should at least smell appetizing."
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