On the stone table were eight dishes and two soups, the aroma of spiritual food wafting gently in the breeze.
Ji An and the others sat around the table, and two female cultivators stood by his side, waiting.
The two were at the prime of their youth, and even clad in gray Daoist robes, their graceful figures were apparent.
Their looks were delicate, with matching eyebrows and eyes, obviously a pair of twins.
At this moment, the sisters were tightly pressing their lips together, their small hands clutching the hem of their Daoist robes, wrinkling it like a crumpled chrysanthemum.
Their future depended on this cooking; naturally, they couldn't help but be nervous.
They had heard from Liang Hill about the situation here, that the Junior Martial Uncle had a very good disposition and didn't treat people as mere servants, allowing for some leisure in daily life.
