The old man had given in to the young one's suggestion and ended up cooking another pot of soup.
He took his time this time, making it as perfect as he could in the ways he recalled making it before.
And when he was done, he took a plate of the soup and sat down, ready to taste. Ren and Ce'ran stood before him, staring and observing.
The old man took a spoon and put it into his mouth. And then, after a while, shook his head while staring up at them. "No... not the taste."
Ren sighed, disappointed. But Ce'ran kept on observing for a while before she said, "It's the same. The problem isn't the soup... the problem is your mind now."
It was a quiet observation. And as she uttered it, they stared at her, confused.
"What do you mean, young one?" The old man inquired.
Ce'ran sighed as she said with a smile, "I think I know what the problem is... The problem isn't that the soup wasn't made with the right ingredients. It's that you're not having it in the right atmosphere."
