Wizard: I Have a Cultivation System

On a summit northeast of the Holy City, the highest of three guardian peaks.

It was April, and the southeastern monsoon was sweeping across the Continent. The Holy City nestled beside the Jade Sea, and the basin below was already a vibrant tapestry of lush green and blossoming flowers. But this summit seemed to have been forgotten by the season.

Here, the last vestiges of a cold current from the far northern ice fields collided with the warm, rising vapor from below, transforming into a biting wind that scoured the peak.

The air was bone-chilling, and every breath plumed into a white mist. A thin layer of frost coated the surface of the rocks, while crystalline icicles clung to the branches of the sparse, ancient firs, glinting with a hard, cold light in the weak sun.

At the edge of the summit, a small house built of gray-white stone stood silently amidst the desolate cold.

For Murphy and Aurora, the bitter cold of the summit—much like the changing seasons of the mortal world—had long since lost all meaning. To them, the howling wind was perhaps no different from a gentle breath.

For eight-year-old Mo Ling, however, it was a completely different story.

Though she was mentally precocious, her body was still that of a mortal child, far from being impervious to the elements.

Right now, outside the stone house, she was enduring the merciless trials of an April day on the summit.

Her tiny figure was bundled up in a snow-white fur coat that was clearly too large, swallowing her whole. Only her small face, slightly flushed from the cold, and a pair of small hands, equally bundled in thick cotton gloves, were visible.

In the fire pit, charcoal burned brightly, casting a warm, orange-red glow and occasionally popping with a CRACKLE of sparks.

Mo Ling squatted by the pit, having taken off her right glove. She held her pale little hand as close as she could to the charcoal fire, soaking in the wave of heat that washed over her.

After a moment, she switched to her left hand, alternating between them.

Every so often, she would quickly bring her hands to her mouth, huffing out a large, misty puff of warm air before hastily stretching them back toward the flames.

"Haaa—huuu—"

With another puff of white air, Mo Ling blinked, her dark eyes glittering in the firelight. The tip of her nose was red from the cold, like a little cherry.

She tilted her little head and looked toward the stone house’s partially open wooden door.

"Mother—Father—when is the hot pot going to be ready?"

Inside the stone house, Aurora stood before a simple stone table, making the final preparations.

Today she wore a light-gray cotton and linen dress, practical for moving around, with a plain apron tied at her waist. Her long, golden hair was gathered in a loose bun at the nape of her neck, held in place by a wooden pin.

A large iron pot sat ready on the stone table. Though its lid was still on, a rich aroma was already seeping uncontrollably from the cracks. It was the broth—a mellow, savory base of old hen, pork bones, various wild mushrooms, and spices that had been simmering for a full day and night. The smell alone was enough to make one’s mouth water.

On several white porcelain plates nearby, the ingredients were neatly arranged: paper-thin rolls of lamb ribs, tempting slices of pink, hand-cut beef, plump fish balls, fresh spinach, baby napa cabbage, enoki mushrooms, tender frozen tofu, and cellophane noodles...

Some of the ingredients shouldn’t have been on this Continent at all, let alone available in this season.

Murphy had brought them all back, traversing thousands of miles across the world with his Sword Control.

There was no particular reason for it. Perhaps, while sifting through his memories, he had been stirred by a faint taste from a past life. Or perhaps, as he drifted further into the inhuman process of Dao Transformation, he felt that familiar sensations helped him feel more clearly that he was "alive."

Hearing her daughter’s pleading, trembling voice from outside, a smile touched Aurora’s eyes.

She picked up a nearby tray, placing the plates of ingredients and small dishes of dipping sauces onto it. Then, she steadily lifted the heavy iron pot.

"Coming."

The moment the word left her lips, the stone house’s door was pushed open by an invisible force.

Aurora stepped out, her movements light and graceful.

The cold summit wind rushed to meet her, stirring the loose strands of hair at her cheeks and the hem of her dress, yet it fell silent just before it reached her, as if she were shielded by an invisible barrier.

She walked straight to the fire pit where her daughter was squatting, leaned over slightly, and carefully placed the iron pot over the flames.

"Careful, it’s hot. Back up a little, Mo Ling," Aurora reminded her gently.

Mo Ling, already scooting back impatiently, watched her mother’s every move without blinking.

Seeing the familiar iron pot settled over the fire and smelling the ever-stronger, tempting aroma wafting from under the lid, a brilliant smile blossomed on her little face. All her earlier misery from the cold vanished in an instant.

"Can we eat now, Mother?" she asked, her eyes wide with anticipation. Her mouth was already starting to water.

"Just a little longer. We need to let the broth come to a rolling boil. It’ll taste better."

Aurora said softly as she lifted the lid. A billow of white steam, carrying an intoxicatingly rich fragrance, rushed upward, instantly banishing the last vestiges of chill from around the fire pit.

She then gently stirred the broth with a pair of long chopsticks. The milky-white liquid roiled, revealing the red dates, goji berries, and scallion segments bobbing within. "See? We haven’t even put the meatballs in yet."

Just then, Murphy also came out of the stone house.

He carried three sets of bowls and chopsticks, along with a few small stools. Walking over to the fire pit, he set down the stools and arranged the place settings.

A flicker of an almost imperceptible smile crossed his eyes as he saw his daughter staring longingly at the hot pot. He sat down beside Mo Ling, his tall frame shielding her from the wind.