Marked by the Four Beast Lords After Transmigration

Sera arrived while Nia was still eating breakfast.

She came through the entrance before first bell with her outer wrap already tied for the lower paths. Nia stopped tearing apart her root cake and looked toward the morning light beyond the doorway.

“If you want fresh milk today, finish eating,” Sera said. “The woman I told you about sent word. One of the ridge households had enough to spare this morning.”

Nia took another bite instead of asking the three questions already crowding behind her teeth.

Sera came farther inside and freed the end of Nia’s braid from beneath her shoulder wrap. “You have time to chew. She will not pour your share into the drainage channel because you needed another minute.”

“I was eating normally.”

Across the preparation board, Shen’s attention shifted briefly from the ridge-sour section he had cut earlier.

Nia caught the glance. “Do not encourage her.”

Shen covered the small dish with a clean cloth. “I was wondering whether you intended to finish the other half.”

“I do.”

“Then Sera has nothing to worry about.”

That was worse than a direct accusation.

Nia reached for her cup while Sera sat beside her. “You came here to get me, not supervise breakfast.”

“I can do both. Years of practice.”

Nia drank and finished the root cake at a pace that did not justify either of them watching her.

Shen washed his knife and set it on the clean side of the board.

“How far down are we going?” he asked.

“Past the lower hearth,” Sera said. “The shaded dairy tables near the inner wall. She trades with several ridge households, but they only send milk down when their own needs are covered.”

“So there may be none the next time,” Nia said.

“There may be none two days from now. There may be twice as much. Spring does not ask what you planned for breakfast.”

That sounded more useful than any promise of regular supply.

Nia carried her cup to the washing side, rinsed it, and reached for her lighter spring outer layer. By the time Shen checked the fastening at her shoulder, Sera had already moved toward the entrance.

Nia followed her outside.

The upper route was dry through most of the first turn, though a narrow strip of damp stone remained where runoff crossed after dawn. Two workers were replacing a cracked railing post farther down. One shaved the damaged end while the other checked the new binding against the stone socket.

“It needs another finger cut from the bottom.”

“It fit before you tightened it.”

“It leaned before I tightened it.”

“The old one leaned.”

“The old one cracked.”

Sera greeted them as she passed without entering the argument.

Nia smiled and kept walking.

Morning work had already spread through the lower levels. A woman stood beside two baskets while one husband adjusted the heavier strap and another checked the cover over a bundle of cloth. Clay pieces moved toward the kiln passage in padded carrying frames. A medicine runner came through the opposite direction with a wrapped case against his chest, forcing everyone nearest the wall to make room for him.

At the lower hearth, the smell of hot grain and smoke lingered in the corridor.

Sera turned toward the cooler side of the mountain.

The dairy tables occupied a broad stretch of wall that stayed shaded through the morning. Nia recognized the woman behind the nearest table from yesterday. She had been working with fresh curd when Nia passed with the eggs, and this morning a broad shallow basket sat near her elbow beside two covered milk jars.

Gray threaded the hair wrapped at the back of her head. Her hands moved with the confidence of someone who had repeated the same work for years, pressing cloth over the curd before turning to a customer waiting with a small jar.

Sera raised a hand.

The woman looked up. “You came when I told you to. Good.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I have known you too long to waste surprise.”

Sera touched Nia’s arm. “This is Nia.”

The woman’s attention settled on her without ceremony. “You are the one asking for fresh milk instead of curd.”

“Yes. A small amount.”

“You said that yesterday.”

“I meant it yesterday too.”

The woman nodded once, apparently satisfied, then turned back to the customer already waiting.

Nia stayed clear of the working side of the table while the woman opened one jar, checked its scent, and poured the requested amount into the customer’s container. The buyer secured the lid with cord, tucked the jar into a padded basket, and left without anyone pausing the work for Nia’s benefit.

Only after the space cleared did the woman uncover the second jar.

“This came down before dawn,” she said. “The ridge household kept what they needed and sent the rest.”

Nia leaned close enough to smell the milk without touching the rim.

The scent was clean and mild. A richer layer had begun to gather near the surface.

“Does that separate if it sits?”

“It does if nobody keeps moving the jar.” The woman picked up a small cup. “Some skim the richer part. Some stir it back through. Depends what they are making.”

Sera looked into the jar. “My mother used to keep the top for morning grain.”

The dairy woman glanced at her. “Your mother tried to keep the top for morning grain.”

Nia looked between them.

Sera ignored her. “I was not the only person in that house.”

“No. You were merely the one I saw with the spoon.”

Nia pressed her lips together and failed to hide the smile.

The woman poured a small taste and passed the cup to her.

The milk was fuller than Nia expected, naturally sweet beneath a faint grassy note. It was different enough from what she remembered on Earth that she would need to learn it on its own terms, but the richness immediately told her why the curd from the spring market had worked so well with bitter greens.

She handed the cup to Shen.

He tasted it and considered the texture before returning the cup.

“The richer portion is already separating.”

“It came down quietly today,” the woman said. “A rough path mixes everything again.”

A man approached from the corridor carrying a narrow jar wrapped in damp cloth. He set it near the edge of the table and loosened the wrap.

The dairy woman put her palm against the jar.

“When did you leave the ridge?”

“Not long after dawn.”

She looked at him.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “A wheel blocked the east turn. We moved it before I came down.”

“That should have been the first thing you said.”

She opened the jar, smelled it, then poured a little into another cup.

Nia watched without stepping closer.

The woman tasted the milk and pushed the jar back toward him. “Take this to the curd table. It is still good, but I am not selling it as fresh after it warmed that long.”

The man accepted the judgment without complaint. “Soft curd?”

“If they start it now.”

He carried the jar farther along the wall where two other workers were already draining curd through cloth.

The woman rinsed the tasting cup before returning to Nia.

“That is why I told Sera to bring you early. Milk can be good and still be too warm for me to sell it as fresh.”

Nia glanced toward the curd workers. “You change it before it has a chance to spoil.”

“If the milk is still good, yes. Nobody here is turning bad milk into breakfast.”

She uncovered the shallow basket beside her.

Soft white curd rested inside the cloth, wetter and looser than the market portion Nia had bought before. The scent carried mild sourness without losing the fresh dairy sweetness.

“This drained overnight,” the woman said. “Longer if we want it firmer. Salt if we want it to keep better. Some households press it until I wonder why they bothered starting with milk.”

Sera leaned closer. “My mother liked hers firm.”

“She did. I preferred it softer, but your mother wanted something she could cut cleanly and carry without worrying about it spreading through the cloth.”

“She usually had half the household eating from the same basket.”

“That was reason enough.”

The dairy woman had already turned back to portioning the curd into smaller covered cups.

The conversation continued around her work rather than stopping it. A younger worker brought clean cloth from the washing area and received a correction about where she had stacked it. Someone farther down called for more salt. Another buyer collected two covered curd cups and left a cleaned jar from an earlier purchase.

Nia watched the rhythm of the tables while she considered how little she actually needed today.

“How often do the ridge households send extra in spring?” she asked when the woman finished covering the curd cups.

“Twice in a good stretch from one household, perhaps three times if everything lines up. Then nothing for several days. The young animals come first, then the households. I trade what remains.”

“That works for me. I would rather know when there is extra than expect it every morning.”

The woman gave her a brief approving look. “Good.”

Nia gestured toward the smaller fresh jar. “How much is already promised?”

“Half.”

“I would like one small jar, then. And one of the softer curds if there is enough after the people who already asked for it.”

The woman reached beneath the table and brought out a clean jar no larger than Nia needed.

“This much.”

She filled it from the fresh supply and secured the lid.

For the curd, she chose one of the smaller cups and passed it across to Sera, who had already opened her basket.

Nia reached toward it.

Sera moved the basket slightly. “Carry your milk.”

“I can carry both.”

“I know.”

Nia narrowed her eyes.

Sera tucked the curd between two folded cloths. “You came to learn whether you could get milk. You do not need to prove you can carry a cup.”

Shen adjusted the padding around Nia’s jar instead of interfering.

The dairy woman watched him secure it and nodded toward the upper route. “Keep that shaded when you can. Cool basin when you reach home. Do not leave it beside the hearth because the room feels comfortable to you.”

“We have a cooler place near the storage side,” Shen said. “How quickly does the richer layer gather if the jar stays still?”

“Enough to see before midday. More by evening. Smell it before anything else if you keep it that long.”

Shen nodded.

Nia accepted the jar carefully.

The woman wiped her hands on a clean cloth. “If one of the ridge households expects extra again, I will tell Sera the evening before. If Sera hears nothing, do not come down expecting a jar. I will not take from someone who already arranged for theirs.”

“I would not ask you to.”

“Then we understand each other.”

Another customer had already stepped toward the table, and the woman turned to him before Nia could add anything unnecessary.

Sera guided them back toward the upper path.

By then, first bell had passed. Sunlight reached more of the exposed turns, warming stone that had still been cool when they came down. Nia shifted the milk jar farther beneath the edge of her wrap as they crossed one bright section.

Sera noticed.

“Now you understand why I came before breakfast was finished.”

“I finished breakfast.”

“Under supervision.”

Nia glanced at Shen.

He looked ahead along the path, but the slight curve at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

She decided not to reward either of them.

When they reached home, Shen prepared the coolest basin near the storage side while Nia loosened the cloth around the jar. She set the milk into shallow cool water and left it undisturbed.

Sera placed the curd beside it.

Nia lifted the lid once more and looked at the surface.

A thin richer layer had already begun gathering along one side.

She replaced the lid without stirring it.

Outside, the stone paths were warming beneath the spring sun. Inside the cool basin, the fresh milk stayed still while the pale layer slowly thickened across the top.

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