Back in the present, Han Yu sprinkled a tiny bit of eel essence—a shimmering blue powder—into the waistband of Shen Tu's ceremonial underpants. It had been acquired by the rats from one of the house of some disciple. It would activate when worn, delivering a mild but persistent jolt every time the wearer channeled qi or vital energy below the waist.
Subtle. Elegant. Deeply uncomfortable.
Noodle handed him a tiny pin, which Han Yu used to pin the waistband just slightly tighter than usual.
"This is what we call poetic justice," Han Yu whispered. "Or at least... mildly zappy pants."
"Squeeee!" General Chitterfang saluted.
Elsewhere: Dormitory Nine – Common Room
Fatty Kui was teaching the other new servants the art of "Sleeping with Your Eyes Open So You Don't Get Assigned Night Shift." It was a time-honored tradition that required an uncomfortable neck angle and the ability to fake light snoring.
