In the basement's herbal alchemy workshop drifted a scent impossible to define. Each day brought a different smell: sometimes a refreshing fragrance that made one want to inhale again and again; other times a bitterness laced with cloying sweetness, like rotting flowers mixed with disinfectant. Suolan had grown accustomed to these ever-shifting aromas. To him, this was the smell of work, the smell of creation.

Latex gloves sheathed his slender fingers as he placed the morning's datura leaves into an agate mortar. This mortar was a gift from his mentor, nearly thirty years in use; its bottom had long been stained a deep yellow by countless medicinal ingredients. The agate pestle rotated slowly, green leaf juice gradually seeping out, forming a dangerous yet beautiful swirl at the bottom of the bowl.

Lleuad pushed open the door, carrying two glasses of honey lemon water, cool beads of condensation sliding silently down the glass.

"Mon bien-aimé, care for a drink?"

"Yes, please. I was just getting thirsty." Suolan accepted the glass. The lemon's tartness awakened his taste buds instantly, followed by a surge of honey's sweetness.

"What are you concocting?" Lleuad leaned closer. The dark green paste in the mortar looked like some sort of wicked jam.

"A specialized analgesic, also effective as a cough suppressant. Dosage must be precise when administered: a few milliliters too many and it's lethal, a few too few and the sedative effect falls short. So it still needs adjustments to further reduce the toxicity." Suolan drew up some transparent liquid with a dropper, his hand as steady as a surgeon's. One drop fell; the dark green lightened instantly. Two drops, three... each one altered the remedy's properties, the color shifting from dark green to light green, now beginning to take on a hint of blue.

"A new formula, I take it?"

"Correct, an improved version." Suolan added two more drops, watching with satisfaction as the color stabilized. "I've added hops extract. Faster onset, faster metabolism."

Footsteps sounded from the stairwell outside. Before long, Dorian's ash-beige head appeared in the doorway, cradling in his arms that hot potato unique to students.

"Papa, I still don't really understand this quadratic function word problem." He frowned with a hint of frustration.

Suolan immediately set down the dropper and peeled off his gloves. His son's needs always came first; the remedy could wait, but a child's confusion could not.

Dorian spread the worksheets open on the work table, the problem text packed as dense as marching ants. Suolan read through the problem carefully, his mind racing. This one really was a bit convoluted; no wonder Little Milkshake had gotten stuck. He picked up a pencil, explaining while writing out the formula in the blank space. Lleuad added supplementary notes beside them, even sketching a parabola to aid understanding.

"See, substitute this into the formula..." Suolan's voice was gentle and clear.

"Then like this..." Lleuad's finger tapped the key step.

"So that's how it works! I used the wrong formula!" Dorian's eyes instantly lit up like stars; the puzzle that had troubled him all morning was finally solved.

"That's a very common mistake. Do a few more problems and you'll get the hang of it. Don't be discouraged." Suolan ruffled his hair.

Dorian felt the warmth of his papa's palm, and most of the anxiety in his heart dissolved. He gathered up the worksheets, deciding to get some exercise.

"I'm going to practice in the training room."

"Remember to control your range. Last time you sliced open the punching bag, and your poor old dad spent half an hour sweeping up." Lleuad exaggerated the facts; in reality, those scraps of fabric and leather hadn't been that hard to clean.

"I promise it won't happen this time." Dorian scratched his head sheepishly and hurried off to the training room next door.

Suolan pulled his gloves back on and resumed his pharmaceutical work. Lleuad thought for a moment, then decided to follow and supervise his son's training, lest Dorian accidentally knock down the swords hanging on the wall.

＊

At five in the evening, Suolan was curled up on the sofa in the second-floor family room, a stack of bills spread across his lap: electricity, water, internet, plus property tax and vehicle registration fees. The figures were dense, yet he reviewed them with care. Managing household finances was one of his responsibilities. Though they had more money than they could ever spend, he still liked knowing where every cent went.

Lleuad's laptop keyboard clattered away as he replied to an email with an extensive signature block. The Swiss distributors always liked writing business correspondence that read like academic papers, insisting on three pages when three sentences would suffice.

"Profits from the Ukraine sector did well this quarter, considerably higher than expected." Lleuad closed his laptop and stretched.

Suolan's face immediately blossomed into a smile. "Wonderful! I've been wanting to buy the new Eppendorf centrifuge. Now I have an excuse."

"You need an excuse? Whatever you want, just buy it." Lleuad laughed and wrapped an arm around his waist.

"The rotation speed is three times faster than the current one, so the separation will be much better." Suolan gestured excitedly, like a child about to receive a new toy. "And it has an automatic balancing system, so you don't have to worry about the centrifuge tubes being placed asymmetrically."

Downstairs, Dorian had finished his practice and was showering in the main house's ground-floor bathroom. Once he was done, they could prepare dinner together.

"Time to make dinner." Suolan stood, stacking the bills neatly on the coffee table.

"I'll go bring in the laundry." Lleuad rose as well.

The seafood pasta for dinner was one of Suolan's specialties; he could make it with his eyes closed—or rather, there was hardly any dish Suolan wasn't skilled at. Lobster turned an enticing orange-red in the boiling water. Scallops were lightly seared in olive oil first, branding their surfaces with caramelized marks. After minced garlic and onion were sautéed until fragrant, the seafood was added and tossed together. Tomatoes were crushed with a wooden spoon, then simmered with Suolan's secret blend of spices. The rich sauce bubbled away in the pot, its heady aroma compelling one to breathe deeply.

Dorian used another burner nearby to pan-fry chicken thighs. When the meat was nearly done, he added a knob of butter and continued cooking; the butter melted quickly, enveloping the chicken and mushrooms. He sampled a bite of chicken. The flavor was just right; he had truly inherited his papa's essence.

A splash of lemon juice and chopped parsley before plating, then off the heat. Done.

At the same time, the scent of toasted garlic bread drifted from the steam oven. Finally, a plate of Asian-style stir-fried cabbage completed the spread. By the time the two had arranged everything on the table, it was a little past seven in the evening.

As the most important meal of the day, dinner was at last enjoyed at the dining room table.

＊

Dishes became spotless in the warm water, suds sliding down Lleuad's fingers. He enjoyed this post-meal dishwashing time; the simple, repetitive motions let his thoughts wander. Through the kitchen window, he could see Suolan's figure in the front yard greenhouse, his partner tending to those delicate Dendrobium officinale.

Suolan stood before the potted Dendrobium, misting them with a small spray bottle. These medicinal orchids were terribly finicky: too much water and the roots rotted, too little and they withered. They were almost more demanding than formulating remedies. Yet Suolan delighted in it; caring for these fussy little princesses was one of his pleasures.

A small spider peeked out from behind a leaf. Suolan recognized it as a descendant of the venomous spiders he had raised last year, already the third generation, having made the greenhouse their home entirely.

Dorian sat cross-legged on the second-floor family room sofa, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire reaching its thrilling climax. The dangers in the maze made his heart race. Even knowing that protagonist's luck should prevent any disastrous loss, he couldn't help worrying for Harry.

Suolan finished watering the plants and came upstairs, settling beside Dorian. He noticed his son had changed into a different set of loungewear and caught the scent of white tea body wash; clearly the boy had already bathed.

"Where are you now?"

"The third task. The maze. Harry just encountered the sphinx." Dorian's eyes never left the page.

"The riddle part is wonderful. I remember the answer is spider." Suolan dredged up the memory buried in his mind.

"Papa, no spoilers!" Dorian frowned, having been spoiled yet again, though he wasn't truly upset.