Lin Xuan was enthusiastically scrubbing the rusted woks with the dedication of a kid who had just been saved from slavery.

She prepared a massive, comforting bowl of braised pork over rice, infused with gentle, restorative herbs to continue healing his malnourished frame.

For Jiu Zui, she whipped up a spicy, sinus-clearing Mapo Tofu using the diluted Ghost-Thread Chilies they had bought at the Black Market, guaranteed to shock his liver back into pristine condition.

But for Xie Wangchen, she poured her entire soul into the prep.

She crafted a multi-tiered, intricately carved jade bento box. On the bottom tier, she laid a bed of perfectly steamed, pearl-like spirit rice.

Over this, she arranged the Frost-Boar ribs, which she had slow-braised for two hours in a sweet, dark soy reduction until the meat was literally falling off the bone.

On the middle tier, she painstakingly folded two dozen Crystal Har Gow dumplings.

The wrappers, made from the Moon-Lotus Flour, were completely translucent, revealing the plump, pink spiritual shrimp and scallion filling inside.

She pleated each dumpling with surgical precision, ensuring they looked like tiny, edible works of art.

On the top tier, she prepared a dessert: delicate, chilled Plum Blossom Jelly, infused with a tiny hint of the restorative thermal spring water to help soothe his meridians.

It was a masterpiece. It was an apology, a peace offering, and a subtle, undeniable flex of her domestic supremacy all rolled into one.

"Xuan! Master! Food is on the table!" Ji’an called out, packing the jade bento box securely into a velvet carrying cloth. "I am heading out! Do not blow up the kitchen while I am gone!"

"Take your time, kid!" Jiu Zui mumbled around a mouthful of fiery tofu, tears streaming down his face from the sheer spice. "Give the ice boy my regards!"

"Good luck, Third Brother!" Xuan cheered, his face smeared with soot from cleaning the woks, happily digging into his pork and rice.

Ji’an smiled, adjusting the bento box under her arm.

She took a deep breath, her heart giving a nervous, traitorous flutter as the memory of her morning dream flashed unbidden in her mind.

’Professional. Arrogant. Sworn brother,’ Ji’an chanted her mantra as she walked down the winding stone path of the Drunken Peak. ’Do not look at his lips. Do not touch his hair. Just hand over the dumplings and apologize for running away.’

The Audacity of the Inner Sect

The walk down from the Drunken Peak and into the main thoroughfares of the Inner Sect was usually a quiet affair.

As a newly minted Third Generation Martial Uncle, most junior disciples actively went out of their way to avoid Ji’an, terrified of offending the "Demonic Chef" who could supposedly turn them into stew.

But human greed, especially in the cultivation world, was a powerful, blinding force that often completely overrode basic survival instincts.

Ji’an was crossing the Grand Suspension Bridge, a massive, swaying structure of spirit-wood and iron chains that connected the central plaza to the Eternal Cloud Peak, when she saw them.

A group of five cultivators was standing dead in the center of the bridge, effectively blocking the path.

They wore the deep azure robes of Class 2, the elite, highly arrogant swordsmen who had previously looked down on the Outer Sect with absolute disdain.

Ji’an recognized the leader immediately. It was Senior Brother Zhao, a tall, sharp-faced young man with a nasty sneer, who had famously mocked Class 9’s reliance on foraging during the first week of the tournament.

"Well, well, well. If it isn’t the cook," Zhao drawled loudly as Ji’an approached, stepping forward to block her path. His four cronies fanned out behind him, resting their hands on the hilts of their swords.

Ji’an stopped.

She let out a long, profound sigh, closing her eyes for a brief second.

’I am carrying a perfectly arranged, highly delicate bento box,’ Ji’an thought, her customer-service patience instantly evaporating. ’If they bump me and ruin the presentation of my crystal dumplings, I am going to commit a war crime.’

"Excuse me, Junior Nephews," Ji’an said, her voice dripping with forced, sugary politeness, heavily emphasizing her new, superior rank. "You are blocking the bridge. Kindly step aside. I have a delivery to make."

Zhao’s sneer deepened; he didn’t bow nor use an honorific.

The sheer, blinding arrogance of an Inner Sect veteran who refused to accept a cook as his superior was on full display.

"We heard the rumors, cook," Zhao said, stepping closer, his eyes dropping to the velvet-wrapped box under Ji’an’s arm. "We heard that your food isn’t just slop. We heard that you infuse it with some sort of bizarre, high-density Qi. They say the survivors of the Lower Realm broke through their bottlenecks just by eating your rhino stew."

Ji’an raised an eyebrow. "Word travels fast. What’s your point?" 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

"Our point," one of the cronies chimed in, a greedy, desperate look in his eyes, "is that the mid-term evaluations are next week. We are stuck at the peak of Foundation Establishment Stage 8. We need a breakthrough."

Zhao puffed out his chest, trying to project an aura of intimidating authority. "We demand a portion of whatever you are carrying in that box. If your cooking can truly assist with advancement, it is your duty as a member of this sect to provide resources to the elite fighting force. Hand it over, and we might forget how you cheated your way into the Inner Sect by hiding behind the Drunken Sovereign."

Ji’an stared at them.

She looked at their arrogant, entitled faces. These were the same people who had laughed at her gray apron.

The same people who had kicked dust into Tang Bo’s face.

The same people who believed that swinging a sword made them gods, while the people who fed them were peasants.

A slow, terrifying, entirely predatory grin spread across Ji’an’s face.

"You want my food?" Ji’an asked, her voice dropping into a soft, deadly purr.