"Ji’an," her father said softly. "You are going to give me a heart attack."

"I’ll cook you a low-sodium restorative broth; you’ll be fine," Ji’an waved off his concern.

.

.

.

As the afternoon stretched into early evening, Ji’an threw off the silk quilt.

The restorative sleep had done its job too well. The heavy, hyper-compressed Dao of the Iron Wok Qi was positively vibrating beneath her skin.

She felt like a pot of water left on a rolling boil with the lid clamped down.

If she didn’t release some kinetic energy soon, she was genuinely afraid she might accidentally punch a hole through the floorboards just by stepping on them.

"I need to move," Ji’an announced, pacing the length of the luxurious bedchamber. "I feel like a batch of over-proofed dough. My meridians are expanding. If I don’t punch something, I’m going to vibrate through the walls."

General Lin watched her pace, his keen martial eyes tracking the subtle, terrifying shifts in the air pressure around her small frame.

He could feel the condensed gravity she was unintentionally projecting.

A slow warrior’s smile touched the General’s lips.

He had dedicated his life to the martial path.

He commanded the greatest army in the world, and standing before him was a challenger who carried his own blood, wielding an entirely alien, unorthodox cultivation method.

The sheer, overwhelming curiosity to test her strength against his own seasoned might was impossible to resist.

"If it is kinetic release you require," General Lin said, standing up from the bed, his imposing height dwarfing her in the room, "the Lin Estate possesses the most reinforced private training ground in the capital. The Imperial Mages forged these wards to withstand artillery fire."

Ji’an stopped pacing. She looked up at her father, her dark eyes sparkling with a sudden, feral excitement.

"Are you challenging me to a spar, Old Man?" Ji’an grinned, her arrogant chef persona rising to the surface.

"I am offering to evaluate your kitchen techniques, Martial Uncle," General Lin countered, his deep voice rumbling with competitive amusement. "You claim to possess the striking power of a siege weapon. Prove it. If you can push me back a single step, I will personally guarantee your access to the Imperial hunting reserves."

Ji’an’s culinary heart skipped a beat. The Imperial hunting reserves were packed with premium, unpoached spirit-beasts.

"You’re on," Ji’an declared, practically vibrating at the door. "Let me go find some clean clothes and my binding. Give me ten minutes."

Fifteen minutes later, the private, subterranean training ground of the Lin Estate was illuminated by glowing spirit-stones embedded in the reinforced granite walls.

The arena was massive, a circular pit of hard-packed earth surrounded by heavy, glowing defensive runes.

General Lin Tianzong stood in the absolute center of the arena.

He had shed his casual tunic, wearing only a sleeveless, dark leather training vest that displayed the thick, corded muscles of his arms and the crisscrossing silver scars of a hundred battles.

In his right hand, he held his legendary weapon: The Azure Dragon’s Fang.

It was a massive, terrifying halberd. The shaft was forged from black spirit-iron, and the curved, crescent blade gleamed with a faint, chilling blue light.

It was a weapon that had cleaved through demonic beasts and enemy cavalry lines with equal ease.

The aura radiating from the blade was enough to make a normal cultivator drop to their knees.

Lin Ji’an walked down the stone stairs into the arena.

She had found a clean, dark blue training uniform belonging to Xuan, which fit her slender frame perfectly.

Her chest was bound flat once more beneath the tunic, her dark hair tied back in a high, practical ponytail.

She walked with the arrogant, relaxed swagger of a head chef entering her own kitchen.

She stopped twenty paces from her father.

"Draw your weapon, Ji’an," General Lin commanded, his stance widening; he sank his center of gravity into the earth. The air around him grew heavy, practically solidifying with his Grandmaster-level martial intent. "Show me the edge of this Dao of the Iron Wok."

Ji’an smirked. She reached down to the hem of her tunic and activated her spatial ring.

A flash of silver light illuminated the dim arena.

General Lin braced himself, expecting her to draw the heavy cast-iron spatula she had used in the dungeon, or perhaps a legendary sword gifted by her Sovereign Master.

The light faded.

Ji’an dropped into a low, aggressive combat stance.

In her right hand, gripped with the absolute, terrifying confidence of a seasoned killer, was a solid, cast-iron soup ladle.

It was large, yes. The bowl of the ladle was roughly the size of a melon, and the handle was thick and heavy. But it was, fundamentally and undeniably, a piece of serving cutlery.

General Lin stared at the ladle. He stared at his daughter.

The arena’s imposing, terrifying martial atmosphere was completely shattered.

"Ji’an," General Lin said, his voice completely flat. "I am wielding a Heaven-Tier halberd that was forged in the fires of the Imperial Kiln. It has slain three Dragon-Kin. You are holding but a spoon."

"It is a ladle, Father. Respect the utensil," Ji’an corrected sharply, giving the cast-iron implement an expert, whistling twirl. "And a true master of the kitchen does not blame their tools. The spatula is for flipping and slicing. The ladle... the ladle is for crushing."

General Lin let out a deep, rumbling sigh, shaking his head. "Do not blame me when your cutlery shatters. Come!"

Ji’an didn’t hesitate.

She didn’t run; she exploded.

The hyper-compressed kinetic energy stored in her leg muscles detonated against the hard-packed earth.

The ground beneath her boots literally cratered, sending up a massive spray of dirt and stone.

She crossed the twenty-pace distance in a fraction of a millisecond, appearing directly in front of the War God like a teleporting phantom.

General Lin’s eyes widened in genuine shock. ’Such speed! There was no Qi fluctuation! It was pure, raw physical propulsion!’