Sitting on a stack of sacks in the corner were three men. They wore greasy gray robes and were currently engaged in a heated game of dice. They looked less like chefs and more like bandits who had retired to a life of lethargy.

"Who’s there?" the largest one, a man with a belly that spilled over his sash, grunted without looking up. "Delivery? Just dump the grain in the corner. Not that we need it. The disciples only want those chalky pills."

"I’m the new disciple assigned to duty," Ji’an announced, her voice echoing in the cavernous, empty space.

The three men stopped. They looked up.

They saw a slender, handsome youth in fresh Outer Sect robes, standing in the doorway with the posture of a general inspecting troops.

"A disciple?" The fat man, clearly the self- appointed Head Steward, laughed. He stood up, wiping grease on his pants. "A pretty boy like you? What did you do? Offend an Elder? Steal a jade pendant?"

"I have a Chaotic Spirit Root," Ji’an said cheerfully, stepping inside. Her boot crunched on something. She looked down. A dead cockroach.

"Ah," the Steward sneered. "Trash root. Then it makes sense. Well, find a corner and sleep. As long as you don’t bother us, we won’t bother you. There’s nothing to cook anyway. We just boil water for tea once a day."

Ji’an ignored him. She walked to the nearest workstation. She ran a finger along the counter. It came away black.

She looked at the woks. Rusted. She looked at the pantry. Half-open, with a rat scurrying away.

[System Alert: New Location Discovered – ’The Fallen Kitchen’.]

[Environment Rating: F- (Biohazard).]

[Mission Triggered: ’Hell’s Kitchen’.]

[Objective: Clean this pigsty before sunset. Reward: Unlocked ’System Spice Rack’ (Level 1) and +50 Cooking Proficiency.]

Ji’an’s eyes lit up. Spice Rack? She had been running low on the Szechuan peppercorns she brought from home.

She turned to the three men.

"Gentlemen," she said, rolling up her sleeves. "You have two choices. You can help me, or you can get out."

"Help you?" The Steward scoffed. "Help you do what? Cook air?"

"No," Ji’an grinned, summoning her Black Iron Spatula. "Exorcise the filth."

What followed was not cleaning. It was a martial arts demonstration.

The three staff members sat in the corner, mouths agape, watching as the "Trash Disciple" turned into a blur of motion.

Ji’an didn’t just scrub; she channeled her cultivation.

"Water-Style: High-Pressure Hose!" She kicked a bucket of water into the air. With a wave of her spatula, she channeled her Qi, turning the splash into a concentrated jet stream that blasted the grime off the walls.

"Wind-Style: Dust Devil!" She spun in the center of the room, creating a small tornado that sucked up the cobwebs, dead flies, and dry leaves from the rafters, depositing them neatly into a trash bin.

"Fire-Style: Sterilization!" She slammed her palm onto the cold stone stoves. Whoosh. Flames roared to life, not just heating the woks but burning away the layers of rancid grease and rust, leaving the iron gleaming and blue-black.

The cockroaches didn’t stand a chance. Ji’an moved like an assassin, flicking dried beans with deadly accuracy.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

Every bean took down a pest.

"He... he’s a maniac," one of the staff whispered, clutching his dice.

"Is he cleaning... or fighting a war?" the Steward murmured, watching Ji’an perform a wall-run to wipe a high window.

By the time the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, the kitchen was unrecognizable.

The stone floors shone like mirrors. The woks were seasoned and ready. The pantry was organized (the rat had been politely escorted out via a window). The air smelled of lemon verbena and fresh water.

Ji’an stood in the center of the sparkling room, leaning on her mop like a conqueror. She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead.

[System Notification: Mission Complete!]

[Reward: System Spice Rack Unlocked. (Contains: Star Anise, Cinnamon, Cumin, Szechuan Pepper, and Infinite Salt).]

"Perfect," Ji’an sighed, satisfied.

The Trap of Aroma

The three staff members were still huddled in the corner, looking terrified.

"Are... are you done?" the Steward asked hesitantly.

"Done cleaning? Yes," Ji’an said, her stomach growling loudly. "Now, I work on the most important part. Winning the hearts and minds."

She walked over to the newly organized pantry. It was meager—just sacks of low-grade spiritual rice, some eggs from spirit-chickens, and a few baskets of wilting scallions.

"Pathetic ingredients," Ji’an critiqued. "But a true chef doesn’t blame the tools."

She lit the fire under the main wok.

The staff watched, confused. "What is he doing? No one eats at this hour. The disciples are all meditating."

"I’m eating," Ji’an said.

She tossed a block of lard (rendered from the Steel-Bristle Boar) into the wok. It hissed, melting into a clear, fragrant pool.

She chopped the scallions. Tak-tak-tak-tak. The sound was rhythmic, hypnotic.

She cracked six spirit-eggs into a bowl, beating them with a chopstick until they were a uniform, sunny yellow.

"Rice," she whispered, tossing the leftover cold rice into the hot oil.

Sizzle.

The sound was the opening note of a symphony.

The moment the rice hit the wok, the smell began to spread. The rich, nutty aroma of frying rice, coating itself in animal fat.

Then came the eggs, creating a savory cloud. Finally, the soy sauce and the spices from her new System Rack.

The smell drifted to the corner where the staff sat.

The Steward sniffed the smell of food. His stomach, which had been content with a tasteless bun earlier, suddenly roared.

"What... what is that smell?" the second staff member asked, drooling.

"It smells like... childhood," the third one whispered, eyes glazing over.

Ji’an tossed the wok. The rice flew into the air, a golden wave, catching the firelight, before landing perfectly back in the iron.

Every grain was separated, coated in egg and gold. Ji’an’s own specialty: the Golden Egg Fried Rice!