The Outer Sect Kitchen, once a desolate wasteland of grease and despair, had transformed into a well-oiled machine of culinary warfare.

"Chop faster!" Lin Ji’an barked, pacing the stone floor like a drill sergeant in an apron. "Steward Fatty! That is not a rhythmic dice-roll motion! That is a chaotic hack! Treat the radish with respect, or the radish will haunt your dreams!"

"Yes, Boss!" The Steward, formerly a blob of laziness, was now a blob of terrified efficiency.

His skin was glowing with health, his cheeks rosy from the high-grade spiritual nutrients in Ji’an’s "staff meals," and his knife skills had improved from ’drunken toddler’ to ’apprentice chef.’

The other two underlings were sweating profusely as they kneaded dough for the evening’s mantou. They were plump, energetic, and completely indoctrinated into the Cult of Lin.

"Boss," the second underling panted, wiping sweat from his brow. "We processed the Spirit-Cabbage. But... do we really need more of those... ’stinky weeds’ from the mountain?"

He was referring to the garlic and coriander.

"Stinky?" Ji’an stopped pacing. She looked at him with eyes that promised pain. "You uncultured swine. Those are aromatics. Without them, food is just fuel. Do you want to eat fuel?"

"No, Boss!"

"Then I am going out," Ji’an declared, adjusting her spatial bag. "I need Seven-Leaf Mint and Thunder-Root Ginger. If the dough isn’t proofed by the time I get back, I’m putting you all on a diet of Fasting Pills for a week."

The staff gasped in collective horror. Fasting Pills? After tasting Ji’an’s Braised Pork? That was a fate worse than death.

"We will prove it with our lives!" they screamed in unison.

Satisfied with her reign of terror, Ji’an swept out the door.

The Medicine Peak’s Herb Garden was peaceful in the late afternoon.

The sun dappled through the leaves of the ancient Spirit Trees, casting long shadows over the rows of priceless to alchemists, and useless plants.

Ji’an approached cautiously, activating the Yin-Yang Void Locket to dampen her presence. She scanned the area for white robes.

"Coast is clear," she whispered. "No Sword Lord. No Yandere Prince. Just me and the groceries."

She slipped through her secret gap in the fence and made a beeline for the "Weed Section."

To the Sect, this area was a compost heap. It was where invasive species grew, plants that absorbed too much Earth Qi and became tough, spicy, or weirdly textured.

Alchemists hated them because they destabilized pill furnaces.

Ji’an loved them.

"Hello, beautiful," she cooed, kneeling in front of a patch of Purple-Veined Basil. "You look robust today. Perfect for a spicy stir-fry."

She pulled out her trowel and began to dig. She was humming a happy tune, feeling the tension of the Prince’s visit melting away.

"Brother Lin?"

The voice was soft, melodic, and sounded like wind chimes in a spring breeze.

Ji’an froze. Her trowel hovered mid-air.

’No,’ she thought, squeezing her eyes shut. ’Please, god of transmigrators, no. I just dealt with the Prince. I’m on a cooldown timer. I can’t handle another Main Character event.’

She slowly turned her head.

Standing ten feet away, bathed in a shaft of sunlight that seemed to be contractually obligated to follow him, was Gu Zhiwei.

The Holy Son. The Protagonist.

The Center of the World.

He was wearing his Direct Disciple robes, which were so white they hurt the eyes. His hair was tied up with a gold ribbon.

He was holding a watering can that looked like it was made of solid crystal.

And he was beaming at her.

"Brother Lin, it is you!" Gu Zhiwei gasped, his face lighting up with unadulterated joy. He dropped the expensive watering can and rushed over.

"Brother Lin! I was hoping to run into you! I went to the Outer Sect dorms, but they said you lived in the kitchen! I went to the kitchen, but your scary staff said you were ’hunting for flavor’! I didn’t know flavor lived in the Herb Garden!"

Ji’an stood up, dusting off her knees. She forced a polite smile.

"Brother Gu," she nodded. "What a... surprise. What is the Holy Son doing in the... waste section of the garden?"

"Oh, I volunteered!" Gu Zhiwei said brightly, clasping his hands together. "Master said I need to build affinity with nature to nurture my Sun Root. So I offered to water the plants! But..."

He looked around, a little sheepish.

"...I think I overwatered the Fire Lotuses. They hissed at me."

Ji’an looked at him. He was tall, handsome, and radiated power that could level a city.

Yet, standing there playing with his sleeve, he looked like a golden retriever who had accidentally chewed a slipper and was waiting to be scolded.

’He’s... silly,’ Ji’an realized with a sinking feeling. ’Oh no. The novel described him as ’pure and kind.’ I forgot that ’pure’ in cultivation novels usually translates to ’lacking basic survival instincts’.’

"So," Gu Zhiwei stepped closer, invading her personal space with the confidence of a puppy. He peered into her basket. "What are you doing, Brother Lin? Are these... valuable herbs?"

He pointed to a muddy ginger root.

"To me, yes," Ji’an said, pulling the basket back protectively. "To the sect, they are weeds. I’m just... doing some landscaping. Community service."

"Landscaping?" Gu Zhiwei’s eyes widened in admiration. "You are so humble! Even though you have such incredible martial arts, you stoop to clean the garden! You truly have a Daoist heart!"

"Sure," Ji’an deadpanned. "Let’s go with that."

"Let me help!" Gu Zhiwei rolled up his pristine white sleeves, revealing surprisingly muscular forearms. Sure enough, his Sun Root cultivation was no joke. "I am excellent at pulling things! Master says my grip strength is top tier!"

"No, really, I—"

"I insist!" Gu Zhiwei declared. He looked around wildly. "Which one is the enemy? That one?"

He pointed at a patch of Exploding Chili Peppers.

"Wait—" Ji’an started.

"Hah!" Gu Zhiwei lunged. He grabbed a chili pepper with his ’top-tier’ grip strength and yanked.