The sun clawed its way over the Celestial Lotus Summit, painting the misty trail in shades of bruised peach. Up its winding path trudged the most unlikely trio the world had ever seen:
One sword wielding goddess, her glare honed to a razor's edge.
One idiot savant, his robe stubbornly decorated with last night's noodle stains.
And one flaming wok wielding pig who demanded, with every snort, the respect he knew he deserved.
Legends were already brewing. Traders mumbled about The Laughing Storm. Monks nervously prayed to avoid The Gourmet Swine. And somewhere, in a dingy southern tavern, the spiciest stew on the menu had been ominously renamed Hwan Do's Regret.
But even with their growing notoriety, none of them were remotely prepared for what awaited them at the mountain's peak.
They rounded the final ridge, and there it was a temple. Ancient, utterly silent, it seemed less built on the mountain and more grown from it.
Grey stone, prayer tiles, tangled vines, forgotten runes… all of it. But the strangest part? It floated a precise two inches off the ground.
Floating? Hwan Do asked, poking the air beneath it.
No foundation, Seo Rin breathed, her voice a hushed whisper. This place… it predates the Five Great Sects. I've only heard rumors...
Zhu Bao snorted. That, my dear, is the Temple of the Silent Monk.
The what?Hwan Do asked.
The monk who once cooked a dish so perfect, Zhu Bao explained, a hint of reverence in his usually boisterous voice, the heavens themselves wept. He swore never to cook again. Or speak.
Hwan Do blinked. ...Sounds dramatic.
And spicy, the pig added, almost reverently.
The temple doors swung inward with a ghostly sigh. Inside nothing but a long stone hall leading to a single figure.
A man, cross legged before a low table. Robed in stark white. Eyebrows so long you could braid them. Skin like ancient parchment. His aura was calm, unnervingly still, like deep water on a windless night.
The Silent Monk, Seo Rin murmured, her sword hand twitching almost imperceptibly. He's real.
Without so much as a glance, the monk lifted a spoon. He stirred an invisible pot, his movements precise, practiced.
Then, his gaze, sharp as a chef's knife, found Hwan Do.
He pointed.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he pointed to the Ancient Recipe Wall a glowing stone tablet with three glaringly empty lines.
What does that mean? Hwan Do asked, a little nervously.
The monk rose, moved to the wall, and with a finger, wrote a single word in glowing script.
YOU
The monk clapped twice.
From a hidden compartment, a scroll floated down, sealed with golden thread and marked Heaven Class Culinary Manual.
Zhu Bao let out a small, ecstatic squeal. That's it! That's the Lost Recipe of Flame and Fortune! The ultimate dish! Legend had it, he explained, that whoever cooked the full recipe would either unlock divine qi… or explode.
Wait, Hwan Do said, already sweating.I don't even know how to cook rice without setting it on fire.
The monk just stared at him.
Then without warning he flipped. And struck Hwan Do, hard, on the forehead with a wooden spatula.
THWACK!
Suddenly
Memories, sharp and vivid, slammed into Hwan Do's mind.
But they weren't his.
Spices he'd never smelled. Knife techniques he'd never learned. The very structure of spiritual heat. The perfect harmony of sweet and bitter. The dizzying feel of flame qi curling through fingers like liquid fire.
He collapsed, mind reeling.
Vision of the Past
He stood on a battlefield, but it was made of kitchens. Stew boiled in the middle of a war zone. Flaming clouds. Spirit beasts locked in vicious combat over a single, perfectly steamed dumpling.
A divine voice boomed, rattling his very soul:
One day… a fool shall finish the dish I could not. Not with talent. Not with strength. But with absolute, unshakable accident.
Back to Reality
Hwan Do woke up in a cold sweat, gasping.
I know how to finish it,he whispered, the words tasting like magic on his tongue.
Zhu Bao gasped, a sound somewhere between awe and a pig getting tickled.
Seo Rin said nothing at all. But she watched him now with something utterly new in her eyes. Not irritation. Not confusion.
Curiosity.
Suddenly, Ambush!
Just as he pushed himself upright BOOM!
The wall behind them detonated in a flash of lightning shaped qi.
A group of black robed warriors poured in, faces hidden, blades curved, their leader cloaked in an ominous purple mist.
The Viper Cult! Seo Rin shouted, already drawing her sword.
Zhu Bao wheeled forward, snorting furiously. They followed us!
The masked leader, his voice a dry crackle like crumbling bones, pointed a jagged blade directly at Hwan Do.
Hand over the scroll, he demanded. Or die.
Whoa whoa whoa, Hwan Do said, waving a hand. You sure you don't want some soup first?
Kill them.
The fight erupted, fast and violently absurd.
Seo Rin surged forward, her blade a flashing line of starlight. Zhu Bao spun like a fiery cannonball, his wok blazing with qi.
And Hwan Do
tripped.
Slid under a cultist.
Accidentally kicked a support beam that just happened to send the massive chandelier crashing down.
The chandelier, with impeccable timing, crushed three enemies flat.
He rolled, snatched a salt jar, and hurled it.
It exploded right in the leader's face.
MY EYES! IT'S... TOO FLAVORFUL! the cult leader shrieked, clutching his face.
Seo Rin, seizing the moment, struck with a gleam of frost qi.
One clean slash.
The remaining cultists, demoralized and blinded by salt, fled in a panicked scramble.
The Silent Monk, for the first time, bowed low to Hwan Do.
Then, for the first time in 100 years…
He spoke.
Complete the dish. Save the world.
And just like that, he fell back into silence, as if the words had cost him everything.
Hwan Do trembled, a nervous laugh escaping him. Did I... just get recruited into a food-based prophecy?
Zhu Bao nodded solemnly. Indeed. You are now the Spatula Chosen One.
Seo Rin groaned, a sound of utter despair. I want to die.
But think about it, Hwan Do said, rising to his feet, a spark of genuine ambition in his eyes. If I master the Final Recipe... I could cook anything. Even your favorite porridge.
She paused.
Then, her voice barely a whisper, she said, ...Don't mess it up.
Was that… concern?
Or maybe...
...a tiny, almost imperceptible hint of affection?
Meanwhile
Far away, deep beneath the Black Viper Cult's lair, the Heavenly Butcher sliced a chicken in half… without touching it.
He read a bloodstained scroll.
The boy has awakened the Taste of Heaven.
He grinned beneath his bone mask, a chilling, hungry smile.
Good. Let him grow.
He turned to his assembled assassins.
Because when he finishes the Final Dish... I'll eat his soul with it.