The guards marched me down from the Awakening Square in silence.
Behind us, the crowd still buzzed like a hive split open — voices clashing between awe, greed, and disbelief. I could feel their stares on my back even as the plaza faded from sight.
Each step down the stone path hammered the truth into me: I had a system. I had a Dao.
And it wasn't sword, flame, or lightning.
It was food.
---
The kitchens lay at the edge of the sect, near the servant quarters. Most disciples considered it beneath them to come here, unless they were hungry or looking for someone to kick.
The building itself was plain stone and timber, darkened by years of smoke. The air always smelled of oil, charred wood, and boiled broth.
It was the place I had grown up in.
Carrying sacks of rice twice my size until my back bent. Cleaning grease from cracked pots until my knuckles bled. Watching disciples steal bowls of food, mocking me while I smiled like an obedient fool.
Here was where I had learned patience. Here was where I had learned silence.
The guards shoved the door open and pushed me inside.
"Stay here," one muttered. "The Elder will send word when he wants you tested again. Fail, and you die. Simple."
Their boots echoed down the hall until the door slammed shut.
I stood in the dim kitchen, surrounded by the old stoves, the racks of dented pans, the tables scarred from decades of knives.
Once, this place had been my cage.
But the Dao Stove at my side flared to life, its Spirit Flame leaping tall, bright, and obedient.
No longer a cage.
This was my throne.
---
From the side corridor, servants peered out. Pale faces, wide eyes.
"Ren… we heard…" one whispered.
"They say you made Yun Kai break through with a bowl of rice…"
"Is it true? Did Heaven really give you the Dao of Cooking?"
I didn't answer. I struck a match. The Dao Stove's flame roared to life, brighter than any fire they had ever seen.
The servants gasped, clutching each other like children at a ghost tale.
---
The peace shattered with a slam of wood.
Boots clattered across stone.
A group of outer disciples stormed in, robes sharp with clan emblems. At their head was a thin boy with narrow eyes and a mocking smirk: Luo Feng, one of Yun Kai's drinking companions.
"Well, well," he drawled, gaze sliding across the Stove. "The kitchen rat really did awaken something. A toy stove. Heaven must be laughing."
The others snickered, leaning on tables as though the place belonged to them.
"We heard you humiliated Yun Kai," one said. "But anyone can fake a miracle once."
Another sneered. "Cook for us, stove-boy. If it works again, maybe we'll admit you're not completely worthless."
He tossed a copper coin onto the counter. The clink echoed like a challenge.
Behind them, more servants had gathered in the shadows, whispering frantically.
"If he fails now, they'll kill him…"
"No, Heaven wouldn't humiliate someone twice…"
"But if it's real… if it's real…"
---
I looked at the coin, then at their smirking faces.
The Dao Stove pulsed, runes glowing faintly.
Very well.
"You want food?" My voice was calm, though the flame surged taller. "Then you'll have it. But remember — every bite carries my Dao. And once you taste it, you'll never laugh again."
Their smirks wavered, but pride locked their mouths shut.
---
I gathered what ingredients I had: leftover rice, a handful of beans, wilted greens, a single bone gnawed clean. Trash, by their standards.
But the Stove accepted it.
I washed the rice three times. Dropped it into the pot. Poured water.
The Spirit Flame shifted, steady and patient.
The broth bubbled, poor man's porridge. But as I stirred, Dao flowed into it. Every bubble shimmered faintly, silver pearls breaking the surface. Steam curled soft and sweet through the kitchen.
The disciples chuckled at first. Then their laughter died.
Their noses twitched. Their eyes flicked toward the pot despite themselves.
"Why does it smell so… clean?"
"My qi feels… lighter…"
"It's just porridge, isn't it?"
---
I lifted the ladle.
The porridge gleamed faintly, as if a fragment of moonlight had melted into it.
I filled a bowl and slid it across the counter.
Luo Feng snatched it. "Trash food." He shoveled in a spoonful.
And froze.
His qi surged, sluggish pathways clearing. His complexion brightened. His breath deepened.
The sneer drained from his face.
The others lunged forward, scrambling.
"Me next!"
"No, me first!"
"You liar, I paid!"
They fought like beggars. I ladled out bowls. Each shimmered faintly, each sent ripples through their bodies the moment it touched their tongues.
When the last bowl was gone, silence fell.
The proud disciples stood straighter, qi smooth, faces flushed with health.
Not one of them could meet my gaze.
---
The chime rang.
> [Ding! Dish Cooked: Spirit Porridge (1★)]
✦ Effect: Restores stamina, clears impurities, smooths qi flow
✦ Bowl Points +20
✦ Quest Progress: 5/100 disciples fed
---
The system's voice lingered in my mind, weighty and ancient, like a bell tolling through the heavens.
One dish, five disciples. Ninety-five to go.
---
"You see?" My voice cut through the silence. "Even scraps become Dao in my hands. Remember that the next time you call me trash."
Their mouths opened, but no words came.
Luo Feng slammed his bowl onto the counter. "This… this is witchcraft! The Elder will hear of this!"
But his voice trembled, and his eyes wouldn't meet mine.
The others stumbled after him, bowls still in their hands.
Outside the kitchen, I heard them arguing already.
"We can't let him rise…"
"Shut up! Don't you feel it in your qi? If he feeds more people—"
"Then we silence him before the Elders decide!"
Their voices faded into the night.
---
The servants didn't move. They just stared at me, some pale, some wide-eyed, some looking as if they wanted to kneel.
One finally whispered, "Ren… is it true? Will you… feed the sect?"
I didn't answer.
Because in my mind, the chime rang again.
---
> [Quest Reminder: 95 disciples remaining. 6 days left.]
---
The words weren't cold text. They thrummed in my bones, heavy as law, as if Heaven itself demanded tribute through my hands.
My lips curled into a smile.
Six days. Ninety-five mouths.
The sect thought the kitchens were a cage.
But in truth, they had just given me an altar.
Every bowl I served would drag me higher.
And one day, even the heavens would eat from my hands.
---