The Falling Cloud Sect did not sleep that night.
Whispers churned through every courtyard, every training hall, every servant's quarters. Some disciples claimed they still smelled the broth clinging to their robes.
Others swore their meridians were smoother even hours after eating. Servants repeated tales in kitchens, mixing fear with awe, until the rumors swelled like storm clouds over the mountain.
By dawn, the kitchens were no longer a forgotten corner of the sect.
They were its heart.
---
Before sunrise, the courtyard seethed.
Outer disciples lined the stone steps, their breaths misting in the morning chill. Some clutched coins so tight their knuckles whitened, others crossed arms and scowled, pretending they weren't desperate.
Servants came too, wide-eyed, hiding behind pillars as if just standing here was dangerous. Even inner court disciples—embroidered robes, jade pendants flashing—had pulled hoods low, unwilling to admit they had come down from their lofty halls.
The air buzzed with voices.
"Ninety already."
"Ten left."
"He'll finish today."
"Unless Elder Zhao stops him first…"
---
The gambling had grown louder too.
One disciple waved spirit stones, shouting, "Two to one odds he collapses before the hundredth bowl!"
Another barked back, "Three to one he finishes! Didn't you see him purge poison yesterday? Even pills failed!"
Arguments turned into shoves, then laughter, then more shouting. Bets stacked on the cobbles, glittering silver and jade.
But beneath the noise was tension sharp as a knife.
Everyone knew this was no longer about porridge or broth.
If I finished the hundred bowls, then Cooking Dao was not rumor. It was law.
---
The Stove pulsed faintly at my side, Spirit Flame licking silver-blue. I was about to open the pot when laughter cut through the crowd.
Ugly. Arrogant.
Yun Kai.
He strode forward, his scarlet robe embroidered with his clan crest, jade crown gleaming. Hatred twisted his face, but pride forced his shoulders square.
Behind him swaggered Luo Feng, smirk sharp, voice already rising to sneer. Their pack of jackals followed, disciples who once laughed the loudest when I scrubbed pots.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"He dares come back?"
"He ate twice already…"
"He'll try to stop it…"
Yun Kai spread his arms wide, voice rising like a stage actor.
"Look how far the stove-rat has crawled. Ninety bowls of trickery, and the sect quivers like starving dogs. Today I end this farce."
Luo Feng slammed a silver ingot onto the counter, the clang sharp as a blade. "One dish. For all of us. Fail, and your Stove is ours to smash. Crawl back to your rags where you belong."
Their lackeys jeered at once.
"Coward!"
"Fake cook!"
"Beg before young master Yun Kai!"
The Stove flared, sparks spitting across the seam of the counter like fangs.
I met Yun Kai's gaze.
"You want to eat again?" My voice was quiet, but it carried. "Then open your mouth. I'll make sure your shame is seasoned well."
The courtyard gasped.
Even Yun Kai's smirk cracked.
---
I laid out the ingredients.
Not scraps. Not marrow bones. Not wilted greens.
Everything the Stove had given me these days—gifts coaxed from scraps turned divine.
Rice polished to pearls, each grain gleaming faintly like starlight. Roots softened by Spirit Flame until they carried the breath of earth itself. A pinch of Moon Salt, shimmering pale as frost. Dried herbs, bitter yet alive when touched by fire.
I dropped them into the pot.
The Spirit Flame surged white-silver, brighter than ever. Runes raced across the Stove's iron skin like molten script.
Steam lifted.
Dragons coiled in mist. Phoenix wings spread wide. Mountains rose, rivers flowed, cauldrons of jade shimmered in the air. Some disciples swore they saw celestial kitchens carved into the clouds.
The fragrance struck like a wave.
Not heavy. Not sharp. But whole.
It smelled like home to servants who had never had one. Like stability to disciples whose qi had always been restless. Like hope to elders whose cultivation had long since stalled.
The courtyard stilled.
Even Yun Kai's lackeys froze, eyes wide, throats working.
---
I filled the first bowl.
A trembling disciple seized it. He sipped—and gasped. Qi surged, a bottleneck cracked like ice. His eyes blazed. "I—advanced!"
The crowd roared.
Another disciple drank. His scarred arm smoothed, flesh knitting. He collapsed to his knees, tears streaming.
A sneering girl in silk lunged, lips curled to mock—but the moment she swallowed, her dantian flared clean. The faint crack of breakthrough rang out. Her face crimsoned as the crowd jeered: "Face-slapped!"
An old servant bowed low, hands shaking as he drank. Tears blurred his eyes. "The pain is gone… Master Ren… Master Stove…"
Two rival disciples shoved each other for the next bowl. I set down two at once. They gulped, black mist hissing from their mouths. Their eyes met, then both laughed. "Brothers," they said together, oath sealed in food.
Nine bowls. Nine changes.
Qi surged. Wounds healed. Bottlenecks shattered.
The Stove roared louder with every taste.
---
The number burned in my chest: ninety-nine.
One left.
The courtyard fell into hushed silence. Even gamblers forgot their wagers. All eyes locked on the pot.
Steam curled, silver-white, runes flickering like stars.
I ladled the final bowl. The hundredth.
I did not offer it to anyone else.
I held it out to Yun Kai.
"Eat."
His face paled. His pride cracked, but his lackeys shoved him forward. Luo Feng hissed, "Prove it's fake! Show them he's a fraud!"
The crowd leaned in, breathless.
Yun Kai's fingers shook as he seized the bowl. He snarled—and drank.
---
At once, his qi surged wild. Bottlenecks buckled, cracks splitting through his unstable foundation. His face twisted, veins bulging.
The crowd screamed.
"He'll explode—!"
"His qi is tearing him apart!"
Yun Kai staggered, clutching his chest. Panic blazed in his eyes.
Then the Stove roared.
Silver fire surged high, brighter than dawn. The broth burned through him, weaving shattered qi together, binding wild veins, knitting his broken foundation.
His breath steadied. His veins glowed faint silver. His body, though battered, stabilized.
The crowd erupted.
"Even Yun Kai—!"
"His unstable qi—healed!"
"He should have exploded—Ren saved him!"
Yun Kai dropped the empty bowl, face ashen.
---
The Stove pulsed.
> [Ding! Quest Complete — 100/100 disciples fed.]
✦ Reward: Advancement → 2★ Spirit Chef
✦ Bonus Reward: New Skill Unlocked — Flavor of Truth
Effect: Any lie spoken after eating your food will be revealed.
Spirit Flame exploded skyward, silver constellations spinning overhead, shadows of cauldrons and heavenly kitchens etched against the clouds.
Power flooded me. For the first time, qi obeyed. My crippled meridians blazed open. The Dao Stove's flame fused with my breath.
I had advanced.
---
The flame surged brighter, spilling across the courtyard. A disciple muttered nervously, "It's just a trick—"
The Stove hissed. Sparks leapt, curling around his mouth. His face blanched. Words tore free without his will.
"I—I took Elder Zhao's bribe to spread lies!"
The crowd gasped.
Another sneered, "Impossible! He can't—" The sparks curled again. His body stiffened. He blurted, "I sabotaged the rice sack yesterday!"
The courtyard exploded. Disciples shouted, servants screamed, even inner court elites recoiled.
Flavor of Truth. Lies could no longer survive my food.
---
I stood tall, Spirit Flame blazing like wings, ladle glowing like a divine weapon.
"You called me trash," I said coldly. "Stove-rat. Servant. But today—one hundred disciples ate from my hands. And every bowl carried Dao."
The Stove roared.
"Remember this taste. From now on, every bowl I serve will slap your faces harder than the last."
The courtyard shook. Some disciples bowed, trembling. Servants fell to their knees, foreheads pressed to stone. Even elders watching from shadows could not deny what they had seen.
Yun Kai staggered back, pale, pride shattered. Luo Feng's smirk had curdled into fear.
The crowd turned—not to them. Not to Elder Zhao's spies hiding in the eaves.
But to me.
To the cook.
To the Dao of Food.
---