Steam swirled like veils over the inner kitchen, the scent of charred phoenix pepper dew hanging heavy in the air. Every chef, every apprentice, every hired porter stood frozen. Not because the dish before them was beautiful. Not because of fear. But because it hummed.
Yan Chen stared at the shallow porcelain bowl on the table, barely breathing. Thin strands of silver broth trembled inside, as if each droplet held the pulse of a living vein. A faint *ding* vibrated from the bowl's rim every few seconds — like a spoon tapping without a hand.
"This…" murmured Elder Su, the senior kitchen master, "shouldn't exist."
A dish that hummed on its own, resonating with Qi like a sacred relic — no, not even sacred relics behaved this way. Spiritual dishes could nourish, heal, calm storms of inner Qi. But they did not sing.
Yan Chen's hands shook. He hadn't even meant to create it.
It started with a simple intent: a test. He had been told to practice "Spirit Binding" — stabilizing infused essence so that it could travel safely through a diner's meridians without bursting them. The Heavenly Cookbook gave him a hint: *"Flavor is memory; memory is will; will, once stirred, creates resonance."*
So he stirred.
Slowly, gently, thinking of the kitchen's frightened apprentices, of Qi Hu's smug grin, of Bai Yun's cool, distant eyes, of his grandmother's laugh over sizzling oil — and of how much he didn't want to fail again.
And now a dish that no sect manual contained sat before them, pulsing like a heart.
---
"Take it away," Elder Su whispered.
A few of the younger chefs flinched. "Elder?"
"Hide it. Now. Before anyone outside hears it."
Too late.
The sound — that gentle, ringing hum — was already spreading through the stone halls. Qi-sensitive ears picked it up like a distant bell calling monks to prayer.
---
Far outside, in the main courtyard, a masked inner disciple stiffened.
"That sound…"
Back in the kitchen, Bai Yun had slipped in quietly, unnoticed by all but Yan Chen. He caught sight of her standing in the doorway, jade-green hair catching stray motes of steam, eyes narrowed not in anger — in recognition.
She mouthed something: You did this?
He nodded slightly.
Her brows drew tight, then — against every stoic habit she'd ever shown — the faintest smile flickered. Not friendly. Not romantic. The smile of someone who'd seen a dormant mountain wake up.
---
Qi Hu, of course, couldn't keep his mouth shut.
"What is this nonsense? Some parlor trick? A humming bowl? Anyone can vibrate a dish if they—"
He reached for it.
"DON'T!" Elder Su barked.
Qi Hu froze.
"You touch that dish without channeling your core properly," Elder Su said, beads of sweat on his forehead, "and you'll bleed from every pore before you can scream."
Qi Hu pulled his hand back like he'd nearly touched a furnace. His sneer returned weaker, shaken.
Bai Yun stepped fully into the room now, her steps soft against stone.
"Elder Su," she said, voice smooth as cold wine, "may I?"
The room fell silent.
"Miss Bai Yun," Su said, "this is beyond—"
"Precisely why I should taste it first," she interrupted, kneeling before the dish.
Yan Chen swallowed hard. "Wait— we don't know what it—"
But Bai Yun was already lifting the porcelain spoon, slow, deliberate, almost reverent. She scooped a single shimmering strand of broth, held it to her nose, inhaled. Her eyes fluttered shut for the briefest second.
She drank.
The hum in the bowl deepened, from a faint chime to a resonant gong that rattled the utensils on the counter.
For a heartbeat, Bai Yun sat utterly still.
Then her entire body shivered. A faint pale light spilled from her skin, like the first crack of dawn breaking through snow clouds. A thin white lotus unfurled above her head — a pure Qi manifestation that should take years of meditation to summon. Her eyes snapped open, wide, startled — and not entirely human.
"What… is this technique?" she whispered, voice trembling for the first time since Yan Chen had met her.
"It's not a technique," Yan Chen said honestly. "It's just… what I felt."
The kitchen erupted.
Half the apprentices dropped to their knees out of instinct. Elder Su grabbed Yan Chen by both shoulders, shaking him gently like a pot he feared might shatter.
"You fool," Su said, voice hoarse. "Do you understand what you've done?"
Yan blinked. "Made soup?"
"This isn't soup," Su whispered. "This is Spiritual Resonance Binding — a mythical stage of culinary Qi arts that hasn't been documented for six hundred years. If the main sect hears of this, you won't just be promoted. You'll be abducted. Protected. Or killed."
Yan Chen felt his stomach turn cold.
Bai Yun rose to her feet, steady now, though her pupils were still faintly glowing.
"Word will spread anyway," she said. "This sound? It's traveling. Others are already on their way."
Elder Su cursed under his breath.
Qi Hu, pale now, licked his lips. "Maybe we can just… pretend it never happened?"
No one answered him.
Outside, footsteps thundered closer. Not one pair — several. Heavy, disciplined, and fast.
Yan Chen's heart sank.
---
He barely had time to think when a voice like a knife through silk rang through the kitchen doorway.
"Who among you dares to summon the Lotus Bell within a servant's hall?"
The crowd parted instinctively.
A tall figure stepped in, robes black with silver trim — the sect's Internal Affairs Enforcer, eyes cold, aura sharp enough to sting the lungs.
His gaze swept the room, landed on Bai Yun first, then locked onto Yan Chen.
"Bring him," the Enforcer said. "The Sect Master will want an explanation."
---
Yan Chen's stomach knotted.
He had wanted a chance to rise.
This… this felt like a chance to vanish.