Chapter 10: The Arena of Aromas
The digital ghost of her past self lingered like a bad scent. In the days after the journal leak, Qu Tang could feel the shift in her streams. The comments were more guarded, the donations slightly more hesitant. A cautious, fearful part of her wanted to retreat, to make her content smaller and blander, to offer no further target for Bai Youyou's venom.
But a newer, fiercer part of her—the part that had survived execution and built a life from nothing—rebelled. Fear was a cage she had already escaped. To return to it would be a betrayal of her own hard-won freedom. She would not be diminished. She would not let the whispers of insects silence her song.
It was in this defiant mindset that the invitation from Interstellar Flavors arrived. The show was a cultural phenomenon, but it was far more than mere entertainment. In a society sustained by efficient but soul-crushing nutrient paste, the show was a weekly celebration of actual food—its history, its cultural significance, and, most importantly, its energetic properties. Contestants weren't just cooking; they were crafting dishes designed to provide specific boosts: clarity for scholars, stamina for laborers, stability for those with volatile mental seas.
The invitation was for their "Underdog Edition," a special segment highlighting self-taught cooks from non-culinary backgrounds. It was a massive platform and a terrifying risk. It was also a perfect trap.
Qu Tang saw the potential for humiliation instantly. Bai Youyou would be watching. A failure here would be very public. But she also saw the opportunity with crystal clarity. This wasn't just about proving her culinary skills; it was about demonstrating her philosophy on a galactic stage. It was a chance to weaponize her authenticity.
With a steady hand that belied the frantic beating of her heart, she accepted.
The studio was a temple to gastronomy. The air hummed with a low, resonant energy, the result of state-of-the-art stoves that used targeted thermal fields to cook food perfectly while allegedly sealing in its inherent Qi. Holographic displays above each station analyzed ingredients in real-time, projecting data on nutritional density, energetic frequency, and potential synergistic effects. Her competitors were impressive. There was Borlak, a massive bear beastman whose station was laden with rare, crimson-fleshed "Ironwood Boar," a meat known for its potent strength-boosting properties. Across from him, Seraphina, an elegant swan beastman, was meticulously arranging crystallized "Zephyr Berries," famed for enhancing mental clarity and grace.
Qu Tang's station, with its simple bowl of jasmine rice, a jug of water, ginger, and green onions, looked laughably bare. The theme was "Sustenance for the Soul."
The host, Kael, a charismatic dolphin beastman with sonar-based culinary perception, glided to her station. "Qu Tang! The voice from the streams! Welcome to the arena of aromas. Your ingredients are… intriguingly simple. What powerhouse of energy are you crafting for us today?"
This was her moment. She did not simper or downplay her choice. She stood straight, her gaze clear and confident.
"I am crafting congee," she announced, her voice carrying easily across the studio. "It will not grant explosive strength like the Ironwood Boar," she said, with a respectful nod to Borlak, who grunted in acknowledgment. "And it will not sharpen the mind to a razor's edge like the Zephyr Berries." She offered a slight smile to Seraphina.
She held up a single grain of rice. "Its power is more fundamental. In the ancient traditions I study, food is more than fuel or a temporary boost. It is medicine for the spirit. The energy I seek to create is one of centering and recuperation. This dish is for those whose mental seas are frayed from constant stress, for those who feel fractured and scattered. Its energy is not a spike, but a balm. It is the culinary equivalent of a deep, steadying breath."
Borlak couldn't contain a dismissive snort. "A balm? A breath? We are here to cook food with power, little bird. Not to whisper lullabies to tired minds."
A few in the audience chuckled. Qu Tang turned to him, her expression not offended, but wise, like a scholar addressing a passionate but misguided student.
"Strength that shatters under pressure is not true strength," she replied, her tone even and bold. "A mind so sharp it cannot rest will eventually cut itself. True resilience—the sustenance for the soul the theme asks for—comes from the ability to heal, to find calm in the storm. You offer a sword. I offer a shield. And a fortress cannot be built without first preparing the foundation."
The studio fell silent. Kael the host looked fascinated. The judges, renowned culinary masters and energy therapists, leaned forward in interest.
As she cooked, she narrated her process not as a recipe, but as a lesson in energy alchemy. "The long, slow simmer is not a weakness; it is a necessity," she explained, her movements calm and precise. "It coaxes the energy from the rice, transforming its simple starch into a complex, easily assimilated source of grounding Qi. The ginger is not just for flavor; its fiery nature cuts through stagnation and warms the core without agitation. The green onion here is a brilliant conductor, its hollow structure believed to help the energy circulate smoothly throughout the body's meridians."
She wasn't just making food; she was weaving a theory of healing, using the language of the Beast World itself but applying a wisdom it had forgotten.
When the judges tasted her humble congee, their eyes widened. It wasn't about bold flavor. It was about the feeling. One judge, a revered badger beastman known for his work with trauma patients, closed his eyes. "By the ancestors," he murmured. "It's… a weighted blanket for the psyche. I can feel the scattered edges of my own energy field drawing inward, calming. The effect is profound."
She didn't win. Borlak's mighty Boar Stew, bursting with raw, aggressive energy, took the prize. But as Kael announced the winner, he placed a hand on Qu Tang's shoulder. "You may not have won the trophy," he said, his voice sincere, "but you have, without a doubt, won the day. You reminded us all that the highest form of energy is not force, but peace. You have given us wisdom in a bowl."
The clip of her bold defense of "soft" power and the judges' reactions went supernova. She was hailed as a "Culinary Sage," a "Wisdom-Keeper of Ancient Ways." She had taken Bai Youyou's trap and transformed it into a triumph of intellect and spirit. She hadn't just competed; she had taught a lesson. And the galaxy had been listening.