The scent of seared wagyu and truffle butter lingered in the air like a lover's perfume — intoxicating, impossible to forget.
Cain stood in the center of his private kitchen, sleeves rolled up, knife flashing under the warm light. Every movement was precise, almost ritualistic. The sizzling pan sang to him, the way a violin sings to its master.
Outside, in the private dining hall, billionaires, celebrities, and politicians waited with the patience of saints — because when Cain cooked, time itself bowed its head.
They called him The God Tongue.
They called him The Emperor of Flavor.
They called him The Man Who Could Make You Cry With a Spoonful.
And they were right.
Tonight's menu was a masterpiece:
Crimson Lotus Soup, infused with twenty-four-hour bone broth and rare saffron.
Spirit-Seared Tuna, kissed by flame and brushed with a glaze so delicate it could shatter a mortal's will.
Moonlight Soufflé, a dessert so airy it seemed to float in the mouth.
The plates left the kitchen one by one, carried by silent, reverent waiters. Cain didn't need to see the guests' faces to know they were in bliss. He could feel it — the hush, the sighs, the clink of silverware against porcelain.
And yet… his eyes were tired.
When the last dish was served, Cain retreated to his private lounge. He loosened his collar, poured himself a glass of wine, and reached for the battered tablet on the coffee table.
The screen lit up with the familiar cover of his guilty pleasure:
"Chains of the Crimson Lotus" — Volume 327.
A trashy cultivation romance.
A melodrama of betrayal, obsession, and power.
And at its heart… the most pathetic protagonist Cain had ever seen.
Yuzar.
The boy with the potential to be the strongest cultivator in the empire — ruined by his obsession with his own mother.
Not in the innocent, filial way. No. Yuzar loved her like a man loves a woman. And Nyx, his mother, knew it.
Nyx was a villainess of the highest order — beautiful, cunning, and utterly ruthless. She used Yuzar as a pawn in her schemes, dangling affection like a carrot before a starving mule. She whispered promises, gave him fleeting touches, and then, when it suited her, crushed him beneath her heel.
Cain scrolled to the chapter he'd been dreading.
There it was.
The scene.
Nyx, standing in the imperial garden, her lips pressed against the novel's true hero — while Yuzar watched, frozen, his heart shattering.
Cain could almost hear the boy's breath hitch, the sound of his soul breaking.
And then, the inevitable: Yuzar's death.
A meaningless sacrifice for a woman who didn't love him.
Nyx's fleeting regret, gone in a heartbeat as she returned to her quest for power.
Cain closed the tablet with a sigh.
"Pathetic," he muttered. "You had everything. Talent, potential… and you wasted it on someone who never cared. If I were you, I'd—"
The words caught in his throat.
A sharp pain bloomed in his chest.
The wine glass slipped from his fingers, shattering on the floor.
Cain gasped, clutching at his heart. The world tilted, the edges of his vision darkening.
Somewhere, far away, he thought he heard the sizzle of a pan, the hiss of oil — and then nothing.
When he opened his eyes, the ceiling above him was not his own.
It was carved from ivory, inlaid with gold.
Silken curtains framed the bed. The air smelled faintly of incense and… sweat.
Cain sat up — and froze.
His body felt heavy. Bloated. Wrong.
He stumbled to a mirror.
A stranger stared back.
A pale, round face. Greasy hair. A body that must have weighed 190 kilos.
And eyes he recognized from the novel's illustrations.
Yuzar.
Cain's lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile.
"So… this is how it's going to be."