The silence in the mess hall was so profound that the clatter of Aarav's borrowed bowl on the counter sounded like a gong. The cook, a man who'd once proudly served a visiting Core Formation elder without a tremble, was now shaking so badly he could barely hold the ladle. His face was the color of spoiled milk.
Aarav offered him a pleasant, completely genuine smile. The kind you'd give a nervous street vendor.
"Hello there! That all smells amazing. What's the vegetarian option today? And please, no meat. I'm a pacifist." He said this cheerfully, gesturing with a thumb towards the door where Big Bo had just made his dramatic exit. The sheer, blinding contradiction of the statement hung in the air.
The cook's brain short-circuited. Pacifist? Pacifist?! He just turned Big Bo's fist into minced meat without throwing a punch! The man could only nod, a frantic, jerky motion. He wasn't serving food anymore; he was making a votive offering to a capricious god.
With trembling hands, he grabbed the largest bowl he could find. He didn't scoop; he piled. He shoveled in a mountain of gleaming jade rice, its grains plump with spiritual energy. He added double, then triple portions of stir-fried spirit mushrooms, emerald-green snow peas, and glazed lotus roots. His eyes darted to a special locked case. With a key that jangled violently in his grip, he unlocked it and retrieved a single, pulsating pearly fruit—a Moonglow Persimmon, so rare it was usually reserved for the Sect Leader's personal meditation sessions. He placed it reverently on top of the mountain of food like a jewel on a crown.
He slid the overflowing bowl across the counter as if presenting a treasure to an emperor.
Aarav looked down at the feast. His stomach gave another joyous rumble. "Wow. Portions are generous here. How much do I owe you?"
The question, so mundane, so utterly normal, seemed to terrify the cook more than anything else. He shook his head so violently his hat almost flew off. "N-no! No charge, Senior! P-please! It is our honor! Please, enjoy!" He looked like he was about to prostrate himself.
Aarav raised an eyebrow but shrugged. Free food was free food. He'd argue ethics later. "Much obliged," he said with a nod. "The service here is excellent. Five stars."
He turned, bowl in hand, and scanned the hall. Every single disciple immediately dropped their gaze, pretending to be intensely interested in the grain patterns of the wooden tables. Aarav found an empty spot in a relatively quiet corner and sat down.
And then he dug in.
He ate with the focused appreciation of a man who truly valued a good meal. There was no ceremony, no posturing. He was just… eating. The contrast between his casual, almost vulgar enjoyment of the food and the earth-shattering display of power moments before was utterly bizarre to the hundreds of disciples stealing glances at him. They expected him to consume the spiritual energy with some profound, esoteric technique. Instead, he just seemed to be really, really hungry.
He was halfway through the Moonglow Persimmon, savoring its sweet, energy-infused juice, when the atmosphere in the hall changed.
The air grew thick. Heavy. It wasn't a threatening pressure, but a profound one, like the air before a thunderstorm. A deep, resonant silence fell, deeper than before. Every disciple in the room immediately stiffened, placed their utensils down neatly, and bowed their heads low over their tables in unified respect.
Aarav looked up, a piece of persimmon halfway to his mouth. Through the main entrance walked a man.
This was no brash young master or muscle-bound enforcer. This man moved with a natural, effortless grace, his steps silent on the stone floor. He wore robes of simple but exquisite grey silk, his long beard and hair impeccably groomed. His eyes held the depth of centuries, calm and wise, but they also radiated a power so immense it was like standing next to a dormant volcano. This was Elder Zhu.
He had heard the rumors. A mortal, unharmed by Feng's attacks. A spirit sword shattered. Big Bo's fist broken against a face. And now, the epicenter of it all, reportedly sitting in the outer sect mess hall, eating vegetables.
His wise eyes scanned the room and immediately landed on Aarav.
The contrast was so jarring it was almost comical. Elder Zhu, a being of immense spiritual power and gravitas, standing amidst a sea of bowing disciples. And there, in the corner, was a young man in bizarrely torn clothing, chewing on a rare spirit fruit with the simple joy of a child, a plain wooden bow leaning against the table like a walking stick. And emanating from him… nothing. Not a wisp of Qi. Not a hint of cultivation base. It was a void, a perfect, absolute zero.
To Elder Zhu, that void was more terrifying and awe-inspiring than the brightest spiritual aura. Only a being who had transcended the very concept of Qi could achieve such perfect concealment. His suspicions were confirmed. This was no mortal. This was a senior of unimaginable depth.
He approached Aarav's table. The disciples held their breath. This was it. The confrontation between the sect's authority and the mysterious expert.
Elder Zhu stopped a respectful distance away. He did not demand. He did not question. He placed his hands together and gave a slight, but deep, respectful bow from the waist. The gesture sent a ripple of shock through the watching disciples. An Elder, bowing first!
"Esteemed Senior," Elder Zhu's voice was calm and measured, yet it carried to every corner of the silent hall. "I am Elder Zhu of the Flowing Silver Sect. Welcome to our humble establishment. Forgive us for not receiving you with the proper ceremony upon your arrival."
Aarav, his mouth full of persimmon, looked up. He blinked, chewed slowly, and swallowed. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Elder Zhu continued, his tone one of genuine, cautious inquiry. "May I be so bold as to inquire as to your esteemed name and your purpose for gracing our sect with your presence?"
The entire mess hall waited, breathless, for the profound, world-altering proclamation from the hidden expert.
Aarav picked up his bowl and took another large bite of rice. He looked the powerful Elder straight in the eye.
"Aarav," he said, his voice slightly muffled by the food. "Just Aarav. Purpose? Right now, it's lunch." He pointed at his bowl with his chopsticks. "The purpose is pretty delicious, I have to say. You run a good kitchen."
The sound of hundreds of jaws hitting the floor was almost audible.