Bing combed Youran's long, ink-black hair high onto her head, securing it with a simple jade guan.When Bing stepped back, the transformation was complete.
Standing there was a handsome, albeit frail, young nobleman. A "Little White Face," as the commoners would say. Beautiful, effeminate, and seemingly harmless.
Youran adjusted her sleeves, testing the range of motion. Acceptable.
She walked to the window and pushed it open. The fresh air hit her face. She looked out at the courtyard, the weeds growing in the cracks of the stone, the peeling paint on the pillars.
It was the residence of an unwanted child, a "Young Master" the family was waiting to die.
A smirk touched her lips. It wasn't a nice smirk. It was the kind of expression a dragon makes before burning a village, or in her case, before deciding to ignore the village entirely.
"So," Youran said, turning back to the room.
The intense, crushing aura she had briefly released was fully contained now, but she still carried herself with a lazy, predatory grace that made the room feel smaller.
She rubbed her flat stomach. The cosmic hunger of the void was gone, replaced by the sharp, gnawing hunger of a teenage metabolism that hadn't eaten in three days.
"Bing."
"Yes, Young Master?" The maid stood at attention, holding the basin like a shield.
Youran's eyes gleamed.
"I don't care about the family elders. I don't care about the inheritance. And I certainly don't care about whatever plot my stepmother is cooking up this morning."
She walked toward the door, her steps silent and sure.
"What I care about is breakfast. Tell the kitchen I want a roasted chicken. Two bowls of congee with pork. And pickled radishes. If they say no..."
Youran paused at the threshold, looking back at Bing. The shadows in the room seemed to stretch toward her, twisting into shapes that looked suspiciously like claws.
"...tell them that if I have to come down there myself, I will use the Head Chef as a wok."
Bing's eyes widened. She had never heard her Young Master speak like this. It was... terrifying. But also, strangely thrilling.
"Y-yes! Right away, Young Master!"
As Bing scrambled off to deliver the impossible order to the hostile kitchens, Lu Youran stepped out into the sunlight of her old, new life. She stretched her arms, hearing her spine crack.
"System," she whispered to the air.
Ding!
[SYSTEM IS ONLINE.]
"Mark the location of the nearest comfortable chair. And mute all notifications regarding 'Destiny', 'Revenge', or 'Saving the World'."
[COMMAND ACCEPTED. WELCOME HOME, HOST.]
Lu Youran smiled lazily. The retirement life had begun. First, breakfast. Then, a nap. And if the world tried to get in her way?
Well, she had thousands of ways to make the world regret it.
***
The Lu Manor's kitchens were a world unto themselves, a steaming, chaotic fortress of culinary warfare located in the eastern wing.
It was a place of roaring fires, clanging iron woks, and the heavy, rich aroma of Spirit Rice and medicinal herbs simmering in bone broth.
For Bing, however, it was the jaws of a beast.
The young maid clutched the wooden food box to her chest, her knuckles white. She was a mortal, possessing no spirit root and no cultivation.
In a world where even the scullery maids knew a basic breathing technique to increase their strength for scrubbing pots, Bing was the lowest of the low.
She was only allowed to stay because she belonged to the "Waste of the West Courtyard," Lu Youran.
She stepped into the humid heat of the kitchen.
"Excuse me," Bing's voice was small, barely audible over the roar of the fires. "I… I am here for the Third Young Master's breakfast."
The bustle of the kitchen didn't stop, but the atmosphere shifted. It became sharper. Meaner.
A large woman in an apron that was stained with grease and soot turned slowly. This was Auntie Cui, a servant of the First Madam.
She had a cultivation of Qi Condensation Level 2, pathetic by the standards of the masters, but enough to crush a girl like Bing with one hand.
Cui wiped her hands on a rag and sneered. "Breakfast? For the Invalid?"
"He… Young Master is awake," Bing stammered, trying to stand tall like Youran had commanded. "He requested roast chicken. And congee with pork. And pickled radishes."
The kitchen went silent. Then, laughter erupted. It wasn't joyful laughter; it was the barking, mocking sound of hyenas.
"Roast chicken?" Cui scoffed, stepping closer. The air around her grew heavy, a crude application of spiritual pressure that made Bing's knees buckle.
"The Third Young Master has been asleep for three days. He hasn't contributed a single copper coin to the clan in years. And he wants Spirit Chicken? Do you know how much a Spirit Chicken costs, you stupid girl?"
"It is his right!" Bing cried out, fear giving way to a desperate loyalty. "He is a direct descendant of the Lu Family! The rules say—"
Slap!
The sound was crisp and brutal. Cui didn't use her full strength, or Bing's head would have come off, but the backhand sent the small maid sprawling onto the stone floor. The food box clattered away, its lid spinning.
Bing tasted copper. Her cheek burned like fire.
"Rules?" Cui spat on the floor next to Bing. "The rules are for people who matter. The First Madam said the kitchens are tight on resources. The Spirit Chickens are for the Eldest Young Miss and the Second Young Master, who are actually preparing for the Academy exams. We can't waste spiritual energy on a dying ember."
Cui kicked a bucket toward Bing. It sloshed with a grey, watery gruel that smelled faintly of burnt rice and dishwater.
"There. That's plenty nutritious. Take it and get out, before I break your legs and tell the steward you slipped."
Bing trembled, tears welling in her eyes. She wasn't crying for the pain; she was crying because she had failed.