The Outer Sect Kitchen, once a desolate wasteland of grease and despair, had transformed into a well-oiled machine of culinary warfare.
"Chop faster!" Lin Ji'an barked, pacing the stone floor like a drill sergeant in an apron. "Steward Fatty! That is not a rhythmic dice-roll motion! That is a chaotic hack! Treat the radish with respect, or the radish will haunt your dreams!"
"Yes, Boss!" The Steward, formerly a blob of laziness, was now a blob of terrified efficiency.
His skin was glowing with health, his cheeks rosy from the high-grade spiritual nutrients in Ji'an's "staff meals," and his knife skills had improved from 'drunken toddler' to 'apprentice chef.'
The other two underlings were sweating profusely as they kneaded dough for the evening's mantou. They were plump, energetic, and completely indoctrinated into the Cult of Lin.
