The courtyard had not emptied.
Even after Yun Kai stormed away, his robes whipping like flames and his entourage trailing like beaten dogs, the crowd lingered.
Disciples whispered furiously, voices crashing like waves, some trembling with awe, others tight with fear, a few with naked hunger burning in their eyes.
"He made Yun Kai eat…"
"Even Luo Feng—his arrogance melted!"
"Is the Cooking Dao… truly real?"
The Stove pulsed warm beside me. Spirit Flame licked high, silver sparks climbing like stars, casting shadows of cauldrons and heavenly kitchens across the courtyard stones.
The System's voice rang like a bronze bell inside my chest.
> [Quest Progress: 72/100 disciples fed. Time remaining: 3 days.]
Three days. Twenty-eight left.
The number throbbed through my bones like destiny itself.
---
By dawn, the whispers had spread to every corner of Falling Cloud Sect.
Servants carried tales between chores, their voices darting through alleys like sparrows. Outer disciples muttered in the training fields, sparring with eyes fixed not on swords but on the kitchens.
Even inner court elites frowned as rumors reached them in meditation halls.
"The stove-boy fed seventy-two already."
"They say his bowls stabilize meridians better than pills."
"Impossible—food is mortal."
"Then why are so many going?"
"…Perhaps I should see for myself."
The kitchens, once a forgotten shack at the edge of the sect, had become its heart.
---
That morning, they came in droves.
Some hid their faces beneath hoods, ashamed to be seen. Others strode boldly, throwing spirit coins onto my counter as if to prove they had no fear.
A boy with trembling hands whispered, "Please… my wound hasn't healed in months."
A girl in silk sneered, "If this is real, feed me. I'll expose you otherwise."
An elder servant pressed his palms together, voice low, "One bowl, Master Ren, just one."
I cooked.
Simple porridge—yet fragrant as clouds.
Rice steamed into pearls. Broth bubbled into gold. Steam rose like prayer.
They ate. And the courtyard shook with reaction.
---
The sneering girl's lips trembled. Her qi stirred, a bottleneck loosening. She dropped her bowl, cheeks flushed red as if she had been slapped.
The boy gasped, his wound easing. Tears streaked his face. He clutched my sleeve, whispering thanks through sobs.
The servant wept openly, forehead pressed to the ground. "Master Ren," he whispered again and again.
A burly disciple mocked me as he lifted his bowl—but the moment flavor touched his tongue, his laughter strangled into silence. His dantian pulsed, qi flow suddenly smooth. He swallowed with shaking hands, eyes wide.
Another disciple sneered at him: "See? Trickery!" Yet when he took a bite, he nearly fell over, gripping his chest as fatigue drained away.
One by one, bowls became truth.
The crowd roared.
---
The System chimed again.
> [Quest Progress: 84/100 disciples fed. Time remaining: 3 days.]
Sixteen left.
The number blazed brighter, each bowl another step toward destiny.
---
But not every gaze in the courtyard was friendly.
From the shadows beneath the eaves, the Elder's stewards watched, eyes sharp as knives.
"This is spreading too fast," one muttered, voice tight.
"Already eighty-four! By tomorrow he will finish."
"If the Inner Court hears first, the Elder loses face."
Another scowled. "Then we report tonight. The Elder must act."
A third hesitated. "What if the Stove exposes us again? Like the poison?"
The first sneered. "Then we silence him before the flame grows higher."
They vanished, their whispers leaving frost behind.
---
By evening, the Stove still burned. Bowls clinked, disciples shuffled in and out, servants carried whispers like wildfire.
Then silence fell again.
An Elder stepped through the courtyard.
His robe was plain, unadorned—but his presence pressed like a storm. His gaze cut sharp as frost.
Elder Zhao, steward of the outer sect.
The crowd parted instantly. Disciples bowed low. Servants dropped to their knees. Even Yun Kai's lackeys fled into the throng.
"Ren," Elder Zhao said coldly. His voice cracked like old wood. "Enough."
The word struck like thunder.
---
He stepped closer, eyes narrowed on the Stove. "Food belongs to mortals. You shame the sect with this circus. Heaven does not smile on kitchens. It is time you remembered your place."
Murmurs swept the courtyard.
"Elder Zhao himself…"
"He'll end it now…"
"The cook is finished…"
---
I bowed slightly. My hands did not tremble.
"My place," I said softly, "is at the Stove."
Gasps tore through the crowd.
---
Elder Zhao's gaze sharpened. His sleeve flicked.
A disciple limped forward, his sleeve soaked crimson. His face was pale, lips drawn tight. The wound stank of corruption, qi tangled, bones cracked.
"Heal him," Elder Zhao commanded. "If your Stove is Dao, prove it now. If you fail, I end this farce tonight."
The disciple trembled, sweat dripping down his chin.
The crowd hissed with whispers.
"He'll fail…"
"No food can heal that…"
"This is the end…"
---
I closed my eyes.
The Stove pulsed. Flame rose steady, silver runes glowing faint beneath its iron body.
I laid marrow bones into the pot. They hissed, smoke curling dark and deep. Herbs followed—bitter leaves, dried roots, stale salt. The flame shifted silver-blue, each lick weaving patterns of light.
The broth bubbled, low and steady, like a heartbeat. Steam lifted, not sweet this time but sharp, clean, cutting like spring wind after rain.
Faces leaned forward, breath caught. Even Elder Zhao's eyes narrowed.
---
I ladled a bowl, steam rising in silver curls. I slid it across the counter.
"Drink."
The disciple trembled, eyes flicking to Elder Zhao. The Elder gave one curt nod.
He drank.
---
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then the wound hissed.
Black smoke burst from his sleeve, corruption seeping out. His bones cracked audibly, knitting back together. Qi surged through his meridians, once tangled, now flowing clear. His face flushed red, then eased into calm.
He gasped, staring at his arm. "It's… healed…"
The courtyard exploded.
"He healed him!"
"Food cannot—!"
"Yet it did!"
---
The System chimed.
> [Ding! Dish Cooked: Purging Broth (1★)]
✦ Effect: Cleanses corruption, mends bone fractures
✦ Bowl Points +20
✦ Quest Progress: 85/100 disciples fed
---
But Elder Zhao's face did not soften.
"You prove nothing," he said, voice like frost. "Miracles do not last. The sect is not a kitchen. Do not forget—Heaven does not bless cooks. When your flame falters, no bowl will protect you."
He turned, robes snapping, and left.
But the silence he left behind was heavier than stone.
---
The crowd burst into furious whispers.
"He cannot deny it…"
"The Elder himself saw…"
"But he still threatens him…"
Some disciples stared at me with awe. Others with fear. A few with hunger so sharp it was dangerous.
The Stove pulsed steady, flame silver and calm.
The System whispered once more:
> [Quest Progress: 85/100 disciples fed. Time remaining: 2 days.]
Fifteen left.
---
I touched the Stove's iron, voice low.
"They can threaten. They can sneer. But tomorrow… tomorrow, I'll finish this."
The Stove roared, silver sparks rising into the night, throwing long shadows like blades.
And in the darkness, Yun Kai's hatred burned hotter still, his whispers promising vengeance.
---