The tent was too quiet.
Lin Feng knew something was wrong the moment he stepped inside. No burnt feathers. No angry quacks. No duck violently claiming dominance over a pile of stolen turnips.
Just silence.
He frowned and scanned the bedding.
"…Duck?"
Nothing.
Then he saw the note.
"We have the bird. Try anything, and it gets plucked."
Lin Feng stared at the note. Then at the empty nest. Then back at the note.
"…These psychopaths kidnapped a duck."
---
Operation: Bird Heist
Within five minutes, Lin Feng had ransacked his tent, repurposed a spice rack into a weaponized belt, and strapped an emergency fire talisman to his boot.
"Time to channel my inner poultry whisperer," he muttered.
The note had an address—Zone C-11, the outer ring of the tournament grounds. Usually used for garbage disposal and quiet assassination attempts.
As he crept through the alleyways of the cooking village, he spotted a flicker of flame in the distance—duck flame.
Then came the scream.
"ARGHHH—THE BIRD BIT ME!"
---
The Duck Breaks Free
Lin Feng turned the corner and witnessed a glorious sight:
The duck had apparently escaped its captors and was now laying waste to a group of bandit chefs armed with nets and skewers.
One was on fire. Another had chili paste smeared across his face in the shape of defeat.
The duck stood triumphant, wings flared, wreathed in flame, perched on an unconscious attacker.
Lin Feng placed a hand over his heart.
"My son," he whispered. "You've become a warrior."
The duck huffed smugly and strutted back to him, feathers singed but proud.
---
The Mysterious Fryer Returns
Before they could flee, a shadow dropped from the rooftop.
It was the deep-fryer assassin again—face still hidden, fryer still sizzling, this time armed with a double-bladed oil ladle.
"You were warned," the figure hissed.
Lin Feng stepped forward, duck tucked under one arm like a flaming football. "You came after the wrong poultry."
With a flick of his wrist, Lin Feng hurled a pouch of flour into the air and kicked his fire talisman. The flour ignited, blinding the assassin in a burst of white-hot light.
The duck added a flame shot to the groin, just for emphasis.
They ran.
---
An Unexpected Ally
Back in the safety of an abandoned spice cellar, Lin Feng collapsed against a barrel of cumin and caught his breath.
Then a voice from the shadows spoke.
"You have spirit, Lin Feng. And your duck is terrifying."
He jumped. A woman stepped into view—elegant, sharp-eyed, wearing robes embroidered with golden kitchen knives.
"I'm Jia Yun, former Champion of the Hidden Fire Sect."
Lin Feng blinked. "Wait. You're a legend. I read about you in 'Top Ten Cultivators Who Could Also Make a Mean Soup.'"
She nodded. "I came here to find the Divine Ladle's successor. And I believe it's you."
He blinked. "What?"
Jia Yun pulled a scroll from her sleeve and opened it. On it was a drawing of a strange ladle—half-melted, half-ethereal, with an ancient rune on the handle.
Then she handed him his own ladle.
The rune on its base... matched perfectly.
"You've been using it to stir noodles," she said flatly.
"I stir noodles very well," Lin Feng defended.
She ignored him. "That ladle is one of the Seven Legendary Implements of the First Flame. Each has a hidden function—yours can absorb flame and unleash a divine culinary strike."
"…Like a food-based Kamehameha?"
"Exactly."
Lin Feng looked at the duck. The duck nodded solemnly.
"Okay. I'm in."
---
Tournament Notice: Final Round Approaching
As Lin Feng returned to camp, an official scroll fluttered into the sky above the tournament arena:
> FINAL ROUND IN 24 HOURS
Challenge: Forge a dish using a Spirit Ingredient.
Failure may result in disqualification or mild spiritual combustion.
He exhaled. "Spirit Ingredients? Those things are guarded by beasts, trapped in cursed temples, or locked in royal vaults!"
Jia Yun placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Then we better start stealing."
---