The entrance to the underground vault was hidden behind a wall of barrels labeled "Ye Olde Pickled Eggplant." Jia Yun waved her hand, revealing a shimmering rune gate.
Lin Feng stared. "We're breaking into a restricted, ancient culinary vault guarded by immortal traps… for onions."
Jia Yun corrected him. "Spirit Onions. They weep tears of memory and explode when sautéed incorrectly."
Lin Feng looked down at the duck. "If I die, tell Grandpa my last words were: 'Add more garlic.'"
The duck gave a solemn wing salute.
---
The First Trial: The Wasabi Wind Tunnel
As they entered, a blast of green mist swept down the stone corridor.
"Don't breathe," Jia Yun warned.
Lin Feng didn't listen. "Why—ACH! MY SINUSES! MY SOUL!"
The Wasabi Wind Tunnel was designed to test emotional composure. Chefs who failed the trial hallucinated their worst memories—while crying uncontrollably.
Lin Feng fell to his knees, gasping. Visions swirled before him:
—That time he dropped rice pudding on the Elder's robe.
—That time he mistook a lava beetle for a spice pod.
—That time he accidentally served a love confession wrapped in dumplings.
"Nooo…" he sobbed. "I never meant to say 'I love you' in ginger sauce…"
Jia Yun slapped him. "Focus! Channel your inner duck!"
"…What?"
"Unmoving. Emotionless. Feathered."
The duck nodded sagely from behind her, wearing goggles.
Lin Feng stood. Cleansed. Stronger. Slightly teary.
---
Second Trial: The Custard Golem
It stood ten feet tall. Made of ancient custard.
Its face was a frozen swirl of smugness and dessert rage.
"Who dares disturb the pantry of the ancients?" the golem boomed. "Answer me, or be puddinged!"
Lin Feng blinked. "Is that… vanilla bean?"
The golem roared and hurled a blob of steaming custard at him. Lin Feng dodged, barely avoiding a scalding fate.
Jia Yun took a defensive stance. "His weak spot is the brûlée crust on his back. Aim for the caramel!"
Lin Feng drew his divine ladle. "Time to cook, you overcooked flan!"
He struck the floor, sending fire through the tiles, and vaulted into the air. With a midair somersault and a prayer to the gods of breakfast, he slammed the ladle into the custard golem's back.
CRACK.
The crust shattered. The golem wailed. Then melted into harmless dessert.
The duck leapt forward and devoured its remains like a champ.
---
Final Chamber: The Spirit Onion Grove
The grove shimmered with golden fog. Rows of onion stalks stood like sleeping monks. At the center, seated cross-legged on a lotus made of shallots, was The Onion Sage.
He opened one eye.
"You come for my tears."
Lin Feng gulped. "Just one. Maybe two if you're feeling generous."
"Only those who withstand the Sorrowful Stirring Technique may take from this grove," said the Onion Sage.
He floated to his feet, robe billowing like miso smoke.
"Prepare… to sob."
---
Battle of the Sorrowful Stir
The Onion Sage whipped twin blades from his sleeves—both shaped like chef's knives infused with sadness.
Every swing radiated melancholy. Lin Feng found himself remembering every disappointment he'd ever had: burnt rice, rejection letters, losing a cooking spoon to a sewer rat.
"Snap out of it!" Jia Yun yelled.
"I can't!" he cried. "He made me remember the cabbage stew I over-salted in Year Five!"
But then—
QUACK.
The duck leapt in.
A single fiery peck knocked one blade aside. The second peck singed the Onion Sage's sleeve.
"I…" the Sage whispered, blinking. "I… have never been struck by a duck before."
Lin Feng took the opening. He struck the ground and invoked the divine ladle. It absorbed his sorrow, blazed with golden flame, and exploded in a burst of radiant broth energy.
The Onion Sage stumbled back, coughing.
"Well done… flame ladler," he wheezed. "Take the tear. May your soup… bring peace."
He collapsed into a bed of garlic chives and vanished.
---
Victory and Warning
They left the vault, tear in hand—a shimmering orb of liquid emotion. The Spirit Onion Tear pulsed with flavor potential so strong it nearly caramelized Lin Feng's eyebrows.
"We'll use this for the final round," Jia Yun said, sealing it in a crystal jar. "But know this—your actions stirred attention."
"From who?"
"The Culinary Tribunal. And… possibly the Black Apron Sect."
Lin Feng blinked. "Is that a cult?"
Jia Yun stared grimly. "A cult of chefs who believe seasoning is a sin."
Lin Feng shuddered. "Truly… the villains of our age."
---