John dragged the two heavy boxes all the way to his front door.
Sweat dripped down his back, his arms ached, but inside he felt oddly exhilarated.
"Thanks, Henry. Thanks to all those hours of reading webnovels," he thought, lips curving into a grin, even though only the long shadows behind him stretched across the tiled ground.
From the yard came the soft whoosh of wings cutting the wind.
John lifted his head, eyes lighting up.
Little Fire circled overhead, crimson wings beating with steady rhythm. Its flight path was straighter, it held itself in the air longer.
Clearly it had been training hard while he was gone.
"Good job…" John breathed, heart loosening with relief.
Sensing its master, Little Fire swooped down and landed neatly on his shoulder.
Its beak tilted high, red eyes shimmering, practically shouting: Praise me.
John laughed, tapping its head with a finger. "Well done. You've improved."
At once, Little Fire puffed its chest and stretched its neck, strutting like a general returning from victory.
John briefly thought of those "neighbor's kids" Asian moms always brag about, then dismissed it.
Because honestly, there wasn't a single "neighbor's chicken" out there better than his.
He chuckled at himself. "Damn talent…"
He pushed the door open and lugged the boxes onto the kitchen counter. The blade flashed as he pulled out a knife.
Steel cut through goblin meat with a wet sound. Blue-green blood oozed out, stinking so bad it filled the whole kitchen with the taste of punishment.
John chopped it into smaller pieces and arranged them on a plate.
Little Fire stood nearby, eyes wide, neck shrinking back, one hesitant step retreating.
"Cuc?"
Clear as day: You serious?
John set the plate down, gave a single nod, and turned away like he didn't care.
Little Fire hesitated, pecked one piece.
The moment it touched its tongue, its eyes rolled wide, body stiff as stone.
Utter despair spread across its face, like the trauma of Flame Bird jerky came flooding back.
It trembled, wings drooping, eyes blank.
John cleared his throat, voice suddenly firm.
"Little Fire."
It lifted its head, red eyes shimmering, about to cry.
John crossed his arms, gaze blazing. And began.
"Remember your mission! Eat a piece of green meat today, tomorrow you'll soar higher than anyone else!"
"Cuc!" Little Fire spun around, sulking.
John didn't stop, pointing straight at it.
"Line two: The meat stinks, but your spirit has to smell sweet! Bitter for a moment, sweet for a lifetime!"
Little Fire flared, spitting a tiny spark at the plate.
John leaned aside, voice still sharp.
"Line three: The weak burn away their hardships, the strong swallow them and digest!"
The chicken flopped onto the floor, legs sticking up, playing dead.
John clicked his tongue.
"Line four: A legendary bird never collapses before it finishes a meal."
It yawned wide, hopped up onto the counter, looking down with disdain.
John raised his arms to the ceiling.
"Line five: You can yawn at life, but never yawn at your dreams!"
"Cuc-cuc-cuc!" Little Fire shrieked, like it was arguing.
John slammed the table.
"Line six: The louder you yell, the more strength I know you still have to swallow!"
It turned its head away, pretending not to hear.
John lifted a chunk of meat high, eyes blazing.
"Line seven: Pain is seasoning. Without this stink, victory would taste bland."
Little Fire shivered, butt turned stubbornly, as if declaring hunger strike.
John narrowed his eyes, voice dropping like iron.
"Line eight: You can turn your back on the plate, but never on your destiny."
The chicken leapt onto John's head, pecking his hair in rapid bursts.
He winced but kept his rhythm.
"Line nine: You can peck my hair, but you can't peck away your own future!"
He pulled it off and set it back down in front of the plate.
It blinked wetly, eyes brimming.
John's tone cut sharp.
"Line ten: Tears won't grow wings. Only green meat will."
Little Fire jolted, throat bobbing in a dry swallow, panic flickering in its gaze.
John stepped in, voice pounding like a drum.
"Line eleven: Swallow!"
"Line twelve: Swallow more!"
"Line thirteen: Swallow till the world looks up at you!"
Little Fire's eyes widened, neck stretching, wings spreading wide.
John burst out laughing, throwing a hand.
"Line fourteen: Eating is training! Line fifteen: Training is flying! Line sixteen: Flying is legend!"
The bird puffed itself proud again, then pretended indifference, scratching its wing.
John shot back instantly.
"Line seventeen: You can fake indifference, but destiny never fakes with you!"
"Cuc cuc!" Little Fire stomped hard on the counter.
John slammed his palm down.
"Line eighteen: Stomping won't win battles. Stepping forward is progress!"
The bird hissed, as if cursing.
John pointed a finger, each word clipped.
"Line nineteen: Swearing at fate is easy. Swallowing it is hard."
Little Fire froze, eyes dazed, like caught in a spell.
John didn't pause.
"Line twenty: You are the strongest chicken on this planet, so you better eat like it!"
It trembled, wings folding tight, a faint spark flashing in its eyes.
John sucked in a breath, then roared like thunder.
"Three hundred lines of motivation… have only just begun!"
He pointed straight at Little Fire.
The kitchen light poured down, stretching his shadow huge across the wall, making him look like some holy preacher unveiling the path of cultivation… to a chicken.
"Line one: The weak peck grains, the strong gulp goblins!"
"Line two: The stink fades in your nose, the glory stays in your heart!"
"Line three: You're not some farm chicken, you're a legendary chicken, and legends don't fear green!"
Little Fire blinked, dazed, then screeched "Cuc cuc!" in protest, wings flapping wildly, scattering the plate.
John banged the table like a drum, voice firing like a machine gun.
"Line four: Flapping won't fill your belly, only swallowing makes your feathers blaze brighter!"
"Line five: You can curse me with 'cuc,' but destiny will answer with 'legend!'"
Little Fire's eyes rolled and it flopped down, pretending to faint.
John smirked, bent close, hissing in its ear.
"Line six: A legendary bird never fakes death before dinner."
It cracked one eye open, saw John wasn't stopping, and leapt up to the top shelf, back turned in defiance.
John's finger jabbed skyward, eyes on fire.
"Line seven: You can turn away from me, but never from your dream."
"Line eight: Turn your back on a dream, and tomorrow you'll turn… on the roasting spit."
Little Fire jolted, beak gaping as if to cry out: Cruel!!!
John pressed harder, words like bullets.
"Line nine: Screaming just burns calories. Eating burns destiny."
"Line ten: Today's green meat is raw jade, tomorrow you'll be a blazing diamond."
The chicken shook, rolling across the shelf like possessed, wings thrashing.
John jabbed at it.
"Line eleven: Roll all you want, in the end you'll stand up and eat."
"Line twelve: The strong don't ask 'is it tasty,' they ask 'how many kilos?'"
"Line thirteen: No one remembers what a chicken ate, but everyone remembers what it conquered."
"Line fourteen: Want your name in history? First, get it on a supermarket receipt."
Little Fire gaped, eyes wet, staring at the meat like it was its father's killer.
John sneered, slamming the table.
"Line fifteen: Hatred won't grow wings. Protein will."
"Line sixteen: Hate the meat if you must, but love the results."
"Line seventeen: Quit today, and tomorrow the neighbor's cat eats in your place."
At the word "cat," Little Fire bristled, red eyes flaring.
John pounced on the chance.
"Line eighteen: That's right! Eat so you live, eat so cats starve!"
"Line nineteen: One goblin bite, one step closer to the throne!"
"Line twenty: The world will bow to you, if you bow to this plate!"
Little Fire shivered, crept toward the plate, then spun and bolted around the kitchen.
John chased, shouting all the while.
"Line twenty-one: You can't outrun me, or fate!"
"Line twenty-two: You can fly out of the kitchen, but not out of an empty stomach!"
"Line twenty-three: You don't eat for taste, you eat for duty!"
"Line twenty-four: Your duty isn't to be a chicken. It's to be a legendary chicken!"
Little Fire slowed, panting, neck stretched, eyes glazed.
John caught up, placed a hand on its wing, voice low and steady.
"Line twenty-five: Legends don't pant from running. They pant from battle."
"Line twenty-six: You're fighting your own mouth right now."
"Line twenty-seven: If your mouth wins, your life loses. If the plate wins, you win."
The bird gaped, breathing hard, gaze pleading.
John pressed harder.
"Line twenty-eight: Don't beg anyone to save you. Legends save themselves by finishing the plate."
"Line twenty-nine: This meat is the test. Pass it, you're divine. Run from it, you're roast."
"Line thirty: Which will you be, god or barbecue?"
Little Fire froze, eyes stabbed deep by the truth.
It looked at the plate. Then at John. Then back at the plate.
John's lips curled into a grin, torchlight burning in his gaze.
"Line thirty-one: That first bite is the hardest. But you'll do it."
"Line thirty-two: Don't forget, behind you is me. Ahead of you is the sky."
"Line thirty-three: Swallow, Little Fire! So tomorrow, when you stand on the peak, you can crow 'cuc' loud enough for ten miles!"
Little Fire screamed "Cuuuuuc!" its neck vibrating.
It bent down, beak trembling, and snapped up another piece of green meat.
John pumped a fist, shouting like thunder.
"That's it! One bite leads to two! Two to three! Three to legend!"
"Line thirty-four: Turn this meal into your coronation!"
"Line thirty-five: Turn stink into relic!"
"Line thirty-six: So you're not just Little Fire… you're Eternal Flame!"
The tiny kitchen rang with John's words, pouring like a flood, filling every corner.
Little Fire ate piece by piece, wincing each time, trembling each time, but under the storm of motivation, it kept going.
The plate of green meat slowly emptied.
John's eyes shone, voice rising louder, fiercer, words crashing like lightning.
"Three hundred lines of motivation… we're nowhere near done!"
His roar shook the kitchen, burning in the reflection of Little Fire's crimson eyes.