With a target in mind, Dorian finally settled down.
The anticipation still pulsed faintly in his loins, his body responding far too eagerly now that he had allowed himself to consider such mortal pleasures.
Yet it was nothing he could not control.
For someone who had restrained himself for countless trillions of years—denying desire, hunger, and even joy—a few days of waiting was less than a passing thought.
"Here you are, young master Dorian. Please enjoy your meal."
The beautiful attendant returned, bowing deeply.
She had clearly taken the effort to learn about him, for she now addressed him by name, her voice trembling ever so slightly with respect.
Behind her came a procession of a dozen more breathtaking women, each one draped in silk garments of crimson, gold, or white, their delicate hands balancing trays of glittering platters and ornate crystal vessels.
The food shimmered faintly under the pavilion's light, each dish exuding a fragrance that made even veteran cultivators in the room swallow in envy.
It was a spectacle fit for royalty, yet Dorian only offered a faint smile.
"Thank you," he said, his tone light and calm.
The attendants carefully arranged the dishes before him, their movements precise and elegant like dancers on a stage.
As the aromas filled the air, the entire pavilion grew hushed, countless eyes turning toward him.
Some looked on in awe, some in envy, others in concealed fear.
Dorian picked up his chopsticks without ceremony and began eating.
The way he did so—with no hesitation, no testing of the food, no concern for poison—already revealed his confidence and strength.
The cultivators around him murmured among themselves.
"Yup, just as I thought," one patron muttered, keeping his voice low.
"He's no mere mortal. That's a true cultivation expert masking his realm."
Another leaned in, whispering back.
"Exactly. The Jade Nectar Pavilion's food isn't ordinary. Every dish is infused with dense spiritual essence. Even a single sip of that wine would rupture the meridians of a mortal. If he were truly without cultivation, he'd already be a pool of gore on the floor."
A third scoffed but couldn't hide his unease. "You fools don't get it. He's not just suppressing his aura—he's hiding his very existence. I've trained my divine sense for over three hundred years, and I can't sense even a ripple of his cultivation. To me, it's as if I'm staring into a void."
The whispers spread like wildfire, and though none dared to approach him directly, the entire room subtly shifted its focus toward the man in black.
Men watched with suspicion, women with curiosity, and even the staff of the pavilion adjusted their behavior, treating him as if he were a noble sovereign.
Meanwhile, Dorian ate calmly, savoring the food without letting any emotion betray him.
To him, this was simple sustenance—nothing compared to the celestial banquets of the higher realms, where stars themselves were devoured as delicacies.
Yet, there was something novel, something oddly refreshing, about eating among mortals again, hearing their whispers, watching their petty assumptions unfold.
He lifted a cup of luminous wine, its surface shimmering with faint motes of starlight.
He took a single sip, and the liquid slid down his throat like molten gold.
Around him, a dozen cultivators subconsciously straightened, waiting for some reaction—perhaps for his qi to surge wildly, or for his body to falter under the strain of such potent essence.
But Dorian only set the cup down with a faint chuckle.
"Not bad," he said softly.
That simple remark sent another ripple through the crowd.
The attendant closest to him nearly bowed again, her face flushing as though she had been praised personally.
The other women at his side leaned in with subtle admiration, their eyes glowing with fascination.
It was not often that a man who looked both so young and so untouchable appeared within their walls.
"Gulp."
Alvin stood stiffly behind Dorian like a proper servant, but his eyes betrayed him.
The smell alone was enough to make his stomach clench in agony, and the sight of the dishes laid out on the table nearly broke his composure.
Platters of roasted spirit beast meat, glistening fruits infused with qi, and wine that shimmered faintly with golden light—all of it called to him like a devil's whisper.
He hadn't eaten a real meal in days.
That morning he'd only had a single loaf of stale bread with watered-down coffee, and even that had been split with his younger siblings before he rushed out.
Now, faced with food fit for sect elders, the temptation was unbearable.
His lips trembled, his hands fidgeted, and his stomach let out a low growl he prayed no one else had heard.
Dorian, of course, noticed. He didn't miss anything.
"Sit down, Alvin. You need to eat also," Dorian said casually, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Alvin froze. His eyes widened, and then he shook his head furiously.
"N-nope. I'm good, master. I'm not hungry." His voice cracked with fear.
He wasn't stupid. Every child in Azure Cloud City knew the truth—this kind of food wasn't meant for mortals.
Even one bite could rupture a body's meridians, shred the organs, and kill a man in seconds.
Only cultivators could handle such essence-rich meals.
Dorian's expression darkened, his tone sharpening like the edge of a blade.
"Are you disobeying your master's command, Alvin? Is that what I hear?"
Cold sweat drenched Alvin's back. His heart nearly leapt from his chest. He quickly bowed low, his voice trembling.
"Of course not, master! I'll sit down right away."
He lowered himself onto the seat, stiff and pale, as though he were walking to his own execution.
Dorian slid a plate toward him and poured a jug of glowing wine without hesitation.
Then his voice came again, low and commanding:
"Eat."
Alvin swallowed hard. His hands shook as he picked up a piece of roasted spirit beast meat, its juices still sizzling.
He stared at it for a long, painful minute, his mind screaming at him to run.
In the end, he closed his eyes, tears brimming.
"I'm sorry, everyone," Alvin thought.
He saw the faces of his siblings, waiting for him in their shabby little house, and guilt stabbed his chest like a dagger.
"I failed you. This is goodbye."
Crying, he shoved the meat into his mouth.
He chewed once, twice, bracing himself for agony.
He expected his insides to burst, his flesh to peel away, his body to collapse into a useless husk.
But instead—heat surged through him. Not pain, but warmth. Not death, but life.
His stomach burned like fire, yet it didn't destroy him—it strengthened him.
He gasped, opening his eyes wide. He was still alive. More than alive.
The flavors exploded across his tongue—rich, savory, intoxicating.
It was the most delicious thing he had ever eaten in his entire miserable life.
Tears spilled freely down his cheeks as he chewed, both from relief and from the overwhelming taste.
He dared a glance at Dorian.
His master simply looked at him with calm indifference, as if silently commanding him to continue.
Alvin's hands moved on their own, and before long he had devoured the entire platter.
His body felt like it was on fire, heat rushing through his veins, but the sensation wasn't painful. It was powerful.
He could feel his limbs grow lighter, his breathing stronger, his senses sharper.
"Hmmm…" Alvin moaned softly as he licked the last traces of oil from his lips. His eyes shone with disbelief.
"I—I'm still alive…"
Dorian's voice came again, firm and unyielding.
"Eat some more. I don't want a weak servant following me around."
"Yes, master!" Alvin cried, his voice breaking as fresh tears fell.
He reached for more food, eating with reckless abandon, crying and smiling all at once.
"Thank you, Master Dorian!" His words shook with sincerity.
"I—I can't remember the last time anyone treated me this kindly."
And so he ate. And ate.
Each bite was like heaven, and with each swallow he could feel something deep inside him stir—a faint spark that had never existed before.
***
Dorian and his servant Alvin lingered inside the Jade Nectar Pavilion for nearly three hours.
By the time they finally stepped out, the sun had already shifted past its zenith—it was well into the second hour of noon.
"Thank you, young master Dorian. Please have a great day ahead," the attendant said sweetly, bowing low.
Her smile shone even brighter than before, for when she returned to clear their table she found what Dorian had left behind—a heavy bag of spirit stones.
The weight alone told her it was more than double the cost of their feast.
It was enough to make her sect's monthly profits look paltry.
Dorian merely nodded, as though it was nothing worth mentioning, and left the pavilion with Alvin in tow.
He moved unhurriedly through the bustling streets, his presence alone parting crowds without effort.
His next destination was clear—he wanted a place to settle.
Since fate had drawn him here, to Azure Cloud City, he would make it his temporary home.
An hour later, after a casual purchase that would have ruined most families for generations, Dorian stood inside a private courtyard.
Its size was vast, its walls high, and the lush garden within gave off a serene atmosphere.
For others, acquiring such a place would have required favors, connections, and long negotiations with the city lord's estate.
For Dorian, it was as simple as pointing to what he liked and tossing down payment without a second thought.
As they entered, Dorian moved toward his chambers, intent on resting after the indulgent meal.
Yet just before stepping inside, his eyes flicked to Alvin.
The young man seemed restless, as though words sat heavy on his tongue but refused to come out.
Dorian stopped, his gaze sharp yet not unkind.
"Spit it out before I go to sleep," Dorian said, his lips curling faintly into a smile.
"If not, whatever troubles you have will wait until morning."
Alvin's body stiffened, but the chance was too precious to waste.
He scratched his head awkwardly, his voice nervous and uneven.
"It's like this, master… I—I have two younger brothers and one sister. They… they have no place to go. Could they also stay with me here?"
He winced as though expecting a scolding, even bracing himself for anger. But instead of fury, Dorian simply raised one finger.
"One hour," Dorian said calmly. "You have one hour to bring them here."
Alvin blinked, stunned. For a moment, he thought he had misheard.
But when the weight of his master's words sank in, his legs nearly gave way beneath him.
He bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the floor, his voice cracking with emotion. "Thank you, master! Thank you!"
Tears pricked his eyes. He couldn't believe that his master was this kind, this generous.
To him, it felt like a dream.
He even pinched his thigh until it hurt just to make sure he hadn't fallen into a fantasy.
The pain told him this was real.
"Go," Dorian reminded him, his tone light but final.
"Yes!" Alvin shouted, his voice ringing with both urgency and joy.
He bolted from the courtyard, hailing a carriage as fast as he could.
Within forty-five minutes, he returned.
Following behind him were two smaller boys, both about ten years of age, and one tiny girl no older than five.
Their clothes were patched and worn, their faces dirty, but their eyes shone with a light that poverty had not yet extinguished.
It was obvious at a glance that they weren't related by blood—too many differences in their features betrayed it.
But Alvin had taken them in anyway, sheltering them as best he could.
They reminded him too much of himself—lost, abandoned, and desperate—when he had been their age.
Dorian's gaze fell upon the little girl. Unlike the boys, she walked silently, her small hand clutching the hem of Alvin's robe.
Her big, clear eyes stared at Dorian with an odd intensity, far beyond her years.
"Interesting…" Dorian murmured softly.
His voice was low, almost absentminded, but it carried.
The little girl's head tilted upward. She had heard him clearly.
Their eyes met, and in that instant, a faint ripple seemed to pass between them.