Long Wei didn't stop at one plate. The hunger in his gut was like a black hole, and the Monster Qi was demanding more tribute. He turned back to the stove, ignored the whimpering cooks, and grabbed every slab of Iron-Hide Boar and "low-grade" fatty ribs he could find.
(If I'm going to do this, I'm going to do it right.)
He moved like a whirlwind. Clang. Sizzle. Whoosh. Ten more woks hit the heat. He was tossing spices, crushing garlic with the flat of his blade, and glazing meat with a mixture of honey and that stinging pepper oil. The aroma didn't just stay in the kitchen anymore; it billowed out into the dining hall like a physical force. It was thick, savory, and so aggressive it made the disciples outside stop eating their bland porridge entirely.
(Sigh... I guess I'll let them taste some so they can actually learn to cook for me. I can't be the only one in this sect who knows what salt is.)
He looked at the junior cooks who were still huddled in the corner, staring at him with a mix of terror and hunger.
"You there," Long Wei barked, pointing his spatula at a scrawny kid who looked like he was about to faint. "Come here. Try this."
The kid shook as he approached, taking a small piece of the charred, glistening meat with trembling fingers. The moment it hit his tongue, his eyes rolled back in his head.
"Young Master... it's... it's like a fire in my soul! The flavor is... I've never tasted anything so alive!"
Long Wei smirked. He grabbed a massive tray, loaded all ten steaming dishes onto it, and kicked the kitchen doors open. He walked back into the dining hall, the steam rising from the plates like a dark, delicious cloud.
The disciples fell silent as he slammed the tray onto a central table. The smell was intoxicating, a direct challenge to the "pure" lifestyle of the Azure Sect.
"Listen up!" Long Wei shouted, his voice echoing. "From now on, this is what real food looks like. If I see anyone eating that tasteless grass, I'll assume you have the palate of a peasant."
He sat down and began to feast, but he noticed a group of outer disciples staring at the tray, their mouths literally watering. They looked like they hadn't had a real meal in years.
"What are you looking at?" Long Wei grumbled, tossing a rib at the nearest one. "Eat. Then go tell the chefs exactly how it tasted. If they don't replicate it by tomorrow, I'm taking it out of their hides."
The hall erupted. Disciples scrambled for the leftovers, fighting over the scraps of spicy monster meat as if it were top-tier spirit medicine. For the first time in history, the "Azure Failure" wasn't being mocked—he was being followed.
(This is more like it. A full stomach and a room full of people who finally know who's boss.)
But as he took a final bite, the heavy doors at the end of the hall swung open. His father, Long Chen, stood there with his arms crossed, his face unreadable.
Long Chen marched toward the central table, his boots thumping against the stone floor. Every disciple in the hall scrambled to their feet, bowing so low they practically did a headstand. The air grew heavy with the pressure of a Great Elder's Qi.
Long Wei froze with a rib halfway to his mouth.
(Ah fuck. Shit. I'm fucked. Goodbye, noble lifestyle. Hello, spirit beast stables.)
He looked at his father's unreadable face, expecting a lecture on "purity" or a physical beating for breaking every culinary rule in the sect. Long Chen looked at the grease on the table, then at the charred, spicy mountain of meat. He leaned down, his nose twitching as the aggressive, salty aroma hit him.
"You made this?" Long Chen asked, his voice low and dangerous.
(What the fuck. Is he going to kill me for using monster meat?)
"Yes, Father," Long Wei muttered, dropping the rib and wiping his hands on his expensive robes.
Long Chen didn't yell. He didn't pull out a cane. Instead, he pulled out a chair, sat down heavily, and stared at the empty plates. He looked at the junior disciples who were still licking their fingers in the corners.
"Cook for me. Now," Long Chen commanded.
(What the fuck! I'm your son, not your personal chef! I just transmigrated and now I'm a line cook?)
Long Wei opened his mouth to protest, but the sharp, cold glint in his father's eyes told him that "No" wasn't an option if he wanted to keep his head. The Monster Qi in his gut gave a little shiver of excitement, sensing the challenge.
"Yes, Father," Long Wei said, standing up and heading back toward the kitchen.
He walked back into the kitchen where Master Bao and the others were still shaking. Long Wei grabbed the biggest, fattest cut of Iron-Hide Boar left in the larder. He didn't just use salt and peppers this time. He grabbed a jar of aged plum wine, more of those fermented beans, and a handful of star-shaped spices that smelled like licorice and death.
The kitchen transformed into a war zone again. The flames roared higher than before, reflecting in Long Wei's slightly violet eyes. He wasn't just cooking; he was pouring his frustration into the pan.
He returned ten minutes later with a single steaming plate. The meat was glazed in a dark, sticky sauce that shimmered like obsidian, garnished with a handful of raw, sliced peppers that looked like rubies. He slammed it down in front of the Great Elder.
Long Chen picked up his silver chopsticks. He took a piece, studied the glistening fat for a second, and put it in his mouth.
The hall held its breath. Long Chen's eyes widened. A vein in his forehead pulsed. His aura flared for a split second, snapping a nearby wooden stool in half from the sheer sensory overload. He chewed slowly, his face turning a slight shade of pink from the heat.
"This..." Long Chen whispered, finally swallowing. "This has impurities. It is violent. It is unrefined."
He looked up at Long Wei, and for the first time, there wasn't disappointment in his eyes. There was a weird, terrifying spark of hunger.
"Make another. And tell the servants to bring the high-grade liquor. We are staying here tonight."
(Wait. Did I just accidentally become the favorite son because I know how to fry a pig?)