Morning broke over Ironbone Sect's peaks in bands of pale gold and lavender, the mist rolling through pine branches like drifting silk. On the main courtyard platform, Lin Tian stood with arms folded, his eyes scanning the cluster of disciples arrayed before him.
Dozens had gathered—outer sect disciples in plain gray robes, inner disciples in darker hues. Even a few elders loitered at the edges, curiosity outweighing pride. Banners bearing the sect's insignia—an iron bone coiling like a dragon—hung overhead, fluttering as a breeze rattled the bamboo wind chimes.
Bai Yue practically bounced where he stood. "Senior Lin, look how many showed up! Even Old Chen, who always says cooking is beneath a cultivator!"
Old Chen, a grizzled elder with a beard like a dry broom, crossed his arms and sniffed. "I'm only here because Elder Han threatened to confiscate my wine stash."
Lin Tian ignored the banter. His voice rang clear as a temple bell. "Today, Ironbone Sect begins something new. A path blending cooking and cultivation. This is not merely food—it's medicine, weaponry, defense, and diplomacy."
Several disciples exchanged skeptical glances. One raised his hand. "Senior Lin… is this just fancy food for banquets?"
Lin Tian stepped forward. "No. It's a path of power. With the right ingredients and techniques, you can open meridians, heal inner wounds, and even temper your qi. But this requires skill—and discipline."
He gestured to a long wooden table beside him. Upon it rested several dishes covered with bronze lids. A sharp, spicy aroma wafted from beneath them, making disciples shift and inhale.
"Today," Lin Tian said, "we start with spirit pepper rice."
Bai Yue clapped. "Oh! The spicy one that makes your qi vibrate!"
Old Chen grumbled. "Or your intestines explode."
Lin Tian lifted one bronze lid, revealing steaming rice studded with crimson shards of spirit pepper, each glimmering faintly with a soft inner glow. The smell hit the crowd in a wave—a sweet, fiery fragrance that made eyes water.
He picked up a wooden spoon. "Spirit pepper is viciously hot, but if handled right, it stirs stagnant qi and boosts circulation. It's ideal for cultivators stuck at minor bottlenecks. Who volunteers?"
No one moved. The silence stretched. Then Bai Yue raised his trembling hand. "I'll… try."
Lin Tian handed him a small porcelain bowl. Bai Yue stared into it like a man facing his funeral pyre, then shoveled a single spoonful into his mouth.
At once, color flushed his face. His hair practically stood on end. Tears welled in his eyes. He stomped one foot, gasping.
"Hot!! It's… burning… but… my dantian—it's tingling!"
A ripple of laughter swept the disciples. A few stepped closer, emboldened. Lin Tian waved another spoonful toward the crowd. "Next?"
By the time the sun had climbed high, a line had formed. Disciples sampled small portions, fanning their mouths yet marveling at the effects. One girl pressed her palm to her chest, whispering, "My qi just flowed so smoothly, like water." Another elder declared, "My knees haven't felt this loose in twenty years!"
Lin Tian moved down the line, adjusting doses for each disciple's cultivation stage. He scolded one inner disciple who tried to sneak a double portion. "More is not better. Spirit pepper burns meridians if abused. Moderation is cultivation's first rule."
Old Chen finally shuffled forward, glaring. "If this kills me, I'll haunt you."
He gulped a spoonful—and froze. His eyes watered. His beard seemed to quiver. Then he gave a sudden whoop.
"…My old injury! The one from the Black River battle! It doesn't ache!"
Disciples erupted into chatter. Elder Han, standing behind the crowd, folded his arms, a faint smile playing at his lips.
That afternoon, Lin Tian led a smaller group into the old training hall—a structure of dark beams and cracked tiles where the Ironbone Sect used to conduct sword drills. Now, Lin Tian had cleared space for rows of chopping blocks and counters. Large cauldrons bubbled gently over spirit flames. Spices lay in neat piles: star anise, thunder grass, crimson ginseng, dried wolf's tooth mushroom.
Lin Tian rolled up his sleeves. "Those who wish to join my culinary path, listen well. This is not a soft road. It requires sharp senses, keen knives, and qi control as delicate as a sword technique."
A disciple raised his hand timidly. "Senior Lin… is there a technique manual for cooking?"
Lin Tian's lips twitched. "I'm writing one. For now—watch."
He demonstrated how to julienne snow radish so thin it curled into translucent ribbons. Each stroke of his knife was a flash of silver. He guided the students through spirit oil temperatures, explaining how different levels of heat affected qi resonance in the body.
Bai Yue tried to mimic his motions—and nicked his finger immediately.
"Careful," Lin Tian said, pressing a powder of crushed frostleaf onto the cut. "Frostleaf numbs pain and prevents spirit infections."
Bai Yue sniffled. "Cooking is dangerous…"
"It's cultivation," Lin Tian corrected.
Word spread quickly. By dusk, disciples were gossiping excitedly. One girl whispered that Lin Tian's cooking had cured her chronic fatigue. Another claimed he'd seen a senior's sword aura become clearer after eating a single dish.
Elder Han summoned Lin Tian to the council chamber. The elder's face was half shadowed in lantern light as he spoke. "Lin Tian, you're revolutionizing this sect. But fame draws danger. We've intercepted two letters already—offers from sects wanting to 'hire' you, and one from someone demanding you cease cooking altogether."
Lin Tian arched an eyebrow. "From who?"
Han tapped the table. "Signed: Black Iron Demonic Sect."
Bai Yue, eavesdropping at the door, squeaked. "The… demonic sect wants him to stop cooking?!"
Han muttered, "Apparently, your dishes can interfere with proper demonic cultivation flows.' You're disrupting their dark arts."
Lin Tian considered this. "Good."
Han gave a dry chuckle. "I was hoping you'd say that. But it means we have to prepare. The next few weeks… will be turbulent."
Lin Tian looked him dead in the eye. "Then we build defenses. And we keep cooking."
Over the next days, the sect buzzed with activity. Elder Lu oversaw fortifications around the kitchen halls, placing spirit stones to ward off sneak attacks. Bai Yue patrolled the corridors, brandishing a ladle like a sword.
Lin Tian spent nights drafting new recipes and techniques:
Frost Bloom Soup — for soothing excess fire qi.
Golden Bone Broth — to fortify marrow and bones for body cultivators.
Shadow Lotus Dumplings — rumored to conceal one's aura for brief moments.
He experimented constantly. He discovered that demon beast tendons, properly soaked in lightning-root extract, produced a jelly that could channel qi through blocked meridians. He learned that crushed icefruit essence, when mixed into a glaze, reduced rebound damage from burst techniques.
Bai Yue took diligent notes, eyes shining. "Senior Lin… you're writing a cultivation manual with food!"
Lin Tian wiped sweat from his brow. "That's the goal."
One evening, as a blood-red sunset bled across the Ironbone peaks, Lin Tian carried a tray of newly perfected dishes into Elder Han's study. Han sat behind his desk, poring over letters.
Lin Tian set the tray down. "Try the Shadow Lotus Dumpling."
Han picked it up cautiously. "This isn't going to explode, is it?"
Lin Tian snorted. "Only metaphorically."
Han took a bite—and disappeared.
Bai Yue screamed. "ELDER HAN'S GONE!"
A second later, Han reappeared, blinking. "What… was that? Everything went silent."
Lin Tian smiled. "Shadow Lotus. It bends light and hides one's presence. Lasts three seconds. Perfect for dodging an ambush."
Han leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "Lin Tian… do you realize what this means? You're creating new martial arts—out of food."
Lin Tian's gaze burned with fierce resolve. "Not martial arts. A culinary dao. One day… I'll create a dish that can shatter bottlenecks—and maybe touch immortality itself."
Han stared at him. "And you think no one will try to kill you for that?"
Lin Tian's lips curled. "Let them try. I'll cook them something they'll never forget."
Days turned into weeks. Lin Tian trained disciples in knife skills, ingredient energies, and cultivation theory. Rumors spread faster than wildfire. Merchants brought rare spices, hoping Lin Tian would buy them at high prices. Sects sent polite but veiled threats. And through it all, the Ironbone Sect began transforming from a minor mountain sect into a place people whispered about with awe.
One night, Lin Tian stood alone in the new kitchen hall, staring at a scroll he'd pinned to the wall.
"Culinary Dao Manuscript — Draft 1."
He added a note beneath it:
Food is medicine, a weapon, a shield, and art. But above all, food is freedom.
He set down his brush. The lanternlight flickered. In the shadows outside, a presence shifted. Silent. Watching.
Lin Tian didn't turn. His voice was quiet but sharp as a blade. "You've been lurking for three days. Are you going to keep hiding, or come in and introduce yourself?"
A figure stepped from the shadows—a tall man in a robe black as ink, embroidered with curling silver runes. His eyes glowed faintly crimson. A faint, poisonous scent seemed to cling to him like oil.
"You're Lin Tian," the man said softly. "The chef. The one meddling in powers you shouldn't touch."
Lin Tian slid a cleaver from his belt. "If you're here to threaten me, get in line."
The man ignored the blade. "Your recipes interfere with the balance of dark cultivation paths. Our sect has tolerated your little exhibitions. But we cannot allow you to continue."
Lin Tian raised an eyebrow. "And you think coming alone was wise?"
The man's lips curled. "Alone? Who said I was alone?"
Suddenly, the lantern flames guttered as dozens of black-robed figures poured through the kitchen's side doors, silent as snakes. Blades flashed. Poisonous qi filled the air like drifting fog.
Lin Tian exhaled slowly, planting his feet. His eyes glimmered like twin knife-edges under the trembling lantern glow.
"Good," he murmured. "It's been too long since I tested my cooking… under pressure."
And with that, he lunged forward, cleaver flashing into the first black-robed figure, sparks flying as steel met steel—and the Ironbone Sect's kitchen halls erupted in chaos.