The heavy wooden gates of the courtyard flew open with a violence that sent splinters flying.
"Lin Ji'an! Get out of here, you mongrel!"
Xie Wangchen's knife paused mid-air. He recognized the voice immediately. Lin Zhaoyu, the Eldest Young Master. The hostility in the shout was thick enough to curdle milk.
Wangchen's eyes flickered to the door. In any other timeline, he would have been terrified. He would be the target.
But today, he just looked at Lin Ji'an. He expected the "Third Young Master" to panic, to hide, or to throw a tantrum.
Instead, Lin Ji'an sighed. A long, weary sigh came from the depths of her soul. She carefully placed a half-folded dumpling on the tray.
"I cannot believe," she muttered, grabbing a heavy, iron-wood soup ladle from the rack, "that these people have no respect for breakfast hours."
She looked at Wangchen. "Stay here. Keep chopping. If the scallions aren't perfect by the time I get back, no lunch for you."
"Yes, Young Master," Wangchen said, his voice flat. He watched as she marched out, the ladle resting on her shoulder like a broadsword. He didn't follow immediately, but moved to the window, peering through the lattice.
This was the Eldest Young Master, a cultivator at the mid-stage of Qi Condensation. Lin Ji'an was known to be a wastrel who just ate and drank without a shred of dignity.
He's going to get killed, Wangchen thought dispassionately. And then I'll be dragged to the East Courtyard.
He gripped the kitchen knife. If Ji'an fell, he would have to fight his way out.
Outside, the courtyard was a scene of chaos. Lin Zhaoyu stood in the center, flanked by four armored guards.
He was a handsome man, in the generic, glossy way of standard cultivation cannon fodder, but his face was twisted in an ugly sneer.
"You have some nerve, Third Brother," Zhaoyu spat, stepping forward. "Beating my steward? Stealing my thief?"
Ji'an stood on the steps of the veranda, looking down at him. She twirled the soup ladle. "Eldest Brother, you're shouting so loud you'll scare the birds. And he's not a thief. He's my kitchen hand. If you want to borrow him, you fill out a requisition form."
"Requisition form?" Zhaoyu blinked, confused by the modern term, before his face reddened. "Stop playing the fool! Hand over the slave, or I'll break your legs and drag him out myself!"
Zhaoyu didn't wait for an answer. He lunged.
As a cultivator, Zhaoyu was fast. His fist, glowing with faint blue Qi, aimed straight for Ji'an's chest. It was a strike meant to shatter ribs.
Xie Wangchen, watching from the window, tensed. It's over.
But then, something impossible happened.
Lin Ji'an didn't use Qi. She didn't use a technique. She simply... stepped to the left.
It was a movement of pure, fluid instinct, the kind of sidestep a veteran chef uses to avoid a falling pot of boiling oil. Zhaoyu's fist punched empty air.
Before Zhaoyu could recover his balance, a blur of wood connected with the back of his head.
THWACK!
The sound was hollow and satisfying, like hitting a ripe melon.
"Argh!" Zhaoyu stumbled forward, clutching his skull. "You—!"
"You left your flank open," Ji'an critiqued, her voice bored. "And your center of gravity is too high. Are you a cultivator or a drunk crane?"
Zhaoyu roared, spinning around to unleash a kick. Ji'an ducked, a smooth, crouching motion, and swept the heavy ladle low, catching Zhaoyu squarely in the shins.
CRACK.
"AHHH!" Zhaoyu crumpled to the ground, howling as he clutched his shinbone.
The guards froze. They stared, open-mouthed. Their master, the genius of the East Courtyard, had just been taken down by the trash Third Young Master... using a soup spoon?
Ji'an didn't stop there. She pounced. Straddling the fallen Heir, she grabbed him by the collar with one hand and raised the ladle with the other.
"You come into my house," Whack! (Shoulder)
"Disrupt my cooking," Whack! (Arm)
"And try to steal my staff?" Whack! (Chest)
"Stop! Stop it! I'm your brother!" Zhaoyu shrieked, covering his face.
"Now we're brothers?" Ji'an sneered, landing one final, stinging blow to his thigh. "Five seconds ago, you were going to break my legs! Get up!"
She stood up and kicked him in the rear. "Get out! And take your ugly guards with you!"
Lin Zhaoyu scrambled backward, dirt and grass staining his expensive silk robes. His hair was a bird's nest, one eye was already swelling, and he was limping.
He looked less like a Young Master and more like a beggar who had lost a fight with a street gang.
"You... you wait!" Zhaoyu screamed, his voice cracking as he retreated to the safety of his guards. "I'm telling Mother! I'm telling Father! You're dead, Lin Ji'an! You're dead!"
He turned and fled, limping as fast as he could, his guards scrambling to keep up.
Ji'an dusted off her hands, checked her ladle for cracks, and snorted. "Tattle-tale."
Inside the kitchen, Xie Wangchen slowly lowered the knife. His dark eyes were wide, fixed on the figure in the courtyard.
He had expected a magical duel. He had expected Lin Ji'an to cheat or use poison. He hadn't expected... that. It was brutal, efficient, and entirely lacking in martial grace. It was a street brawl.
'He has a terrible personality,' Wangchen thought, shaking his head. 'Violent. Unpredictable. No wonder the servants fear him.'
He didn't know that the soul inside was different. To him, this just confirmed that the Third Young Master was a mad dog.
But for the first time, Wangchen realized that being the mad dog's property might be the safest position in the mansion.
The summons came less than an hour later, just as the dumplings were hitting the boiling water.
"Third Young Master," a senior maid said stiffly, standing at the gate but refusing to enter. "Madam Lin requests your presence in the Hall of Virtuous Peace immediately. The General is also there."
Ji'an wiped her hands on her apron, her expression darkening.