"Is he... okay?" one girl whispered, her eyes tracking Long Wei as he shoveled bland rice into his mouth like a man possessed.
"Maybe he finally lost his mind since he can't cultivate," a guy nearby sneered, leaning back with a smug grin. "The 'Azure Failure' is probably eating his feelings before Father kicks him out."
Long Wei slammed his chopsticks down with a crack that silenced the immediate area. The blandness was insulting. It was like eating wet paper. His Monster Qi was buzzing, a restless, jagged hunger demanding something with actual flavor, something with a kick that matched the violence in his veins.
He stood up, grabbed his half-empty bowl, and marched straight toward the heavy double doors of the kitchen.
The head chef, a stout man with a scarred face named Master Bao, nearly dropped his cleaver. The junior cooks froze in pure horror. To them, Long Wei was a ruthless, spoiled brat who had once thrown a servant into the koi pond just for bringing him lukewarm tea.
"Y-Young Master Wei!" Master Bao stuttered, bowing so low his forehead hit the prep table with a thud. "Is the food not to your liking? We can prepare a new—"
"Get out of the way," Long Wei grumbled, pushing past the trembling man.
He scanned the pantry. It was pathetic. Most of the food was "Spirit Food"—light, airy grains and blanched lotus roots designed to be easy on the meridians. It was "clean" eating for cultivators who wanted to stay pure. To Long Wei, it looked like birdseed for cowards.
(I need fat. I need salt. I need heat.)
His eyes landed on a dark, neglected corner of the larder. There, hanging from a hook, was a slab of Iron-Hide Boar meat—a low-level monster meat usually reserved for the guard dogs because it was too "tough" and "unrefined" for delicate human palates. He grabbed a heavy iron wok and slammed it onto the high-heat spirit stone stove.
The cooks watched in absolute silence, trembling. They were certain they were going to be executed for "insulting" his royal palate.
Long Wei didn't care. He grabbed a cleaver, and his hands moved with a blurring, predatory speed he never had on Earth. He sliced the boar meat into thin, jagged strips, then found a jar of coarse rock salt, a bunch of wild, purple stinging peppers used for medicinal discipline, and a jar of fermented black beans hidden in the back.
He tossed the meat into the smoking wok. Sizzle.
The sound was like a thunderclap in the quiet kitchen. Then came the aroma. It wasn't the light, floral scent of Spirit Food. It was heavy, fatty, and aggressively spicy. He tossed the stinging peppers in, the capsaicin hitting the air and making the junior cooks cough and tear up.
(This isn't as good as Earth's seasoning, but it'll have to do.)
He used a massive metal spatula to stir-fry the meat at a blistering speed. His movements weren't clumsy; the Monster Qi in his marrow seemed to guide his arms, giving him a rhythm that looked less like cooking and more like a dance with fire.
(Salt. More salt. If I can't feel my tongue, I'm doing it right.)
He finished it off with a splash of strong grain liquor. WHOOSH. A pillar of fire jumped from the pan to the ceiling. The chefs whimpered, backing into the walls.
But as the flames died down, something strange happened. The aroma changed. The "dirty" smell of the monster meat had been transformed into something mouth-watering and intoxicating. The servants standing by the door found themselves leaning in, their stomachs betraying them with loud growls. They had never smelled anything like this in the Azure Sect.
"What is that technique?" one junior cook whispered, mesmerized by the charred, glistening meat. "How did he tame the boar's stench?"
Long Wei plated the mountain of spicy, salty, greasy monster meat and took a massive, burning bite. The heat exploded in his mouth. The salt stung his throat. It was glorious.
(Now that's a fucking meal. Forget that 'Spirit Purity' bullshit.)