Raising the Villain in Wrong Way

’But sect laws mean nothing to me,’ the Ice Demon’s inner voice purred with dark devotion. ’He can be a Martial Uncle to the world. But to me... he will always be my Young Master.’

***

High above the clouds, on a peak that smelled permanently of fermented rice and wild mountain herbs, Lin Ji’an was unceremoniously dumped onto a patch of overgrown grass.

She groaned, sitting up and rubbing her tailbone.

"Welcome home, kid," Jiu Zui slurred, collapsing onto a nearby hammock strung between two massive, ancient peach trees. He immediately took another swig from his gourd. "The kitchen is over there. It’s been more than a few centuries since someone used it last; it’s a mess. Go fix it if you want to use it." 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

Ji’an looked around. The Drunken Peak wasn’t a majestic palace like the Eternal Cloud Peak. It was a chaotic, beautiful, overgrown wilderness.

There were no arrogant senior disciples, no strict rules, just a massive, fully stocked kitchen building, a wild herb garden, and a master who was already snoring loudly in his hammock.

Ji’an looked down at her new white robes. She thought about Elder Qin’s terrifying glare. She thought about the absolute chaos she had left behind on the Jade Terrace.

She realized she had just been handed the ultimate "Get Out of Plot Free" card.

She was a Martial Uncle. She outranked all the Love Interests. She had a master who could beat up their masters.

A slow, brilliant, entirely smug grin spread across Ji’an’s face.

She stood up, dusting off her robes, and pulled her gray apron out of her spatial bag, tying it securely over the pristine white silk.

"Well," Ji’an announced to the empty, peaceful mountain, drawing her Black Iron Spatula. "If I’m going to be a Martial Uncle, I’d better start acting like one. Tomorrow morning, the Protagonists are going to learn some respect. And then, I am going to make the greatest bowl of hangover soup this sect has ever seen."

The chef had arrived. And the Celestial Sword Sect would never be the same.

While the rest of the Celestial Sword Sect was busy throwing lavish, formal banquets to welcome the top ten victors of the Grand Tournament into their respective peaks, the Drunken Peak was experiencing a much different kind of initiation.

Over on the Sword Peak, Zhang Min was being presented with a high-grade spirit sword in a grand hall lined with thousand-year-old tapestries.

Over on the Shadow Peak, Mo Wuchen was undoubtedly weeping delicate, manufactured tears of gratitude as the elders bestowed upon him stealth manuals and poisoned daggers, wrapping the entire peak’s senior sisters around his little finger.

And on the Body Forging Peak, Yan Lie was likely already intimidating his new "seniors" into doing his laundry while Chi Yun glared at anyone who breathed too loudly.

Lin Ji’an, the newly minted Third Generation direct apprentice and official Sect Martial Uncle, was currently standing in a kitchen that looked like it had been ransacked by a family of very aggressive, very messy raccoons.

"This isn’t a kitchen," Ji’an muttered, tying her gray apron tighter over her pristine, ridiculously expensive white Inner Sect silk robes. She kicked a rusted, dented wok across the floorboards. "This is a health code violation wrapped in a tetanus hazard."

The Drunken Sovereign, Jiu Zui, had passed out in his hammock the absolute second they had landed on the peak.

He was currently snoring so loudly that the sound was visibly vibrating the leaves of the ancient peach trees overhead.

Ji’an sighed, rolling up her sleeves. A true chef didn’t complain about their station; they scrubbed it until it shone.

For the next two hours, while the sun dipped below the horizon and the mountain air turned crisp and cool, Ji’an went to war. She used her Five-Grain Qi not for combat, but as a high-powered pressure washer.

She blasted away a century of grime, cobwebs, and unidentified sticky substances from the massive stone hearth.

She scrubbed the wooden prep tables with crushed sand and spirit-mint until the natural grain of the wood showed through.

By the time the moon hung high in the sky, the kitchen was finally sanitary.

It was rustic, yes, but it was clean.

"Now," Ji’an dusted off her hands, her stomach giving a loud, demanding growl. "Time to secure my position."

She walked over to the newly cleaned hearth. She unpacked her spatial bag, laying out the remaining ingredients she had scavenged from the Myriad Illusions Lower Realm.

She had wild garlic, a few stalks of Iron-Bone Bamboo, the remaining Cloud-Silk Truffles, and the last, precious pint of the Shadow-Weave Serpent bone broth.

She wasn’t making a grand feast. She was making a targeted, tactical strike on her new Master’s liver.

She fired up the stove. She tossed the wild garlic into the wok, letting it sizzle and pop, releasing a sharp, pungent aroma that cut right through the lingering smell of stale wine on the peak.

She added the broth, letting it come to a rolling boil, before tossing in finely julienned slices of ginger and a specific, highly alkaline spirit-root designed to neutralize blood-alcohol toxicity.

The smell that began to waft out of the kitchen was nothing short of miraculous.

It was savory, deeply earthy from the truffles, and carried a sharp, spicy kick that practically cleared the sinuses from ten feet away.

Outside, the snoring abruptly stopped.

There was a loud thump as a body hit the grass, followed by a string of slurred, creative curses.

A moment later, Jiu Zui stumbled into the kitchen. He looked even worse than he had on the Jade Terrace.

There were twigs in his wild hair, and a distinct smudge of dirt on his cheek.

But his amethyst purple eyes were entirely focused, locked onto the steaming wooden bowl Ji’an was currently setting on the freshly scrubbed table.

"Sit," Ji’an ordered, pointing at a wooden stool with her Black Iron Spatula.

Jiu Zui didn’t argue.