Raising the Villain in Wrong Way

The arena fell dead silent, save for the sound of falling dirt and heavy breathing.

They stood frozen in a terrifying tableau.

General Lin’s halberd was a millimetre from Ji’an’s heart, and Ji’an’s cast-iron soup ladle was hovering a hair’s breadth from her father’s skull.

General Lin was panting, blood dripping from his chin from the internal backlash. Ji’an’s chest was heaving, her eyes wide with the adrenaline of a near-death experience.

They looked at each other. They looked at the weapons hovering inches from their respective vital organs.

Slowly, deliberately, General Lin lowered his halberd, leaning heavily on the shaft as he caught his breath.

Ji’an exhaled a long, shuddering breath, lowering the soup ladle to her side.

"You... you pulled your strike," Ji’an panted, her voice trembling slightly, looking at the blood on his chin. "You hurt yourself to stop the blow! Dad, why would you do this?!"

"You missed my head on purpose," General Lin countered, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his leather gauntlet.

He looked at the heavy cast-iron ladle, realizing that if she hadn’t redirected her swing, he would currently have a severe concussion, if not a fractured skull.

The War God looked at his daughter.

He saw the genuine remorse in her eyes for pushing the spar too far, mixed with the undeniable, blazing pride of a warrior who had held her own against a legend.

A slow, booming laugh rumbled up from General Lin’s chest, echoing through the shattered training arena.

"A draw," the General declared, his voice ringing with absolute, joyous pride. He slammed the butt of his halberd into the earth. "The War God of the Azure Empire fought to a standstill by a soup ladle. If the Imperial Court ever hears of this, I will be the laughingstock of the continent."

Ji’an grinned, the tension evaporating instantly. She twirled the ladle like a gunslinger spinning a revolver.

"Your secret is safe with me, Old Man," Ji’an laughed, walking forward and bumping her shoulder affectionately against his solid arm. "But let the record show... I pushed you back three steps. I officially claim the title of the strongest in this household. The kitchen rules the barracks!"

"I concede the title, Head Chef," General Lin chuckled, wrapping his massive arm around her shoulders and pulling her into a half-hug. "And I concede access to the Imperial hunting reserves. But for now... I require a restorative broth. My internal organs are staging a protest."

"I’ll whip up a batch of double-boiled spirit-chicken soup," Ji’an promised, leaning against her father as they walked toward the stairs leading out of the ruined arena. "But you’re washing the dishes."

"Agreed," the General smiled.

As they left the subterranean arena, the heavy cast-iron soup ladle dangled casually from Ji’an’s hand.

***

The grand dining hall of the Lin General’s Estate was a cavernous, awe-inspiring monument to military wealth and austere discipline.

The walls were paneled in rich, dark mahogany, adorned not with delicate landscape paintings, but with antique halberds, crossed broadswords, and the mounted, terrifying skulls of high-tier demonic beasts General Lin Tianzong had personally slain over his decades of service.

The centerpiece of the room was a massive, rectangular dining table carved from a single slab of petrified Iron-Wood, polished to a mirror-like obsidian sheen.

Normally, dinners in the Lin household were silent, rigid affairs. The rules of military decorum dictated that one did not speak unless spoken to, that one’s posture remained perfectly straight, and that food was consumed purely for sustenance, not pleasure.

Tonight, however, the military decorum had been violently overthrown by a complete and utter culinary coup d’état.

The silence remained, but it wasn’t born of discipline. It was born of absolute, ravenous, hyper-focused devotion to the meal.

At the head of the table sat General Lin.

To his right sat Lin Ji’an, fresh from a steaming bath, her hair tied back in a neat, elegant silver guan, dressed in the pristine, flowing white robes of a young master, and to her left sat the traumatized thirteen-year-old, Lin Xuan.

And lining the rest of the table were Ji’an’s three remaining half-sisters, the daughters of the General’s minor concubines who had survived the matriarchal purge.

The center of the Iron-Wood table was currently groaning under the weight of a feast that looked like it belonged in the Heavenly Emperor’s personal banquet hall.

To soothe her father’s internal backlash from their spar, Ji’an had pulled out all the stops. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

She had commandeered the estate’s kitchens, terrified the resident cooks into total submission, and prepared a massive porcelain tureen of Double-Boiled Spirit-Chicken and Ginseng Restorative Broth.

The soup shimmered with a rich, golden hue, emitting a fragrance so profoundly comforting and vitalizing that just breathing the steam felt like receiving a warm hug from the universe.

Flanking the soup were plates of Crispy-Skin Roasted Spirit-Duck glazed in wild plum sauce, Stir-Fried Jade-Lotus Root with fiery Szechuan peppercorns, and delicate, perfectly pleated Snow-Crab and Chive Dumplings.

General Lin took another spoonful of the golden broth. He closed his silver-flecked eyes, letting out a deep, rumbling sigh that resonated in his chest.

He could literally feel the microscopic tears in his internal meridians, caused by his reckless reversal of Qi during their spar, stitching themselves back together.

The heavy, hyper-dense Harmonious Five-Grain Qi infused into the broth didn’t just heal; it fortified. It was better than any premium elixir the Medicine Peak had ever sent him.

’She is a menace on the battlefield, but an absolute saint in the kitchen,’ the War God thought, polishing off his third bowl and motioning subtly for the terrified servant in the corner to pour him a fourth.

While the General was having a spiritual awakening via soup, a completely different, incredibly chaotic dynamic was unfolding further down the table.

Lin Ji’an was currently eating with the relaxed, elegant grace of a highly educated noble.

But because she had spent the last two years living entirely disguised as a man, surrounded by hyper-masculine, competitive protagonists, her mannerisms had subconsciously adapted.