Raising the Villain in Wrong Way

It was a flawless plan.

To execute it, however, she needed a distraction.

She had too much energy, a spatial ring overflowing with premium monster meat from the Eastern Coastal Wastes, and a desperate need to inflict her culinary dominance upon someone who couldn’t fight back.

Ji’an wiped her flour-covered hands on her gray apron, a dark, manic, and unhinged smirk spreading across her face.

"Time to feed the youth," Ji’an declared.

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.

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The Outer-to-Inner Sect Transition Pavilion was a massive, sprawling dining hall designed specifically for the junior disciples.

These were the youths who had not yet achieved Inedia, the ability to survive purely on ambient Qi, and still required mortal sustenance to fuel their grueling daily training.

Normally, the pavilion was a lively, chaotic place, filled with the clatter of chopsticks, the boastful chatter of teenagers, and the smell of bland, boiled spirit-wheat and overcooked cabbage.

Bang!

Today, however, the doors of the pavilion were violently kicked open, slamming against the stone walls with a resounding CRASH.

The chatter instantly died.

The three hundred junior disciples, dressed in the pale blue robes of novices, froze mid-bite.

Standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the afternoon sun, was a slender figure wearing a soot-stained gray apron over white inner robes.

In her right hand, resting casually against her hip, was a massive, heavy, cast-iron spatula.

"Greetings, my cute little starving mortal juniors," Lin Ji’an announced, her voice ringing through the cavernous hall with the terrifying, cheerful cadence of an executioner asking for final requests. "I noticed your cafeteria food looks like boiled depression. So, I have decided to grace you with a charitable donation from the Drunken Peak!"

For three seconds, silence reigned.

And then, a senior novice near the front table dropped his chopsticks.

His face drained of all color, his eyes widening in pure PTSD.

He had been there six months ago.

He remembered the ’Spicy Abyssal Toad Stew’ made by Ji’an that caused explosions in the latrines.

"It’s the Iron Wok Demon," the boy whispered, his voice trembling.

The whisper spread like wildfire.

"The Demon is back!"

"He’s going to poison us!"

"I haven’t even formed my Foundation Establishment! I am too young to die!"

A hysterical pandemonium erupted.

Disciples scrambled over tables.

Benches were overturned.

A group of novices near the back actually tried to pry open the heavy wooden window shutters to leap out into the courtyard.

It looked like a herd of panicked gazelles trying to escape a highly seasoned lion.

«Look at them scatter,» the Nekomata projected into Ji’an’s mind, letting out a delicate, mocking yawn. «Your reputation among your own kind is truly abysmal, cook.»

"Watch and learn, fluffball. This is called crowd control," Ji’an muttered.

She didn’t chase them.

She simply raised her right foot and slammed it down onto the stone floor, channeling a hyper-dense surge of her Qi.

BOOM!

The floor shuddered violently as a shockwave of pure force rippled across the pavilion, rattling the rafters and causing every single bowl on the tables to vibrate.

The disciples froze, trapped in their various states of attempted flight, terrified by the physical pressure radiating from the small chef.

"Nobody moves!" Ji’an roared, leveling her spatula at the crowd like a loaded crossbow. "The doors are sealed! The windows are warded! You are all my culinary hostages! Everyone sit back down, pick up your bowls, and prepare to have your palates forcibly elevated, or I swear to the Heavens I will tenderize your kneecaps!"

Slowly, trembling, the three hundred disciples shuffled back to their seats. 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

Some were openly weeping.

A few were hastily writing final wills and testaments on their napkins using soy sauce.

Ji’an marched to the massive, open-fire cooking stations at the front of the hall, shoving the terrified, trembling sect cooks out of the way.

"Clear the decks! Give me the maximum heat on those arrays!" Ji’an barked, pulling out three massive iron woks from her spatial ring and slamming them onto the fire pits.

She didn’t use the lethal poisons she had threatened Blue with.

She was a menace, but she wasn’t a murderer.

Instead, she pulled out massive slabs of the Iron-Bristle Boar meat, bags of Sun-Flare Ginger, and bundles of crisp, spiritual lotus root.

Her hands moved with blinding, terrifying speed.

The disciples watched in horrified awe as the chef became a blur of motion.

She sliced the pork so thinly it was almost translucent.

Then she crushed spices with the hilt of her knife, sending fragrant, eye-watering clouds of chili and garlic into the air.

Flames leapt ten feet into the air as she deglazed the woks, the roaring fire illuminating her manic, focused grin.

"Eat! Eat, my guinea pigs!" Ji’an laughed, tossing the massive woks with one hand, flipping hundreds of pounds of meat and vegetables in a flawless, synchronized arc.

Within twenty minutes, the terrifying spectacle concluded.

Ji’an slammed the woks down, signaling the terrified serving disciples to distribute the food.

Massive, steaming vats of Fiery Boar and Lotus Root Stir-Fry in Sweet Garlic Glaze were placed in the center of every table.

The aroma was unbelievable, rich, savory, perfectly caramelized, with a sharp, spicy kick that instantly made everyone’s mouth water against their will.

But the novices were paralyzed.

It smelled like heaven, but they knew it was cooked by the devil.

"Eat," Ji’an commanded, leaning against the counter, tapping her spatula against her palm.

At the front table, the traumatized senior novice who had sparked the panic looked at his bowl.

He looked at the glowing, dark-red sauce coating the tender pork.

He closed his eyes, muttered a quick prayer to his ancestors, picked up his chopsticks, and placed a piece of meat into his mouth.

He chewed.

He stopped chewing.

His eyes flew open, shining with unshed tears.

The pork was unimaginably tender, practically melting on his tongue.

The sweet garlic glaze perfectly balanced the fiery heat of the Sun-Flare ginger, sending a rush of warm, pure spiritual energy surging directly into his depleted meridians.