Alex was enjoying his life in the kitchen.
At some point, he stopped worrying about what his future might look like. He stopped thinking about trials, rankings, or status. Most of his days were spent eating and cultivating alongside his Elder Brothers.
They refined Food Pills, cultivation pills,ughed, and stuffed themselves until they could barely stand. It was simple. It was steady.
Life was good.
As the months passed, bits of gossip drifted into the kitchen like smoke from the outer courtyards. News about the Wudang Sect traveled fast, even to the servants'' quarters.
He learned the structure piece by piece.
The disciples were divided into three ranks: Core Sect, Inner Sect, and Outer Sect. Servants like him lived in the lowest area, working, cooking, cleaning. But there was a rule—one narrow path upward.
Any servant who cultivated to the fifth level of Chi Condensation-who could truly sense the dantian and draw energy from the air, gathering Chi into their body— could apply for the Outer Sect trial.
Only by bing an Outer Sect disciple could a person truly im to be part of Wudang.
Until then, they were just hands that worked.
On one particr morning, trouble came in the most ordinary way.
Eight Fatty was supposed to go down the mountain to purchase supplies. Instead,
he was doubled over in pain, clutching his stomach and cursing yesterday''s overcooked mushrooms.
He waved a greasy hand and called out, "Alex!"
Alex looked up from the herbs he was sorting.
The other Fatty Brothers were already out-some reporting their work, others delivering Food Pills. The kitchen, for once, was quiet.
Which meant only one thing.
Alex was the only one avable.
He hesitated.
A memory shed in his mind-Wang Junhao. The humiliation. The danger. The realization that outside the kitchen, swords and fists flew faster than words.
But there was no way to refuse. Supplies had to be purchased. The kitchen couldn''t run without ingredients.
He walked closer. "Brother Eight... do we have any weapons?"
Eight Fatty burst intoughter, then groaned as it hurt his stomach. “Weapons? This is a kitchen! You can find every kind of knife here!"
Alex turned and looked at the rows of knives-cleavers, boning knives, long slicing des. Sharp. Heavy. Deadly.
And that was exactly the problem.
If he stabbed someone—even by ident—the situation would explode. A kitchen servant killing someone? The consequences would crush him.
No. Too dangerous.
For safety, he grabbed thergest iron wok instead. Thick. Heavy. Impossible to cut with. If he swung it, it would hurt-but it wouldn''t slice someone open.
Then he paused, thinking harder.
He reached for a round soup pot and ced it upside down on his head.
It sat there like a ridiculous helmet.
Ugly.
Embarrassing.
But practical.
If someone aimed for his skull, at least they wouldn''t crack it open in one strike.
With the iron wok in one hand and the pot on his head, Alex looked like a walking kitchen disaster.
But he felt safer.
He adjusted the pot, tightened his grip on the wok, and staggered out of the kitchen. Then he began the descent down the mountain.
The limestone paths of the Wudang Sect stretched beneath his feet, smooth and pale against the green hills. Elegant pavilions rose on either side. Courtyards bloomed with trimmed trees and carved stonenterns.
As he walked, the iron wok resting against his shoulder and the pot gleaming under
the sun, he caught the attention of other servants along the path.
They stared.
Not openly. Not boldly.
From the corners of their eyes.
Their gazes slid over him-over the pot helmet, the oversized wok, the strange, determined stride.
Some looked confused.
Some looked amused.
Alex kept walking.
Ridiculous or not, he was going down the mountain prepared.
A few female Outer Sect disciples were standing near the path when they saw him.
The moment their eyesnded on the iron wok and the upside-down soup pot on his head, they burst outughing. They covered their mouths, but it didn''t help. Theirughter rang out like silver bells—clear, bright, impossible to ignore.
Alex felt heat crawl up his neck. His face flushed.
But he didn''t slow down.
He didn''t care what they thought.
He had no interest in impressing women. No interest in attention. He wanted one thing-survival. A quiet life. No enemies. No trouble.
If looking ridiculous kept him alive, he would dly look ridiculous.
By the time he reached the central marketce, the crowd had already thickened.
This was the busiest area near the servants'' district. Stalls lined the open square where servants bought and sold supplies.
asionally, Outer Sect disciples would pass through to browse or show off. Off to one side stood a massive open arena-t, wide, and built for one purpose: fighting. Anyone who wanted to prove themselves could step inside.
Today, something was happening.
Alex noticed clusters of servants rushing in the same direction. Their eyes were bright, their steps quick. More and more of them started running, pushing past one another like hungry dogs chasing thrown meat.
Excitement buzzed in the air.
Curious, Alex reached out and grabbed the sleeve of a scrawny servant who was sprinting by.
"Brother,” he asked, voice steady, "what''s going on? Why is everyone running?"
The young man spun around, irritation shing across his face-until he saw the iron wok and the pot helmet.
His expression changed instantly.
Envy reced anger.
"You''re from the kitchen?" he blurted out, eyes flicking to the wok. "Must be nice. So lucky..."
He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Give me some Food Pills, and I''ll tell you."
Alex didn''t argue.
He pulled out a small bottle, shook three Food Pills into his palm, and dropped them into the young man''s hand.
The servant''s face lit up as if he''d just been handed gold. He bowed quickly. "Elder Brother!" he said eagerly. "You shoulde see this. There are two groups in
the Outer Sect-the Dragon and the White Tiger. They''ve hated each other for
years. Always fighting, alwayspeting."
He nced over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening too closely.
"Today, each side brought ten people. Ten against ten."
Alex''s eyes narrowed slightly.
The servant''s voice grew more excited. "Almost all of them are at the seventh to ninth level of Chi Condensation. This is going to be huge. If we watch carefully, we might learn something. Maybe even gain some enlightenment.”
He grabbed Alex''s arm without waiting for a response.
"Come on! We''ll miss it!"
Alex staggered as he was dragged forward, the iron wok nking against his leg,
the soup pot wobbling on his head.
He didn''t resist.
The tide of bodies carried them both out of the servants'' district and toward the arena.
When they arrived, Alex finally saw it clearly.
The open ground was enormous—at least four times the size of a football field. The earth had been ttened and hardened from countless battles. Dust hung in the air, stirred up by the gathering crowd.
Across the massive field stood ten stone tforms.
Each one was raised waist-high, carved from thick bs of gray rock. Around every tform, a dense ring of people had gathered-servants packed on the outer edges, and at the front stood the Outer Sect disciples in bright, resplendent robes. Their clothing shimmered with fine embroidery and hidden protective talismans. They looked powerful. Dangerous.
Every tform held a one-on-one duel.
Ten arenas.
Ten fights.
Dragon versus White Tiger.
Alex stepped closer to the nearest tform.
Two young men stood on the stone, both dressed in extravagant robes. Their sleeves snapped in the wind as they shed. Each strike shook the tform beneath their feet. Every collision exploded with a booming crack that echoed across the field.
A faint glow surrounded them.
Magical items.
Protective charms flickered like thinyers of light over their bodies. Spiritual energy
rippled in waves with every movement.
Then Alex saw it.
Their swords left their hands.
The des rose into the air and began to fly.
They cut through the sky with sharp
whistles, Streaking with light as if they were alive The swords darted twisted, and struck from impossible angles, controlled entirely by the cultivators'' will.
Alex inhaled sharply.
In the past, he had been able to manipte a sword in a simr way. But watching
this now-watching the precision, the speed, the lethal control-was something else
entirely.
They were so talented.
"Maybe I need to learn this too," Alex muttered under his breath.
His fingers brushed his back neck.
“Gaia,” he said quietly, eyes locked on the tform. "Record everything. Their
martial arts. Every movement. Every technique.”
Data began streaming silently through his vision.
For a while, Alex forgot everything else.
He moved from one tform to another, eyes sharp, absorbing every exchange.
Every sh. Every step. Every shift of spiritual energy. Gaia captured it all.
What shocked him most was that none of them were holding back.
This wasn''t sparring.
Killing intent rolled off them like
smoke from a battlefield. Within
minutes, blood sshed across stone des pierced flesh. Bones cracked one wrong move and death followed.
On one tform, a sword tore through a man''s shoulder, nearly severing his arm.
On another, a de pierced straight through a chest. The wounded didn''t scream
long.
From the ten fights, six had already concluded.
Two were dead.
Four had lost limbs.
The severed arms and shattered legsy beside the stone tforms, soaking the ground red.
Alex''s stomach tightened.
This was his first time seeing cultivators fight with real intent. It was nothing like the
stories of noble immortals soaring through the clouds in graceful duels.
This was brutal.
Savage.
They struck to maim. They struck to kill. No hesitation. No mercy.
"Xia cultivators train with real swords," Alex murmured to himself. "And real death."
In that moment, rity hit him.
The outside world was not a ce for carelessness.
One wrong step here cost blood. Sometimes it cost a life.
Alex swallowed hard.
He still had to find his way back to Estoria back to his real life, the world he truly
belonged to. That was the goal.
Not glory. Not reputation. Not proving himself in some brutal arena soaked in blood.
There was no reason to show off.
No reason to gamble his life for pride.
If all he wanted was to leave this ce in one piece, then survival was the only thing
that mattered.
The kitchen suddenly seemed like the safest ce in the entire sect.
Hot stoves. Greasy floors. Loud, gluttonous Elder Brothers.
Safe.
He tightened his grip on the iron wok and began edging away from the arena.
He had seen enough.
He needed to get back.
But before he could slip into the crowd, a voice ripped through the noise like a
de.
"You bastard, Number Nine!"
Alex froze.
The crowd parted slightly.
"Get on the tform!" the voice roared. "Fight me to the death!"
Alex turned his head.
Wang Junhao was charging straight at him.
His face was twisted with rage, lips pulled back, eyes burning with vicious hatred. An
iron sword floated beside him, glinting with a cold, unnatural light.
The aura around it was sharp and powerful-clearly beyond the first level of Chi
Condensation.
The sword moved like it had a mind of its own.
Before Alex could react, it shot forward.
ng!
The de mmed into the soup pot on Alex''s head. The impact rang out like a
struck bell. The pot flew off. The sword wobbled and dropped to the ground.
Alex''s head spun. His vision blurred.
For a split second, all he could hear was ringing.
He''s going to kill me.
The thought hit him like ice water.
Without hesitation, Alex turned and ran.
"Murder! Murder!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.
His voice tore across the arena.
Every servant nearby froze. Outer Sect disciples turned in shock. Even all duels on
the stone tforms faltered as fighters nced toward the chaos.
The scream was so raw, so panicked, it sounded like someone had already been
disemboweled.
Even Wang Junhao hesitated for a heartbeat.
He hadn''t intended to kill Alex just now. He had only used the sword to knock the pot
off-to shock him, to force him onto the tform.
In the sect, killing outside the arena was forbidden. A life-and-death duel required both parties to sign an agreement before stepping onto the tform. Killing someone in the open courtyard would bring severe punishment.
And yet Alex was screaming as if he''d been stabbed ten times.
Wang Junhao''s teeth ground together so hard his gums ached.
“Number Nine!” he roared, chasing after him. “You know how to fight! Why are you
running?! Show yourself like a man! Get on the tform! Today either you die or I
die!"
The crowd, already drunk on blood from the earlier duels, immediately began
chanting. "Fight! Fight! Fight!"
They wanted more.
They wanted another death.
"The hell with fighting!" Alex shouted
as he sprinted, clutching the iron
wok. "fight, die! If knew how
to fight, why would be running, you idiot?! Murder! Murder!"
His voice climbed higher, shriller, almost hysterical.
He ran like a panicked rabbit-clumsy, frantic, desperate.
The crowd roared withughter and excitement.
But before he could escape the field, several Outer Sect disciples stepped in front of
him, blocking his path.
Their faces were cold.
"If you are part of Wudang," one of them said sternly, voice carrying authority, "and if
you call yourself a man, you do not run from a challenge.”
Another crossed his arms. “Better to die on the tform than disgrace yourself
running away. Get up there. Fight for your name."
Alex shook his head violently.
"No!"
One of the disciples stepped closer, eyes hard as stone.
"You either step onto that tform,” he said tly, his voice cold as iron, "or we kill
you right here."
His gaze cut through Alex without mercy.
"There is no ce in Wudang for cowards."
Alex stood there, heart pounding, iron wok shaking in his hand, surrounded by a
crowd hungry for blood.
And suddenly, the kitchen felt very far away.