Chapter 53
Chapter 53: Grilling Skewers with Fire-Wielding Technique Is Child’s Play
Lv Rong Yu had never heard of Longevity Sect.
Flying Sparrow Mountain was nearby. If they claimed to come from there, then Longevity Sect was probably some obscure little sect that barely registered on anyone’s map.
Still… the road to First Mountain was long, and he could sense these four were genuinely early Qi Refining. In his own sect, juniors were usually entrusted to a Senior Brother when traveling out.
After a brief hesitation, Lv Rong Yu nodded. “Fine. Follow me. But once we reach First Mountain, you’ll go your own way.”
“Yes, yes, yes! Thank you, Senior Brother!”
Even the three who’d been silent like logs finally spoke up: “Thank you, Senior Brother.”
Inwardly, they were a little stunned.
Was he really that easy to fool?
He looked young, sure. But Yun Zhou Continent’s sect culture was clearly different from what they imagined.
Were cultivators just… this helpful?
Since Lv Rong Yu would hear anything they said, the four didn’t dare whisper about it.
Still, a complaint bubbled up in Wu Da Hu’s mind, bitter and familiar: this game was so “smart,” yet it didn’t even have party voice chat. In a situation like this, how were they supposed to talk privately?
They set off again not long after. Lv Rong Yu had just killed a toad snake and hadn’t rested long before meeting them, but he didn’t linger.
The Daoist priest and the other three followed behind him.
Deep into the night, they stopped in the forest and built a fire.
They needed to eat.
At this stage, they hadn’t fully reached fasting. Long travel still wore down the body, even for cultivators, and food still mattered.
But on this cultivation world’s continent, cultivators had little desire for food. Mortals ate to fill their stomachs, not for pleasure. They didn’t study cuisine. Seasonings were simple. Ingredients were limited.
Wangan County didn’t even have half the things modern people took for granted.
Players from modern society, though, were the exact opposite—especially after tasting “natural” food in the game that somehow tasted even better than reality. Once you crossed that line, your standards only rose.
Zhou Xiao had been experimenting, collecting, refining.
Today, they’d brought honey-glazed chicken wings and charcoal-grilled pig trotters.
The four of them had pooled money to buy a basic mustard seed pouch—not as good as Song Jiu Lai’s, but good enough for ingredients and pills. Inside, besides a few pills, it was mostly food.
The preservation wasn’t great. When they took out the chicken wings, they were already cold.
So they set them over the fire, reheating, adding seasonings, letting the fat begin to melt and shimmer again.
Before they ate, Wu Da Hu politely asked, “Senior Brother, we’re having dinner. Want some? Chicken wings and pig trotters.”
Lv Rong Yu glanced at what they’d prepared, brows knitting. “I’m half-fasted. I don’t crave food.”
He didn’t say the rest, but it sat behind his eyes.
Chicken wings were one thing. Pig trotters sounded… unrefined.
Most cultivators ate pork at most. They rarely touched offal or certain cuts. They considered it unclean.
In their world, a bowl of rice porridge and a sip of rainwater was enough. Light. Pure. Proper.
He was fourteen or fifteen, and the way he wore that seriousness was almost funny.
But Wu Da Hu and the others didn’t dare show it.
If he wasn’t eating, they were.
They were ordinary people with ordinary cravings. Late-night barbecue was a weakness carved into their bones—especially when Zhou Xiao was the one cooking.
They didn’t even need the fire, really.
They skewered chicken wings onto sharpened sticks, then used Fire-Wielding Technique in their palms to control heat precisely. The flame was steady, obedient. With a slight turn of the wrist, the wings warmed through and began to glisten.
The aroma rose, slow and irresistible.
The wings were already seasoned. Then Zhou Xiao drizzled her honey glaze—sweet, amber, glossy—and the scent turned richer, bolder, sharper, as if it hooked straight behind the eyes.
The Daoist priest stared, dazzled. “Holy shit. You guys are good.”
Wu Da Hu grinned. “What do you think we’ve been doing the past ten days? We might not be good at much, but grilling? We’ve got it down.”
Grilling was all about control.
Too hot and it burned. Too cool and it cooked unevenly, bland and sad.
Players who didn’t follow the “proper path” had, apparently, a special talent for grilling skewers with Fire-Wielding Technique.
Wu Da Hu handed the Daoist priest the first one he finished. “Here. Take it. Practice.”
From the moment the scent truly bloomed, Lv Rong Yu’s gaze shifted.
Good cooking was a kind of sin.
Seasoning was power—one Yun Zhou Continent, with its devotion to bland purity, didn’t understand.
Cultivators ate light. Mortals followed, so their tastes stayed light too.
But the truth was simple: they could handle bold flavors just fine.
That was why Zhou Xiao could collaborate with Wangan County’s restaurants to develop new dishes. The “reform wind” just hadn’t reached the neighboring county’s Peach Blossom Sect yet.
It smelled so good.
So unbelievably good.
Lv Rong Yu had never smelled food like this. He’d seen mortals roasting meat, sure, but nothing had ever been this enticing.
The fat dripping from the skin. The faint sweetness in the smoke. The warmth spreading through the air.
And a cultivator’s nose was too sharp, too honest.
Lv Rong Yu swallowed without meaning to.
So much for “clear heart, few desires.”
If someone at Qi Refining Stage could already suppress basic cravings, what would come later?
Lv Rong Yu clearly couldn’t.
He was fourteen. What did he know?
He’d never liked food before because he’d never tasted food like this.
His eyes drifted—careful, subtle—toward the chicken wings.
Then pride stabbed him.
He’d refused them already. If he asked now, wouldn’t these four laugh?
But his stomach didn’t care about pride.
Ma Little Bird and Ma Dash had already eaten a wing each, slapping their thighs like they’d discovered religion.
“Holy shit,” Ma Dash breathed. “These wings hit way harder than back home.”
Food nourished by spiritual qi always carried a special freshness. Add real skill, and even in the real world, this would be something you’d see in a Michelin kitchen with a ridiculous price tag.
Absolute slaughter.
Ma Little Bird sighed, almost reverent. “How can this game be so damn insane?”
The Daoist priest noticed Lv Rong Yu’s eyes.
Too young. Too inexperienced. His interest was obvious.
The Daoist priest chuckled and said, “Senior Brother Lv, this is our sect chef’s special craft. Want to try one?”
Lv Rong Yu tried to hold the line. “No. I don’t crave food.”
“Senior Brother Lv,” the Daoist priest coaxed, “we brought a lot. You should eat something. Just try it. It’s really good.”
Lv Rong Yu hesitated, then said, “Fine.”
His tone was forced, as if he were doing them a favor.
The Daoist priest handed him the wing he hadn’t eaten yet.
A few minutes later, Lv Rong Yu had eaten every single chicken wing they brought.
Oil shone at the corner of his mouth. His eyes were locked on their mustard seed pouch like it was treasure.
“Any more?” he asked.
The four of them went silent.
“…”