Yang Qing waited for ten minutes, joyfully savoring his oolong tea, before Cao Ying emerged from the kitchen with a large tray laden with the meals he had ordered. The tray appeared to have an isolation array inscribed on it, as none of the tantalizing aromas leaked out. Yang Qing's eyes gleamed with excitement as he spotted Cao Ying approaching. He quickly gulped down the last of his tea and practically leaped from his seat, eager to meet him halfway.
"Enjoy, Judge Yang Qing," Cao Ying said with a respectful smile as he set the tray beside Yang Qing's table.
"Thanks a lot, Cao Ying," Yang Qing replied enthusiastically, his focus already locked on the covered dishes. He hurriedly removed the lids, revealing the variety of delicacies he had ordered. His face lit up like a child unwrapping gifts.
"Hello, my precious. Which one of you will be the lucky ones to undertake the great mission? Hmm... it shall be you, barbeque pork buns! Just perfect to pair with Jiang Fu's oolong tea," Yang Qing declared theatrically. He carefully lifted a large plate piled with over a dozen barbeque pork buns—half steamed, half baked.
As soon as the plate hit the table, the rich, steamy aroma burst forth, filling the surrounding air with a sweet, savory fragrance that seemed almost tangible. The enticing scent wafted across the table, immediately rousing Cheng Yuan from his trance-like state.
When Cheng Yuan opened his eyes, he was met with the sight of a table laden with food. His surprise quickly gave way to an overwhelming sensation as the aroma hit him, making it nearly impossible to maintain his composure. The blend of sweet and savory notes tugged at something deep within him, a desire he hadn't felt in years.
After breaking through to the Core Formation realm, Cheng Yuan had relied on fasting pills, often going months without eating or drinking. Over time, the physical craving for food had faded, replaced by a detached practicality. Even the most luxurious meals prepared in his sect's mess halls hadn't stirred any desire in him. Yet now, standing before this table of buns, he felt like some long-forgotten part of himself had been awakened.
"Judge Yang Qing, this...?" Cheng Yuan began, his voice trembling as he tried to form a coherent thought. But before he could continue, he abruptly stopped, his hands flying up to cover his mouth as drool threatened to spill out. Despite his efforts, a small stream escaped, dripping down his robes like a tiny waterfall
"Hehehe, eat, Sect Master Cheng Yuan. I can't finish all this on my own, so there's no need to hold back," Yang Qing said, sliding a plate toward Cheng Yuan and filling it with half of the pork buns before Cheng Yuan could even think to decline.
Tsk, my pork buns! Being a host sucks. Is the remaining food even enough to fill me up? Yang Qing silently lamented, eyeing the diminished pile of buns on his plate. Maybe I should order more? Yes, definitely. I still have the 1,000 spirit stones from Dai Chen. His internal grumbling was swiftly replaced with renewed enthusiasm. Outwardly, however, his warm and amiable expression remained intact, perfectly embodying the gracious host.
Cheng Yuan stared at the plate in front of him, the sight and aroma of the pork buns tugging at his resolve. He didn't have the heart to refuse; it would feel ungrateful to spurn Yang Qing's generosity. But even more pressing was the undeniable pull of the food itself. The buns seemed to call out to him, their golden-brown crusts glistening invitingly under the light. With a hesitant but eager hand, he picked one up with his chopsticks, bringing it closer to his mouth as the aroma intensified.
Crunch!
The crisp sound of the baked bun breaking filled the air as he bit into it. The moment the pork's juices burst in his mouth, Cheng Yuan froze. A cascade of flavors washed over his senses—sweet, spicy, and savory, all in perfect harmony. Each bite carried a fiery undertone, as if the pork itself had an inherent flame-like quality. The sensation ignited a flickering ember within him, one that slowly grew into a blaze.
Memories he had long buried began to resurface. He recalled the reckless passion of his youth—dueling with his fellow disciples, the thrill of competitions, the elation of breaking through realms, and the camaraderie forged on missions. Vivid images of his master, Peng Zhen, and his late martial sibling, Zou Wen, flitted through his mind. The emotions tied to those moments—triumph, failure, laughter, and grief—came rushing back with startling clarity.
Cheng Yuan's hands trembled as he lowered the bun. His face grew warm, and to his astonishment, tears began to stream down his cheeks. He tried to suppress them, but a deep part of him resisted. That part, which had grown dormant over the years, yearned for this release.
In the end, he surrendered. Closing his eyes, he let the tears flow, savoring not just the taste of the bun, but the memories and feelings it had unlocked.
"I don't know about others, but I've never really liked those cultivation principles that claim you need to be indifferent to everyone and everything to grow. To be a calm spectator, detached, all in the name of pursuing the peak. But is that really right? Before being cultivators, we are people first. How can we achieve anything if we deny such an important part of ourselves? Laugh, cry, be satisfied, be angry, argue, make up, hate, love, eat, drink—have things in your life you'll never let go of, no matter what. On this long journey, try to hold on to who you are as much as possible, instead of clinging to someone else's idea of what a cultivator should be.
Cultivation is just a part of life, like sleeping or yawning. You can't let it consume everything you are—it should enhance your life, like eating food to sate hunger. Cultivators are blessed with long lives, but do you want to spend that time alone, burying who you are? Or do you want to spend it living? Cheng Yuan, decide what living means to you. You'll find the world a little more exciting every time you work toward that answer. Keep dreaming, keep trying, keep failing, keep growing—and add more color to your life, Cheng Yuan."
Yang Qing spoke calmly, his voice steady yet filled with warmth, as he stared at the pork bun in his hand. For a moment, it seemed as if he were gazing at some unfathomable secret, but the illusion shattered the instant a silly grin spread across his face, accompanied by a thin line of drool.
"What world will you show me, Master Pork Bun? Your humble student awaits your teaching," Yang Qing said joyfully before taking a bite. The steamy bun melted in his mouth, leaving him grinning with satisfaction as his eyes curved into crescents.
Cheng Yuan sat frozen, his eyes wide as Yang Qing's words echoed in his mind, sending ripples through his heart. He suddenly found himself standing in a dark space. Ahead, he saw someone surrounded by countless chains. Though the figure was obscured, he instinctively knew it was a four-year-old version of himself.
The child was bound by thousands of chains, yet a gentle breeze flowed through the space, shattering them one by one. Slowly, more of the child's form was revealed, until only a hundred chains remained. Cheng Yuan, his legs trembling, stepped forward, reaching out with a shaking hand to touch the child's exposed left palm.
The moment his hand touched the child's palm, Cheng Yuan heard a soft, childlike voice whisper in his mind, "Don't forget me."
The illusion shattered, and Cheng Yuan returned to himself. His shoulders felt lighter, his heart unburdened, and his entire body seemed younger. Even his mind felt clearer, as if a fog that had lingered for years had been lifted. He turned to Yang Qing, who remained blissfully engrossed in his pork buns, his eyes still curved into crescents as he savored each bite.
Overwhelmed with gratitude, Cheng Yuan stood and bowed deeply toward Yang Qing, his gesture solemn and heartfelt. The display caught the attention of several other customers in the restaurant, drawing curious whispers.
At another table, Mao Yunru paused mid-conversation with her friends, her gaze sharpening as she watched Yang Qing's table with a thoughtful expression.
"What is he planning?" she wondered, her curiosity piqued.
Meanwhile, Yang Qing seemed completely unaware of the commotion his actions had caused. He remained focused on the pork buns, each bite bringing him a joy that bordered on reverence. Cheng Yuan returned to his seat, his initial apprehension eased. Though still slightly reserved, he began eating with newfound ease.
Yang Qing, however, wasn't done. Between bites, he mused to himself, his voice barely audible over the lively chatter of the restaurant.
"I've only helped you partly; the next steps are all yours. All the best, Sect Master. I hope you'll show me what kind of sect you'll create, considering the risks you took for it."
As he finished his thought, Yang Qing suddenly froze, staring at his now-empty plate. A look of deep suspicion clouded his face as he examined the remaining pork buns on the table.
"Wait... the bun is already finished? Did those scumbags reduce the size again?" he muttered under his breath, leaning closer to scrutinize the buns with a growing intensity, as if the answer to his concerns lay hidden within their fluffy surfaces.