Yoriichi stepped forward. He raised his bandaged hand and placed it gently, but firmly, on the massive Chef's shoulder.
"I accept your apology," Yoriichi said, his voice carrying a soothing, absolute calm. "We all carry burdens that make us snap at the wrong shadows. I hope these golds will be enough for the cooking hall's problems, if needed."
Chef Zhang raised his head. A genuine, broad smile broke across his scarred face. The tension that had been strangling him for weeks seemed to evaporate.
"Yes... yes, it is more than enough," Zhang laughed, a hearty, booming sound. He wiped a stray tear of relief from his eye. "Now! Since you are a rich blacksmith and a paying customer... if you want to eat anything right now, tell me. I'll cook it myself!"
Yoriichi glanced out the small window. The sky was turning a deep shade of purple. It was late afternoon.
"It is time to eat," Yoriichi admitted, his stomach giving a timely, hollow rumble. He pulled out a chair opposite the desk and sat down. "Okay. But I need a good amount. The forging... it burns many calories."
Chef Zhang laughed uproariously. "Okay then! Sit comfortably. I am bringing it fast. I'll make you a feast fit for a Da Dou Shi!"
Zhang practically sprinted out of the office, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hall as he began barking orders at his terrified staff.
Yoriichi was left alone in the quiet office.
He closed his eyes, enjoying the momentary peace. He observed the room, the ledgers, the faint smell of spices. Then, he turned his observation inward.
He sat in a meditative posture, resting his hands on his knees. He sank his consciousness into his lower abdomen—the Dan Tian.
"My Dou Qi..." He observed the milky-white gaseous energy swirling inside him. He had been at the peak of the 9-Star Dou Disciple stage for days.
Suddenly, he felt it.
The gas didn't just swirl; it began to pull inward. The center of the gas cloud grew incredibly dense, spinning rapidly. It felt like a miniature storm trying to form—a cyclone. It stayed collectively bound for several seconds, exerting a strange, magnetic pull on his meridians.
But then, the spin faltered. The density collapsed, and the Dou Qi dispersed back into a thick, uniform gas, spreading through his body repeatedly.
"Fascinating," Yoriichi thought, his eyes snapping open.
He was touching the barrier. The legendary threshold between a Dou Zhi Qi and a true Dou Zhe. To become a Dou Zhe, one had to compress the gaseous Dou Qi into a Dou Cyclone.
"Why is it reacting now?" he analyzed. "It could be because of staying under a mid Da Dou Shi pressure today. Or perhaps my hard physical training has tempered the vessel enough to handle the compression. Or maybe the Sun Breathing technique forces the energy to condense naturally under stress."
He thought about the possibilities. It was a dangerous process. If a cultivator failed to form the cyclone, the violent dispersion of energy could drop their cultivation level back to the 8th Star, or even cause internal bleeding.
"It doesn't matter," Yoriichi concluded stoically. "I will not force it. I will continue the routine. When the vessel is perfectly tempered, the water will flow. If it bears sweet fruit, it will happen on its own."
BAM.
The office door was kicked open.
Yoriichi blinked in surprise.
Chef Zhang marched in, followed by four burly kitchen workers. Between them, they carried three massive, wooden trays that bowed under the weight of the food.
There were entire platters of thick-cut Iron-Skin Tofu steaks, pan-seared until crispy and glazed in honey and spirit-chilies. There were massive bowls of steaming rice mixed with Jade-Core peas, giant braised Earth-Root bamboo shoots the size of Yoriichi's arm stuffed with savory wild mushrooms, and towering stacks of fluffy steamed buns filled with spiced greens and crushed walnuts.
They set it all down on the large oak desk, completely covering the ledgers.
Chef Zhang slammed a heavy jug of hot herbal tea onto the table with a hearty laugh. "I noticed during your last visit that you prefer your meals clean and meatless, Young Master," the burly chef boomed, gesturing proudly to the vibrant, steaming spread.
"So I had the boys raid the premium greenhouse! This Spirit-Iron Tofu packs the exact same energy density as a magical beast's flesh, and those mountain mushrooms will temper your meridians perfectly. You won't lack a single ounce of strength from eating green, I guarantee it! Now eat!"
Yoriichi stared at the mountain of food. Even for him, this was staggering. He asked himself internally, "Can I actually eat this much food now?"
He thought about the energy required to maintain the Total Concentration Breathing constantly. He shrugged mentally. "I can try."
"Eat it all!" Chef Zhang ordered, laughed heartily. "Don't leave a single grain of rice!"
Yoriichi smiled—a rare, small curve of his lips. "Okay. I will try."
For the next hour, the small office was filled with the sound of intense eating.
Slurp. Crunch. Chew.
Yoriichi ate with terrifying efficiency. He didn't gorge like a starving animal; he ate methodically, his jaw working like a machine, his hyper-metabolism burning the food into raw, usable energy almost instantly.
Chef Zhang sat opposite him, drinking cheap wine, chatting loudly, and laughing. He told stories of his mercenary days, of hunting magical beasts, and of the ridiculous demands of the Clan Elders. Yoriichi listened, nodding occasionally, swallowing massive chunks of mushrooms.
It was a good hour. It was warm. It felt like... life.
When Yoriichi finally set his chopsticks down, the trays were completely bare. Only polished chopsticks and empty bowls remained. Chef Zhang stared at the boy's stomach, genuinely wondering where all that mass had disappeared to.
"Thank you for the meal, Senior Zhang," Yoriichi bowed slightly, standing up. He felt energized. The Dou Qi in his body was thick and vibrant.
"Anytime, kid. Anytime," Zhang waved, still looking at the empty platters in awe.
Leaving the cooking hall, Yoriichi stepped out into the cool evening air. The sun had completely dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in deep indigo and scattering the first stars.
He walked toward the infirmary.
He didn't stay long. He gathered his few belongings—a spare set of training clothes that Xiao Yu had washed neatly for him, his newly forged Tier 1 Wind Sword (which he decided to keep as a backup), and his leather pouch of gold.
His body was fully healed. His bones were harder than ever. He was no longer an invalid.
He stepped out of the infirmary and began the walk toward the inner sector of the estate. He was moving back to his private courtyard. As a male main family member, it was his rightful place, a quiet sanctuary where he could meditate without the smell of medicinal herbs.
As the darkness loomed over the Xiao Clan estate, Yoriichi walked calmly, the crickets beginning their nightly symphony.
He thought about the day. The auction house. The Head Guard. Ya Fei. Tie Shan. Chef Zhang.
"I received many apologies today," Yoriichi thought, a hint of dry amusement coloring his internal monologue.
He looked up at the moon.
"Is it national apology day?" he joked to himself.
The rare spark of humor faded into a look of absolute, unyielding focus as he reached the gate of his courtyard. Tomorrow, the gold would turn to steel. Tomorrow, he would forge the Sun.
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Well since u want 1 ch/day then ok....
Let's see🙃...