My Husband’s Ascension C30
Chapter 30 Taking to the Stove
Zhao Zhao had been residing in the Zhongli Clan’s estate for three days.
It was said that, according to an ancient decree set down by a former Dao Lord Tianshu, no member of the Zhongli bloodline was permitted to divide from the clan or enter another sect. Thus, even if Lord Yaoguang himself had come in person, he could not simply allow Zhao Zhao to take Zhongli Shun away.
Fortunately, in these three days, Lord Yaoguang’s efforts to purge the corruption within the Zhongli Clan had already borne fruit.
From the second-story loft where Zhao Zhao lodged, she could see, through the veil of maple trees, the tribunal platform.
Nearly every evening, the sound of heads falling echoed through the air.
“…Didn’t Lord Yaoguang lead a group to investigate the Academy? What’s all this paperwork you’ve been sending to and fro…?”
Zhao Zhao, who tended to sleep early and rise late, had taken notice of this yesterday.
At the far end of the second floor, the servants had been carrying stacks of heavy documents in and out of a certain room from dawn till dusk. Late last night, when the wind grew fierce, Zhao Zhao rose to close her window and saw the candlelight in that room still burning bright—the occupant had clearly worked through the night without rest.
The maid replied, “They’re a disciple from Kunwu. They’re drafting the new clan statutes, and the case files of those who’ve committed offenses within the clan are also being reviewed by that person.”
Zhao Zhao nodded in understanding.
So that was it; she had thought as much. Lord Yaoguang hardly seemed the type to trouble himself with mundane governance. She wondered which junior disciple had been burdened with so grave a responsibility, to manage so many affairs single-handedly.
“Master—!”
Before the person appeared, Zhongli Shun’s voice was already heard echoing from outside.
The boy, no more than nine years old, bounded up the stairs two steps at a time, five companions his age trailing closely behind.
All of them wore the new robes Zhao Zhao had tailored for them. Though not as ornate or luxurious as those worn by Yao Ling and Rong Yu, they were more than sufficient as training garments for young cultivators.
The boys, who had once looked awkward in ill-fitting clothes, now stood straight and spirited in their new attire, like tender bamboo shoots in early spring, vibrant and full of life.
“Do you like your new clothes?” Zhao Zhao asked.
Zhongli Shun was the first to shout, his voice ringing with youthful pride, “Yes! Thank you, Master!”
“Thank you, Master!” the others echoed in chorus.
Behind Zhao Zhao, the door at the end of the corridor seemed to shift slightly ajar.
The chorus of “Master” made Zhao Zhao’s head throb a little.
“If you all call me ‘Master,’ the elders of your clan will not be pleased,” she said with a faint sigh.
Over the past three days, Zhao Zhao had met several of the Zhongli Clan’s elders within the estate.
Not one had greeted her with a kind face. Each had looked upon her as though she were a thief who had slipped into their home to steal their treasure. Yet under Lord Yaoguang’s orders, they could do nothing but tolerate her presence.
At her words, the children behind Zhongli Shun lowered their heads in disappointment.
“But—” Zhao Zhao bent down, a playful smile curving her lips as she winked at them. “If you all practice your swordsmanship properly today, whatever you wish to eat, I’ll prepare it for you.”
The children’s eyes lit up at once.
Zhongli Shun gazed at Zhao Zhao’s profile and asked in wonder, “Master, are you a goddess from the heavens? You mean… we can get rewards for practicing the sword?”
The Zhongli Clan had never entertained such notions. In a bloodline so consumed by cultivation, sword practice was as natural as breathing, an act beyond the need for reward.
To practice well was expected, a matter of course.
To falter, however, was a disgrace to the clan’s blood and warranted severe punishment.
Every child raised in this household was taught the same: such thoughts as hers were far too foreign to take root.
“I’m no goddess nor bodhisattva,” Zhao Zhao replied with a wink, “but Lord Yaoguang did say that all expenses for caring for you children would be covered by him.”
A sweet warmth bloomed in Zhongli Shun’s chest.
This had nothing to do with money at all; his master was simply the best master in all the world.
Zhongli Shun cast a few furtive glances at Zhao Zhao’s hand hanging by her side.
Ordinarily, that hand would so naturally reach out to hold Yao Ling’s or Rong Yu’s. But now that the two had been sent back to Beaconlight Mountain, there was no one left for her to take by the hand as she once did.
Truth be told, he was long past the age when children needed adults to hold their hands.
However, sometimes, just sometimes, he wondered what it might feel like, to have someone’s hand holding his as they walked.
“Hss—!”
Zhongli Shun had only half-extended his hand toward her when a sudden sting lashed across the back of it. Something had struck him in a flash of heat, sharp and fleeting, forcing him to jerk his hand back.
What was that!?
Hearing his startled hiss, Zhao Zhao turned and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Something hit my hand!” Zhongli Shun said, his voice small and aggrieved.
Zhao Zhao took his hand gently, turning it over and examining it, but found no sign of injury.
“It’s probably just the dry air, static from the fabric rubbing together,” she said lightly, giving it no further thought. The time for their daily practice had arrived. “Come on now. Later I’ll have Xiao Bai share some hand balm.”
Almost without thinking, Zhao Zhao took his hand and led him toward the stairs.
Zhongli Shun’s attention shifted at once. He tightened his grip around his master’s hand, his steps light and lively as he followed her down.
Yet as they descended, a faint sound reached his ears—the door at the end of the corridor slammed shut with a heavy thud.
Probably just the wind… right?
…
There had only been two portions of Moondew Frost Cream prepared: one had been tampered with a soporific drug, and the other—the untouched one—had been given to Xiao Bai.
Zhao Zhao had planned to ask him for a bit of it, but after Li Feng searched through every corner of the Zhongli Clan estate, not a trace of Xiao Bai could be found.
Li Feng: “That damned fox must’ve gone to tip off the people of the Tushan Clan! When he comes back, let’s just finish him off once and for all!”
Zhao Zhao shook her head. “If he’s gone to deliver the message, so be it. At least this way, the Tushan Clan will understand it isn’t us standing in the way of their attempt to swallow the Zhongli Clan, but Lord Yaoguang himself. That should be enough to divert their attention.”
And indeed, Zhao Zhao’s guess proved correct.
When Xiao Bai brought the news back to Tushan Long, she fell into a long silence before letting out a weary sigh. “So…even Kunwu has interfered. Then it seems our hope of engulfing the Zhongli Clan is lost.”
A pity, truly. She had schemed for decades, certain her plan would succeed—first to seize the Zhongli Clan, then return to the Verdant Highlands to wrest power back from her royal brother.
It seemed that ambition would have to be set aside for now.
In the maple grove behind the Zhongli Clan estate, Tushan Long watched Xiao Bai kneel obediently as he received her reprimand.
“How did your seduction scheme fare? Has that female immortal of Beaconlight Mountain taken any particular notice of you?” she asked.
At the question, Xiao Bai broke out in a cold sweat.
If he told the truth, the clan matriarch could very well unleash the gu within him and make him suffer horribly; but if he lied…
“Reporting to the matriarch,” he stammered, “the head of Beaconlight Mountain has…entrusted me with important duties, handling…many of Beaconlight Mountain’s affairs. I believe…there is some degree of trust.”
Beaconlight Mountain’s greatest income now came from Daoist Ming Jue’s refined pills, and half of those pills were refined from the spiritual herbs cultivated in the plots Xiao Bai had opened. …Could that not be considered a heavy responsibility?
Tushan Long inclined her head slightly, evidently confident in the effectiveness of the Tushan Clan's seduction arts.
“Very well. Then this matter will be yours to handle.”
She handed him a wooden box.
Xiao Bai cast a glance at the totemic pattern carved on the lid; he did not even need to open it to know what lay inside.
It bore the sigil of Mount Ling, inside most likely contained Mount Ling’s spiritual gu.
Xiao Bai’s nerves tightened. “Matriarch, could this gu be…?”
“The head of Beaconlight Mountain cultivates the Divine Farmer Dao; her innate element and spiritual power counters gu. This is not meant for her.”
The fingers, stained with crimson rouge, tapped the wooden box lightly as Tushan Long spoke with deliberate calmness, “Mount Ling has promised that when the next planchette writing to read the heavens’ will arises, they would identify the Verdant Highlands’ next generation’s most talented fox among countless others, provided we complete this one task—”
“—implant these gu into those two disciples called Yao Ling and Rong Yu. After that, the rest will take care of itself; you needn’t concern yourself further.”
…
Li Feng came to inform Zhao Zhao that Xiao Bai had returned at dusk.
“He was out so long; he must’ve made some filthy bargain with that Tushan Long. And he had the gall to say he was at the market; I can still smell that woman’s rouge in my nostrils!”
Though of the canine race himself, Li Feng still bore a grudge over the banquet; his dislike of Tushan Long ran deep. At last he had a perfectly reasonable excuse. Eagerly he asked, “Shall I snap that male fox’s neck tonight?”
“…I know you’re impatient, but not so fast.”
Zhao Zhao had her reasons for never having harmed Xiao Bai.
It was hardly the first time Tushan Long had sent foxes as “gifts” to the noble clans of Jimo Sea. Most recipients tolerated it, treating the fox as nothing more than a decorative ornament in their household. Others, less inclined to endure such things, took the direct approach—snapping the fox’s neck outright, much like Li Feng would have done.
That, of course, always gave Tushan Long the perfect excuse to retaliate. Backed by the power of the Verdant Highlands, the Tushan Clan had no difficulty eradicating a few lesser families.
That was the rational reason.
But there was another, Zhao Zhao’s intuition. Though Xiao Bai hadn’t been with them long and had mostly done menial work, he didn’t seem to harbor resentment toward their sect. In fact, she sensed in him a faint sense of belonging.
If there was a chance to win his loyalty, Zhao Zhao would rather choose peace than make enemies of the Tushan Clan.
“Just keep an eye on him for now,” she said.
Denied the pleasure of wringing the fox’s neck, Li Feng was deeply disappointed; even his favorite mealtime lost its joy.
In his room, shoveling rice into his mouth, he grumbled through the communication jade (传讯玉) to Zhao Zhao, “What’s up with the Zhongli Clan’s cooks? Kunwu’s people have been straightening things out here for days, and they still can’t fix the kitchen? This food tastes awful!”
Zhao Zhao opened her own food box and peered inside.
Three sides and a soup—all things she liked, fragrant and enticing even from the first whiff.
“...I think it looks pretty good.”
When Li Feng asked what dishes she had tonight, it wasn’t long before a commotion sounded outside her window—
the little dog, drawn by the aroma, had come sniffing around to mooch a meal.
One look at her table, and Li Feng nearly burst into tears of indignation. “Is Lord Yaoguang secretly in love with you or something? What the hell! This isn’t even the same food they served me!”
Before she could answer, he had already grabbed a pair of chopsticks, sat himself down, and began devouring the meal like a storm sweeping the plains. Before long, he’d gone through four bowls of rice.
Only when the last grain was gone did he remember to mutter with feigned courtesy, “Don’t just sit there, eat too.”
Zhao Zhao: “...You may have it all. If I consume even one portion, you’ll die of hunger.”
Li Feng didn't stand on ceremony and continued his assault on the plates as if he hadn’t eaten in three days.
Zhao Zhao picked up a slice of bamboo shoot and placed it in her mouth, chewing slowly.
At first, she thought she was imagining things. But after hearing Li Feng’s outburst just now, a realization suddenly struck her.
The taste of these bamboo shoots… felt strangely familiar.
Not just the shoots—the fish at noon, the sugar flatbread in the morning, even the Yangchun noodles yesterday—
Every dish matched her tastes exactly.
Even the flavor itself carried a familiar hand.
Could it be just a coincidence?
That question lingered in Zhao Zhao’s mind, refusing to fade no matter how many times she turned it over.
Restless through the night, she finally couldn’t help herself and called out to the maid standing guard outside her door.
“I’m a little hungry. Could you ask the kitchen to prepare a midnight snack for me?”
The maid bowed hastily, flustered. “Miss Immortal, there’s no need to be polite. I’ll have someone prepare it at once. Is there anything in particular you’d like?”
Zhao Zhao paused for a long moment.
“Yangchun noodles,” she said softly.
A few breaths after the door closed, Zhao Zhao seemed to catch faint sounds from the end of the corridor, movement from the room that remained lit night after night.
Yangchun noodles were simple to make, yet not so simple.
Back in Yunmeng Pier, Xie Lanshu had once learned the art of noodle-making from a seasoned chef. The noodles he made were always springier than ordinary ones.
Standing just outside the kitchen, Zhao Zhao could already smell the fragrance of flour and the aroma of scallion oil sizzling in the pan.
Could it be him?
Zhao Zhao didn’t believe in coincidences, not of this sort.
It was far too convenient that the cook of the Zhongli Clan would happen to know all her favorite dishes, and that the meals sent to her chamber were always different from everyone else’s.
But—
If it truly was him, then why?
Why would he go to such lengths?
She first dismissed the possibility of lingering affection.
Yet beyond that, Zhao Zhao could think of no other reason.
Her fingertips rested against the doorframe of the dining hall. After a long hesitation, she finally steeled herself and pushed the door open.
Even if it turned out to be a trap laid deliberately for her, she had to step into it; she needed a definite answer.
The dim stove was bathed in the pale light of the moon.
Zhao Zhao’s gaze locked unblinkingly on the figure standing before it.
But the sight that met her eyes was nothing like what she had imagined.
Dressed in the robes of Immortal Realm of Kunwu and with an aura as cold and translucent as frost and snow…
Not Dao Lord Tianshu, nor a yao imitating Xie Lanshu like Xiao Bai once had, nor the mischievous Lord Yaoguang, but—
A young woman.
She seemed to have heard the sound of Zhao Zhao pushing the door open, and slowly lifted her head.
That face was too beautiful, almost inhumanly so, and utterly devoid of expression. Even as she stood amid the warmth and smoke of the stove, she looked like an otherworldly celestial immortal untouched by mortal fire.
The instant their gazes met, a strange sense of familiarity crept up Zhao Zhao’s spine. It was as if a name had already reached the tip of her tongue, ready to burst forth.
But—
This was a woman!
Zhao Zhao froze, stunned into silence for a long moment, her thoughts a tangled mess.
The young woman in Kunwu robes—who was, in truth, Dao Lord Tianshu in disguise—met Zhao Zhao’s shaken gaze with quiet composure.
Ever since he had discovered that cooking for her could calm the violent discord within his divine consciousness, Dao Lord Tianshu had foreseen this day would come.
So, beforehand, he had made arrangements with Lord Yaoguang: for as long as he remained in Jimo Sea, he would assume the guise of a Kunwu disciple and handle the Zhongli Clan’s affairs in that capacity.
He could not defy his own heart.
Yet he would never allow Xie Tanzhao to know.
“Are…you a disciple of Kunwu?”
It took Zhao Zhao a long while before she finally managed to force out the question.
Dao Lord Tianshu inclined his head in acknowledgment.
“Then why are you here… cooking?” she asked.
“Work can be vexing. The kitchen… helps me quiet my mind.”
Zhao Zhao still couldn’t quite understand. How could anyone so busy they scarcely had time to sleep still make time to cook, just to find peace of mind?
Her thoughts tangled into knots. Something felt off, terribly off, but she couldn’t yet name what it was.
Seeing the conflict written across her face, Dao Lord Tianshu suddenly asked, “That bowl of Yangchun noodles… how did it taste?”
In all the millennia of his existence, that should have been his first attempt at cooking.
Yet when he followed Xie Lanshu’s memories, guiding his own hands through each motion, every gesture had felt innately familiar, as though carved into his very being.
“...I don’t know,” Zhao Zhao replied honestly, shaking her head. “Xiao Bai ate it all, and Li Feng claimed my dinner tonight.”
For a moment, the air within the kitchen turned utterly still.
