While the others were whispering to each other, deliberately avoiding eye contact with the referee.

"Are you insane?" one senior whispered frantically to his friend. "Did you not hear the rogue cultivator? The guy who punched through the stone already surrendered! I am not getting turned into a braised meatball!"

"I heard he uses a spatula because real swords shatter under the weight of his bloodlust," another whispered back. "Don’t look at him! If you make eye contact, he’ll add you to the grocery list!"

The referee cleared his throat again, feeling a drop of sweat roll down his temple. The silence was becoming suffocatingly awkward.

"I repeat!" the referee shouted, his voice cracking slightly. "Are there any Senior Disciples who wish to challenge Candidate Lin Ji’an?!"

He looked toward the Class 2 section, the burly, combat-hardened veterans.

A massive, scarred senior who wielded twin hammers visibly shuddered, suddenly deciding that he needed to tie his boots very, very intricately.

"Anyone?" the referee pleaded.

In the center of the ring, Ji’an shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

The adrenaline crash was hitting her hard now, and her stomach let out a loud, embarrassing grumble. She was tired, she was hungry, and she really just wanted to sit down.

"Um," Ji’an raised her free hand slightly, her voice echoing awkwardly in the dead silence. "If nobody wants to fight... can I go? I left a pot of stock simmering in the kitchens, and if it reduces too much, the base will get bitter. I kind of need to get back."

To Ji’an, it was a perfectly reasonable, culinary concern.

To the terrified Senior Disciples in the stands, it was a chilling, thinly veiled threat.

’He left a pot simmering!’ The collective mind of the Inner Sect panicked. ’He’s impatient! Does he want to boil someone right now?!’

The remaining Senior Disciples who had even been entertaining the idea of stepping forward immediately shrank back into their seats, physically pressing themselves against the stone benches to look as unappealing as possible.

The referee looked at the stands. He looked at the perfectly unharmed, incredibly confused cook standing in the center of the ring.

He looked up at the Head Elder in the VIP pavilion, silently begging for instructions.

The Head Elder of the Discipline Hall pinched the bridge of his nose. He had seen enough absurdity for one lifetime. He just wanted to go lie down in a dark room.

The Head Elder gave a single, exhausted nod.

The referee turned back to Ji’an, raising both hands into the air with a gesture of profound resignation.

"By unanimous abstention of the Senior Disciples," the referee declared, his voice booming with official finality, "Candidate Lin Ji’an is awarded victory by default! He is hereby granted full status as a strong Inner Disciple of the Celestial Sword Sect!"

The gong sounded, sealing the verdict.

Lin Ji’an had just bypassed the most grueling, competitive, blood-soaked martial arts tournament in the sect’s history without throwing a single punch, blocking a single strike, or even breaking a sweat.

She stood in the ring, staring at the referee. "Wait, seriously? That’s it? I’m in?"

"Please exit the ring, Junior Brother Lin," the referee sighed, waving her off. "Your new jade token will be delivered to your quarters. Congratulations. Please don’t cook me."

Ji’an slowly lowered her spatula, shaking her head in sheer bewilderment.

As she walked down the black stone steps, the crowd parted for her with a level of terrified reverence usually reserved for visiting deities or natural disasters. Nobody dared to cheer too loudly, lest they draw her attention.

The moment her boots hit the plaza floor, she was immediately swarmed by her incredibly strange, overpowered entourage.

"Brother Lin! You did it!" Gu Zhiwei cheered, throwing his arms in the air, completely immune to the terrifying rumors. "You won with the power of your reputation! It is the highest form of the Dao!"

"It is the highest form of a scam," Lu Jianheng grumbled, though he crossed his arms and offered a stiff, formal nod of acknowledgment. "You are lucky, cook. But do not think this gets you out of morning sword drills. I will not have an Inner Disciple lacking basic footwork."

"Welcome to the upper echelon, Ji’an," Wen Shiru smiled, snapping his fan shut. "I foresee a very profitable partnership in our future. The Inner Sect dining hall is in desperate need of a hostile takeover."

Ji’an offered them a tired, lopsided smile, but her eyes immediately sought out the figure standing just behind them.

Xie Wangchen stepped forward, his white robes pristine, his dark eyes radiating a quiet, profound pride.

He didn’t offer a dramatic speech or boast about her victory. 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

He simply reached into his sleeve, pulled out a small, flawlessly carved jade flask, and handed it to her.

"Warm apple cider," Wangchen murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "Infused with Spirit-Ginseng. Drink it. It will help your meridians recover from the Qi deficit."

Ji’an took the flask, her fingers brushing against his cool skin.

The sheer thoughtfulness of the gesture, anticipating her exact needs while the rest of the world was panicking over rumors, hit her with a wave of genuine, overwhelming affection.

She unscrewed the cap and took a sip. It was sweet, perfectly spiced, and radiated a comforting warmth that settled deep in her exhausted bones.

"Thanks, Little Puddle," Ji’an sighed happily, her shoulders finally dropping their defensive tension. She looked up at him, a genuinely bright, smug grin breaking across her face. "Looks like I’m going to be officially an Inner Disciple. You know what that means, right?"

Wangchen tilted his head, his dark eyes locked onto her smile. "What does it mean?"

"It means," Ji’an said, turning to look back at the grand, imposing peaks of the Inner Sect with a look of absolute culinary determination, "that I finally have clearance to raid the Sect Leader’s personal premium ingredient vault. The era of gray robes and boiled cabbage is over!"