The Spring Festival had officially arrived at the Celestial Sword Sect, painting the usually austere mountain peaks in vibrant shades of crimson and gold.

Red paper lanterns swayed gently from the eaves of the grand pavilions, and the crisp, lingering chill of winter was finally giving way to the fragrant bloom of plum blossoms.

Up on the Drunken Peak, however, the festive spirit smelled distinctively like seasoned pork, sesame oil, and impending chaos.

Lin Ji’an stood in the center of her newly renovated kitchen, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows and her signature gray apron tied tightly over her festive red robes.

She was attempting a twenty-course banquet for the Drunken Sovereign, but her kitchen had somehow been invaded by the most terrifying, overpowered, and culinarily inept men in the entire Northern Territories.

They had all shown up uninvited, wielding various excuses. Wen Shiru claimed he was bringing "festival dividends." Xiao Yichen arrived with a gentle smile and a box of premium tea.

Lu Jianheng marched in demanding a holiday spar, while Hu Yanlie had quite literally dropped a massive, freshly hunted wild boar at her doorstep.

Mo Wuchen coughed delicately, citing the need for "warmth," and Yan Xuanye, in his full, unabashed Demon Lord glory, had simply kicked the door open and demanded food.

Even Elder Qin Changxu had awkwardly hovered near the entrance, claiming he was merely ensuring his disciple wasn’t causing trouble.

"Alright, listen up!" Ji’an barked, slamming her Black Iron Spatula against the wooden prep table to establish dominance over the apex predators crowding her kitchen. "If you are going to stand in my kitchen and breathe my air, you are going to work for your dinner! The dumpling station is over there. Wash your hands, grab a wrapper, put a spoonful of filling in the center, and pinch the edges. And for the love of the Heavens, absolutely no utilizing Qi!"

The collective egos of the Inner Sect elites bristled, but the promise of Ji’an’s cooking was too strong.

They obediently shuffled over to the massive flour-dusted table.

For exactly three minutes, it was peaceful.

Then, the Sword Lord lost his patience.

"This knife is entirely unbalanced," Lu Jianheng sneered, glaring at the standard kitchen cleaver meant for chopping cabbage. With a sharp shing, he drew Cloud-Piercer, his legendary, heaven-tier sword. "A true swordsman minces with his own blade! Cloud-Rending Strike!"

"Put the sword away, you maniac!" Ji’an shrieked, but it was too late.

A wave of razor-sharp sword intent obliterated the cabbage, the cutting board, and a solid chunk of the wooden table.

"Inefficient," Wen Shiru tutted, shaking his head at the mess.

The Merchant Prince pulled out his golden abacus, attempting to mathematically calculate the exact, optimal weight-to-ratio distribution of pork to dough.

He had spent twenty minutes on a single dumpling, completely paralyzed by the desire to achieve geometric perfection.

Next to him, Xiao Yichen chuckled softly. "Allow me to assist with the wrapping," the Second Prince offered kindly.

He flicked his wrist, summoning his invisible, razor-thin Qi strings to tie the dumplings together.

Unfortunately, the lethal strings instantly sliced the delicate dough into confetti, spilling raw pork everywhere.

"You call that folding? Steel your flesh!" Hu Yanlie barked.

The Beast Lord grabbed a handful of dough and filling and simply crushed it within his massive, calloused fist, producing a horrific, pulverized meatball that oozed through his fingers.

Mo Wuchen, trying to look helpful and fragile, was delicately sprinkling a highly suspicious, glowing purple powder over the filling. "A dash of flavor, Senior Brother Lin," the assassin smiled coyly.

"Is that nightshade?!" Ji’an yelled from the stove. "Stop poisoning the appetizers!"

The final straw, however, came from the Blood Sovereign.

Yan Lie stared at his lumpy, misshapen dumpling with profound demonic offense. "Why are we waiting to boil water?" he grumbled, his red eyes flashing with impatience. "The weak wait. The strong take what they want!"

Yan Lie snapped his fingers. A massive, roaring orb of Abyssal Hellfire erupted from his palm, instantly engulfing the pile of dumplings.

"NO!" Elder Qin Changxu, whose ancient, traditional sensibilities were already fracturing under the sheer absurdity of the kitchen, panicked.

Acting entirely on instinct to put out the demonic fire, the elder unleashed a wave of Flawless Ice Qi.

The Abyssal Hellfire and the Flawless Ice collided directly over the twenty-pound sack of finely milled flour.

BOOM!

The explosion wasn’t lethal, but it was spectacularly messy.

A massive, mushroom cloud of white flour detonated, coating the entire kitchen and every single legendary cultivator inside it in a thick layer of white powder.

Silence descended on the kitchen.

Yan Lie, currently looking like a terrifying, muscular powdered donut, blinked through the flour. Elder Qin stood frozen, a white dusting completely ruining his majestic aura.

Through the settling cloud of white dust, a figure emerged.

Lin Ji’an’s face was completely covered in flour.

Only her dark eyes were visible, and they were burning with the unholy, blinding rage of a Head Chef whose prep station had just been compromised.

In her right hand, she held the Black Iron Spatula. In her left hand, she wielded a massive, brutally heavy cast-iron frying pan.

"You..." Ji’an whispered, her voice a terrifying, vibrating hiss. "I TOLD YOU NOT TO USE QI!"

"Kid, calm down—" Yan Lie started, taking a cautious step back.

CLANG!

The frying pan connected solidly with the Demon Lord’s head, producing a beautiful, resonant gong sound.

"OUT!" Ji’an roared, dual-wielding her cookware like a berserker. "EVERYBODY OUT OF MY KITCHEN!"

What followed was a sight that would have made the Celestial Sword Sect’s historians weep.

The most powerful men in the Northern Territories, the Sword Lord, the Second Prince, the Beast Lord, the Shadow Assassin, the Demon Lord, and a Transcendent Realm Elder, were frantically sprinting out the door, tripping over each other as a furious, flour-covered cook chased them around the peach trees, aggressively swatting them with a spatula and a frying pan.

"Not the face, Royal Uncle!" Xiao Yichen yelped, dodging a spatula swipe.

"Stand your ground, you cowards!" Lu Jianheng yelled before immediately ducking to avoid the frying pan.

Back inside the kitchen, amidst the settling flour and the chaotic ruins of the prep table, two figures remained completely untouched.

In the far corner, Gu Zhiwei was humming a cheerful festival tune.

He was meticulously, happily rolling out perfect little circles of dough, his golden aura keeping the flour completely off his pristine white robes.

Sitting right beside him, completely ignoring the screaming and the sounds of physical violence echoing from the courtyard, was Xie Wangchen.

The Ice Demon was the picture of legendary focus.

His long, elegant fingers moved with surgical precision, taking Zhiwei’s wrappers, adding the exact right amount of filling, and pinching the edges into flawless, beautiful little crescent moons.

He had already produced four bamboo steamers full of immaculate dumplings.

Ji’an finally trudged back into the kitchen, panting heavily, having successfully banished the troublemakers to the courtyard to reflect on their culinary sins.

She dropped the frying pan with a heavy sigh, wiping the flour from her eyes.

She looked at the ruined table, and then she looked at the corner.

Wangchen looked up from his work. He picked up one of his perfectly pleated dumplings, holding it up for her to inspect.

His dark eyes were soft, expecting, and completely devoid of their usual murderous chill.

"I did not use Qi to make them, Brother Lin," Wangchen stated quietly, waiting for his praise like a very lethal, very well-behaved snow leopard.

"Brother Lin! We saved the pork filling!" Zhiwei beamed brightly, holding up a rolling pin.

Ji’an stared at the two of them. The tension melted from her shoulders, a wide, genuine, and incredibly fond smile breaking through the flour on her face.

"You two," Ji’an laughed softly, walking over and gently bumping her shoulder against Wangchen’s. "Are getting the first batch. The rest of those clowns outside can eat the boiled cabbage."

As the water finally began to boil on the stove, the sounds of grumbling from the courtyard outside faded into the background.

Surrounded by the warmth of the hearth and the quiet, surprisingly efficient teamwork of her two most reliable companions, Lin Ji’an realized that despite the explosions and the chaos, it was turning out to be a pretty perfect Spring Festival after all.

Wangchen cast a singular, devastatingly smug look over his shoulder at Gu Zhiwei, who just smiled back brightly, entirely oblivious to the psychological warfare.

By the time the fireworks began to bloom in the night sky over the Celestial Sword Sect, the kitchen had miraculously survived.

The failed, terrifying dough-knots and pulverized fillings were quietly discarded, and the mountain of perfect dumplings crafted by Ji’an, Zhiwei, and Wangchen were plunged into the boiling broth.

They gathered around the massive wooden tables set up in the courtyard under the peach trees.

Jiu Zui was already three gourds deep into the festive wine, loudly arguing with a deeply uncomfortable Elder Qin, while Lin Xuan happily stuffed his face with shrimp dumplings.

As Ji’an sat down, surrounded by the most dangerous, overpowered, and completely ridiculous men in the realm, Xie Wangchen silently placed the best, most perfectly cooked dumpling directly into her bowl.

Ji’an looked at the dumpling, then at the Ice Demon, who was pointedly looking away at the fireworks.

She smiled, taking a bite of the hot, savory pork, feeling the crisp mountain air and the chaotic warmth of the festival settle into her bones.

Her life in a Xianxia novel was an absolute, unmitigated disaster of tropes and death flags. But sitting here, eating dumplings under the stars, she had to admit... the food was definitely worth it.