When Lan Yue went back, she didn't even make it three steps into the courtyard before someone grabbed her wrist.
"Come on, hurry!" Chen Mei whispered urgently, tugging her forward.
"Hey,hey, slow down!" Lan Yue protested, nearly face-planting over a loose stone. "Do you know what happens when I'm dragged before breakfast? I become violent. Emotionally violent."
Chen Mei didn't respond.
She walked ahead in silence, head lowered, hands clenched tightly inside her sleeves. Her steps were quick but careful, as if she was afraid of making noise. She looked small like this—more shadow than person.
Lan Yue glanced at her.
Chen Mei… if Lan Yue remembered correctly, was barely a footnote in the original story. A background character. A nameless sweetness the readers occasionally went, "Ah, she's cute," before forgetting her existence entirely. Kind, bashful, loyal to the female lead to a fault.
Compared to Liu Ruyan, she barely existed.
"So," Lan Yue said casually, breaking the silence, "when did you start serving the mistress?"
Chen Mei blinked, clearly startled by the question. After a moment, she answered softly, "The mistress… found me at a slave auction."
Lan Yue's steps slowed.
"She saved my life," Chen Mei continued, her eyes lighting up with pure admiration. "If not for her, I would've been sold to a brothel… or beaten to death."
Ah.
Lan Yue mentally nodded.
Of course.
Classic heroine behavior. Save a pitiful girl, gain eternal loyalty, collect followers like limited-edition figurines.
Chen Mei and Liu Ruyan were Zhao Lingxi's devoted wings.
And she?
Lan Yue was the rotten feather stuck in the ass crack of fate.
Her lips twitched.
They arrived at the main kitchen soon after.
The moment they stepped inside, heat slapped Lan Yue in the face. Steam rose thick and heavy from iron pots. Oil sizzled. Knives slammed against boards. Men laughed loudly, cursed casually, moved with the lazy confidence of people who knew no one here dared offend them.
The air smelled of grease, smoke, and arrogance.
Chen Mei swallowed, then spoke.
"We're here to collect breakfast for the mistress."
The kitchen went quiet. Not respectful quiet.The kind of quiet that comes before something unpleasant. Then laughter broke out.
A fat man turned around slowly, wiping his hands on an already filthy apron. His face was uneven and pockmarked, his cheeks sagging, a thick scar cutting down his face like someone had once tried and failed to correct his existence.
His small eyes slid over them with open disdain.
"Oh?" he said, dragging out the word. "The mistress?"
Someone behind him snorted. "Which one?"
The fat chef laughed loudly, slapping his thigh. "You mean that useless trash pretending to be the General's daughter?"
Chen Mei's back stiffened.
"We're just here for food," she said, forcing her voice to stay calm. "Please don't make things difficult."
"Food?" The chef waddled over to a corner and kicked a wooden bucket forward.
It scraped loudly against the floor.
Inside was soup.
Grey. Thick. Congealed.
Wilted vegetable scraps floated on top, soaked and lifeless. The smell alone made Lan Yue's stomach churn.
"Leftovers from last night," the chef said cheerfully. "Be grateful."
Chen Mei's face flushed bright red. "You... How dare you!"
The man clicked his tongue before picking up the bucket and threw the soup at them. Splash. Cold soup flew through the air.
It drenched Lan Yue's hair, soaked into her clothes, and splattered across Chen Mei's chest and face. Drops slid down her jaw and dripped onto the floor. The stench hit immediately—sour, rotten, stomach-turning.
For a heartbeat, everything froze.
Then the kitchen erupted into laughter.
"Oh no," the chef said mockingly. "My hand slipped."
Someone snorted. "Like mistress, like servants. Filthy things."
Another added, "That disgrace thinks she deserves fresh food? The second mistress is elegant, graceful, talented—unlike that trash who can't even cultivate properly!"
"Exactly! A waste of General Zhao's seed!"
More laughter.
Chen Mei was shaking, fists clenched, her lips trembling.
"You… you…!" she stammered, eyes red with fury.
Lan Yue stood there, soup dripping down her hair, blinking slowly.
Once.
Twice.
Then her expression darkened.
"Oh," she said softly. "So this is how it is."
The laughter faltered.
Lan Yue raised her head, eyes sharp, mouth curling into something ugly. "Oh," she said softly, wiping soup off her cheek with two fingers. "So this is how kitchen dogs bark."
"Let me get this straight," she said, wiping soup off her cheek with two fingers. "A bunch of greasy kitchen pigs who'll never step beyond this shithole are running their mouths about noble blood?"
She pointed at the fat chef.
"You," she said. "Your breath smells like you eat your own shit for breakfast."
The kitchen exploded.
"What did you say?!"
Lan Yue stepped forward, eyes blazing.
"You think serving scraps gives you power?" she barked. "Without this household, you'd be begging on the streets, fighting dogs for leftovers!"
Chen Mei stared at her, stunned.
The cooks were furious.
"You want to die?!"
Lan Yue laughed.
Inside, confidence surged.
Fine. Hehe, they are in for shock. Wait till I still their pathetic cultivation skills and use them against them. They are going to piss in their pants hahaha!
Her second ability she had gained back in her world, spirit devouring ability. She could forcibly steal another person's ability cultivation, techniques, even innate talent and use it briefly.
Back in the apocalypse, it had been terrifying. She activated it, her grin turning eerie. The air seemed to tighten. A faint pressure brushed the kitchen. The cooks hesitated.
"What… what is she doing?"
"Is she using a technique?"
Lan Yue locked onto the fat chef. Give me your cultivation, you little fat shit! Something stirred.A faint warmth brushed her veins.For less than a heartbeat... She felt it. Then...
Nothing. Gone.
Lan Yue blinked.
"…Huh?" She tried again. Nothing. It felt like grabbing smoke with bare hands. Her smile stiffened.
The fat chef blinked. "Was… was that it?"
Another cook squinted. "Did she just stare at us?"
Silence fell.
Someone coughed awkwardly.
"…What's going on?"
Lan Yue's eye twitched. What the fuck.
The fat chef burst into laughter. "That's all?!"
The next second...
BAM.
A fist slammed into Lan Yue's stomach. She flew backward, crashing into a table with a loud crack. Chen Mei screamed in shock.
Chaos erupted.
Lan Yue fought back like a cornered animal—kicking, elbowing, biting. She cracked one nose. Scratched another man bloody. Her movements were sharp, ruthless, trained.
But this body was weak.
Too weak.
They were cultivators.
She wasn't. This body was already so freaking useless with barely any spiritual power! In the end, both girls were thrown out like trash, bruised, bleeding, still clutching the damn bucket of leftovers. They walked back in silence.
Finally, Lan Yue cleared her throat.
"…Sorry," she muttered. "I dragged you into trouble."
Chen Mei didn't respond immediately. Lan Yue thought she was angry but then she suddenly laughed. She doubled over, laughing so hard her shoulders shook.
Lan Yue stopped walking, looking puzzled. Oh no, did she hit her hard during the fight? Had she gone bunkers?! "Uh… are you okay?"
"I always thought you were a dull, scheming, greedy little pest," Chen Mei said between laughs. "But I didn't know you were this fun."
Lan Yue froze. "…Excuse me?"
"Oh," Chen Mei tilted her head. "I like the new you."
Her smile widened. For just a moment... It was crooked. Twisted. "You and I...," she whispered, "are going to have lots of fun."
Then her face softened again, gentle and sweet, as she walked away. Lan Yue stood there, dumbfounded. "…What the fuck was that?"