Xi hadn’t seen it coming—the Demon King drew chaos the way wind drives dry leaves. The hall’s commotion pointed straight at Ouyang. The realization hit her like cold night dew.

She shouldn’t have let that Demon King brush close to a crowd, like flame kissing straw.

“So stay in the servants’ wing and keep still. Don’t show your face to the guests.”

Even so, unease gnawed at her like a rat in the walls. The safest way was to seal that storm in a windowless room and keep the only key. But that felt too cruel, and Ouyang might burn the house down in a single rage.

Trading her life to end a Demon King felt like a bargain, a single spark snuffing a wildfire. But this was her own ground, and he might drag the whole town into the abyss like a river flood.

“Yeah…” Ouyang murmured, voice thin as smoke. He finished the cabbage in his hand, and an old, mortal hunger flicked awake in his chest like embers.

He glanced around. Under pooled lamplight, the servants’ kitchen sat not far away like a quiet harbor.

“Heh-heh. Time to unveil the legendary Dark Cuisine.”

He slipped in. No one was there. A white apron hung on the rack like a shed skin; Ouyang snatched it down and tied it on. Spatula in his right hand, he rubbed left thumb and forefinger—flame budded on his fingertip like a firefly.

He pressed that tiny flame to the stove’s wood, nursing it like a cautious hearth.

“Flame’s too small… damn it, I just want to eat, and even that fights me?” Anger flared. He set down the spatula. Fire roared into both palms like twin suns, and the wood drank it until the logs caught.

“Hmph. You think a trifle can stump me? Naive. So naive.” Hands on hips, he watched the kindling burn and shook his head, cocky as a rooster. Luckily, no one saw him, or they’d call him crazy.

A maid in a neat uniform stepped in, soft as a shadow.

“Naive?” She eyed Ouyang, puzzled. He coughed twice, awkward as a cat with a fishbone, and she let it slide. “Right, you’re the cook, aren’t you? The guests’ orders are flooding in, so…”

The Glachidor Clan kept two kitchens—one for servants, one for family. They usually served guests from the family kitchen, but tonight the hall overflowed like a tide, so the head steward told the servants’ cooks to help.

“The head steward said to mind the color…” she finished in a whisper and slipped out, words brittle as fallen leaves. A newbie, no doubt.

“Color? In Dark Cuisine, the look is supposed to be so terrifying it scares the mouth shut. How am I supposed to perform?” He shook his head and reclaimed the spatula like a general lifting his banner. “Dark Cuisine looks like a nightmare but tastes like heaven. Since they want color, I’ll invert it—make it look like bliss, and make them spit up last night’s dinner.”

No one in the hall knew a newbie maid had mistaken the head chef. Because of that slip, tonight’s guests were doomed like fish under a falling net.

“Salt needs to be heavy, carved into memory like a scar. Peppercorns? Not too much—numb tongues waste the follow-up.”

“No, scratch the follow-up. They’ll quit after one bite anyway. Go for a burst—let all flavors explode at the first swallow. Whether the tongue goes numb won’t matter.”

If anyone had been in that kitchen, they’d have stopped him, because this path smelled like death.

“Redfruit? A little speeds digestion like a quick stream, too much brings diarrhea like a sudden storm. Hmph, we’ll pour redfruit juice over it. Heat… ordinary chilies can’t match my Dark Cuisine. Only Fire Blossom will do.”

He set vegetables and Fire Blossom to steam together, letting the blossom’s heat seep like hot mist into every fiber.

Just then, a pair of small arms wrapped his waist like ivy.

“Got you… hee-hee.” He turned. It was that little imp Xian. No, one look into her eyes, and his heart dropped half a hill, cold as frost.

“Hee-hee. Doing bad things, aren’t we?”

“No. This is art.” Ouyang lost neither face nor stance, chin lifted like a drawn blade. “A grand art of the Dark Cuisine world, unprecedented in ages. The kind the world never forgets.”

She glanced, puzzled, then tossed her cloth doll to the floor like a feather and bit her finger, thoughtful as a fox.

“This looks fun. I’m joining.”

He couldn’t refuse; the rope was already around his neck. He agreed.

Another petite silhouette joined the kitchen’s dance of steam and shadow.

In a sticky-soft voice, she chimed, “Hee-hee. Winter greens with whiteflower fruit twist the gut like a wrung towel… red scallion with cloud-heart greens makes the whole body itch like ants under the skin…”

Cold sweat sprang from Ouyang’s back like dew on stone. He only wanted them to puke up leftovers. The girl in front of him was a deeper night. Those guests might not escape without a proper illness.

“Not my fault. If anyone dies, don’t come for me. I didn’t plan to send you off…” Ouyang pressed his hands together and muttered like a monk before a storm.

“Big brother, that was fun. Hee-hee, that’s enough for today.”

She left. Ouyang frowned, eyes on the pot. The food looked delicious, gleaming like lacquer, but it was cruel as a hidden hook. He almost couldn’t bear it. Then a voice floated from outside like a teasing breeze.

“Hee-hee, big brother, if none of them eat what we made, you can eat it all yourself…”

In an instant, Ouyang made up his mind. Trapping that crowd was the true path, as clear as sunlight.

He wiped his sweat and only breathed easy once he felt her presence fade like candle smoke.

The timid maid returned. From far off she’d smelled the aroma, mouth watering like a spring. She saw Ouyang and spoke with wide-eyed admiration. “I didn’t know your skills were that good. I was drooling all the way here… Oh, I’m Leticia. Nice to meet you, Chef.”

“Leticia means joy, doesn’t it? Looks like your parents wished you a happy life. Take it. I hope the guests leave smiling tonight.”

His words flowed natural as water, while inside he was dancing like sparks. His iron nerves hid that glow.

“Thank you, Chef!” Leticia loaded the plates onto the cart and hummed away like a small bird. Ouyang watched her retreating silhouette, haloed by lamplight, and his heart knotted for a breath.

“This way, that child will take the hit. No one knows it was me, and she doesn’t even know my name. All the blame will fall on her shoulders. For a girl… is that too cruel?”

He quickly shook his head, crisp as a banner snap. “Whatever. First, hide somewhere and build an alibi. Others won’t suspect me, but Xi will. Right!” Ouyang snapped his fingers. “That little girl is the perfect alibi.”

In the hall, Leticia set the plates down on the tables. The smell curled like a silken hook. She didn’t dare steal a taste. That was her virtue, and the knife that cut her. If she’d tried a bite back then, maybe the ‘tragedy’ wouldn’t have followed.

“Hmm, what’s this? The color alone stirs the appetite like sunrise, and the flavor’s a marvel.”

A fat man wiped his drool, pride dented earlier by Ouyang, and he chose to mend his heart with food like a warm quilt. Others drifted closer, caught by aroma like bees to blossoms, spoons dipping and ready.

“Everyone, I’m from a culinary family in Guyi Town. Let me taste first.” His words froze spoons mid-air like frost. He was fat, yes, but his family had real weight in cuisine.

He spooned up a mouthful and tossed it in. Instantly, his eyes bulged like lanterns, his body trembled like a plucked string, and tears spilled like rain.

People saw his long silence and thought he was stunned by glory. No one imagined the dish hid fangs, because by color and aroma it was perfect, a full-score beauty.

So the crowd lifted spoons and swallowed…

Soon, screams rang through the hall like broken bells.

“Ah! I’m dying—”

“Itchy! All over—”

“Help, my stomach—”

The hall fell into chaos. Plates shattered like ice. Some flipped tables in pain, waves crashing against wood. Howls, screams, breaking—every sound tangled together like a storm nets all.

Servants blanched and scrambled, propping their masters up like reeds against wind, only to lay them down again. The reactions were too violent, bodies writhing like hooked fish.

Some couldn’t stop retching, words drowned like stones under a river. Another night of chickens and dogs flying, a sleepless night sealed under a dark sky.