Seeing Leticia’s bright smile, Ouyang’s heart sank like wet cloth on a line. Living like that—doesn’t it grind the bones like river grit?

Whether she felt tired or not, he felt a weariness for her, a gray mist settling over a winter pond.

“Have you never hated?” His voice drifted like dusk wind. “Hated people, hated the world, hated fate that hangs like iron sky?”

Leticia bent and kept digging wild greens, fingers in earth cool as a well. Right now, that was her food, plain as rainwater.

“Hate? Who hasn’t tasted that thorn?” Her words came slow, like stones turned in a stream. “I hated my father—he let a demon’s whisper cut down my mother.”

“I hated my mother—why bring me into a clan like a house built on sorrow’s clay. I hated fate—so high and unfair, like a wall of night.”

Her practiced smile tore like paper in rain. A single tear slid down, a clear bead on a willow leaf.

“But hate can’t move the mountain,” she breathed, voice thin as smoke. “No kin, no friends. When I see others smile like lanterns, I feel a little light.”

“Sometimes I’m jealous, like a needle in the sleeve. But only through their bright faces do I remember the sun of my own childhood.”

The mask was gone, brittle shell flaked off. This, wind-washed and clear, was the real Leticia.

Ouyang didn’t know how to comfort her; his chest felt tight as a knotted rope. Maybe she needed no blanket words at all.

Silence fell like first snow. Leticia kept searching for anything edible, the way a sparrow pecks in frost.

In that small, stubborn back, Ouyang glimpsed himself—driftwood in a strange sea. Back then, he clung to others’ smiles to find his own lost shoreline.

“You don’t mind fish, do you?” he asked, leaning in, his breath stirring the air like a warm breeze.

She startled, cheeks blooming like peach petals. “Y-yes… yes,” she stammered, words tumbling like pebbles.

He strode to the river, water shining like stretched silk. From his spatial ring, he drew a Divine Grace Crystal, bright as a tiny sun cupped in his hands.

Light poured out like dawn through fog. Fish rose from the river as if lifted by an unseen current, silver leaves caught in a gentle gale.

Plop, plop—their bodies fell onto the bank, a scatter of coins from the sky.

“I’ll handle lunch,” Ouyang said, voice steady as a hearth flame. “Let me cook something good. They say flavor can lift the heart like spring wind.”

He didn’t wait for her consent; he just moved, certain as a tide.

“And it’s a celebration,” he added, eyes amused as starlight. “My birthday. My ten-thousandth.”

Leticia laughed, the sound bright as bells. She tucked a stray lock behind her ear, a golden thread laid to rest. “Ten thousand? Chef, you do joke. I still don’t know your name.”

“Ouyang,” he said, simple as a blade laid flat.

“Mr. Ouyang… thank you.” The thanks rose warm as tea steam, no varnish, straight from the heart.

Out on the outskirts, he gathered what he could—roots, herbs, wild scents like a small forest tucked in his arms. He meant to make a feast.

In his memory, cutting around that sealed-black span, today marked ten thousand years, a tree ring wide as sorrow.

He followed Leticia to a quiet corner of town. A big manor stood alone like a stranded ship in fog. Every nearby house kept its distance from this “danger.”

Behind it, bamboo swayed like green spears. Between house and grove, a sea of flowers rolled like painted waves.

“Our clan carries grief like a family heirloom,” Leticia said, voice soft as moth wings. “Mother planted those flowers to let beauty swallow the salt.”

She pushed open a rotten fence, wood flaking like old bark, and stepped into the yard.

“This lawn is lovely, isn’t it? When I was small, I rolled here like a puppy in clover. When I tired, I watched clouds drift like white boats.”

Grass covered the yard like a careful quilt, trimmed straight as combed hair. Clearly, she tended it with patient hands.

She spun on the green, her golden hair flying like wheat in a summer wind. Ouyang caught her true smile—clear sky after days of rain.

It lit something in him, a coal glowing to flame.

He opened the kitchen door. Dust lay everywhere, thick as ash on a cold hearth. This room hadn’t breathed in a long time.

“I used to eat over there with everyone,” she said, eyes dropping like falling petals. She meant the Glachidor Clan, the servants’ kitchen, the shared bowls.

“After Mother passed and Father vanished, no one cooked here. Sorry—so much dust.”

Ouyang heard the gentler word she chose—passed away. He only smiled, laid his bundle down, and set to work like a steady tide.

Soon the kitchen shone, clear as a polished mirror. Cobwebs went like old snow under spring sun.

It wasn’t talent; it was time. Nearly ten thousand years teaches you brooms like swords. He often returned from journeys decades or centuries long to find dust like winter drifts.

He had only a handful of flimsy spells, fireflies instead of lightning. Habit did the rest, clean and simple as rain.

He was ready to cook—and found no seasonings. Not even oil or salt, a table without salt like a sky with no moon.

“S-sorry,” Leticia murmured, neck shrinking like a frightened quail. “I’ve been eating over there these years.”

Ouyang sighed, helpless as a man in light drizzle. He went into town, bought what he needed, and returned at noon, the sun a coin at zenith.

At last, he let his craft sing, steam curling like dragons and oils popping like little stars. Why was he so good? Try a life-long bachelor’s kitchen, ironclad and endless.

Outside the kitchen, Leticia smelled it from far off—aroma rolling like warm tide. It made her mouth water like a spring overflowing.

She looked at Ouyang with open awe, eyes bright as twin candles.

“Dishes up!” Ouyang called, voice crisp as a cymbal.

He set the plates down, colors bright as a festival. Leticia hovered, hunger in her eyes like a fox at the edge of a field, yet she waited.

“Why not eat?” Ouyang teased, a smile flicking like a fan. “Afraid you’ll puke like last time?”

The jab lit a spark. “Not at all!” she shot back, cheeks flushed like embers. “If you prank me, I’d be happy—friends joke, right?”

“If you slipped something into the food, it’d mean you see me as a friend.”

He understood her meaning, yet something felt skewed, like a painting hung crooked. That sounded like a villain with a vial, and he winced.

“Mmm—so good,” Leticia said, words thick with joy, eyes misting like dew. “Mr. Ouyang, this is the best food I’ve ever tasted.”

Then a small cloud crossed her face. “But once it’s gone, it’s gone. I can’t bear to finish it.”

Ouyang laughed and ruffled her hair, a warm breeze through wheat. “Relax. Delicious things are meant to be eaten, like fruit under the sun.”

“Seeing your smiles when you eat what I cook—that’s my fuel, my fire. If I’m in a good mood, I might do it again.”

“Really? Wouldn’t that trouble you?” Her hope quivered like a moth near a lamp.

“If you won’t eat,” he said, grinning like a fox, “I’ll finish everything.”

He started “stealing” bites, chopsticks quick as swallows. Leticia panicked and dove in, storm-quick.

“Mr. Ouyang, you can cook any time you want,” she mumbled around a mouthful, cheeks stuffed like a hamster. “Don’t steal mine!”

She forgot all poise, posture blown away like leaves in wind. Only urgency remained—the fear of losing a bright taste.

“Slow down,” Ouyang warned, calm as a lake. “Don’t choke.”

He ate unhurried, elegant as a crane in shallow water. Her wolfing made a vivid contrast, thunder against a bell.

Truth was, Ouyang cooked well even among his own kind. He’d passed the Starry Sky junior chef license, a small badge shining like a new coin.

While they ate, Xi drifted to the manor’s gate, footsteps light as cat-shadow. She clenched her fist, resolve firm as ironwood.

“This is the first and the last,” she muttered, breath a thin thread in the air. “I won’t be stupid enough to unseal everything for that Demon King.”

She wanted to check on Leticia, sympathy a soft ache like a bruise. This was what she could offer—small as a candle, costly as a drop of life.