Volume One, Chapter 15: The Young Master's Appetite Today Is the Universe’s Utmost Priority

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Ye Qingxian, once the destined Sword Immortal, felt an unprecedented sense of confusion. Her lifetime pursuit of swordsmanship aimed to cut through all obstacles with sharpness and to protect all living beings with unwavering faith. Yet now she realized that the swordsmanship she once took pride in was laughably fragile before the casual breath of that koi fish. Doubt crept in—was the "Way" she upheld merely a boring drama in the eyes of such an existence?

Gu Changsheng yawned, sat up from the lounge chair, and stretched, his joints crackling lightly. The warm sunlight bathed him, bringing comfort throughout his body, yet it was soon replaced by an emptiness in his stomach.

"I'm hungry," he said casually, rubbing his belly.

Those simple words struck Ye Qingxian and Ji Ruxue like a decree from the heavens. Both shuddered and instinctively rose from the ground, standing anxiously with heads bowed, yet unsure of what to do.

What should they prepare? What could they prepare? A meal for their young master? Using what ingredients? Common grains from the mortal realm? Or spiritual fruits and celestial blossoms?

Just thinking about the koi fish’s earlier “menu” filled them with despair. Even if they gave their all, they could hardly assemble a dish that would serve as an “appetizer” for that koi.

Suddenly, Fubo appeared silently beside Gu Changsheng, bowing slightly with a gentle and respectful voice: “Young master, what would you like to eat?”

Gu Changsheng clicked his tongue, a faint look of nostalgia crossing his face. Though he enjoyed unprecedented luxury upon arriving in this world, endless exotic delicacies and rare treasures no longer satisfied him. What he longed for were the simple, pure flavors of his past life.

“Enough with the fancy stuff—I’m tired of it,” he waved his hand weakly, his expression somewhat listless. “Just some home-cooked dishes, something simple to stir-fry will do.”

Home-cooked dishes?

A flash of clarity sparked in Fubo’s dim, aged eyes.

Instantly, he “understood” the young master’s deeper meaning.

What is “home”? Not an ordinary household, but the Gu family itself! What is “cooked” or “common”? Not ordinary day and night, but the eternal, epoch-spanning daily life of their lineage!

The young master meant that he was weary of these mundane “worldly things” gathered from outside and wished to taste the true essence of the Gu family’s origin!

Recalling the earlier fishing incident—how the young master stirred the chaotic sea, clearing out the “trash fish” from the pond, then fed the primordial golden dragon representing “order” and “origin” with the remains of an ancient overlord—these actions clearly purged external evils and returned to the authentic source. Now, requesting “home-cooked dishes,” the implied significance was unmistakable.

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This was the primal ancestor’s own original will yearning for “home” after endless epochs of slumber and wandering! It was a profound longing for the Gu family’s supreme, universe-governing “daily life”!

A tempest roared in Fubo’s heart, but his face grew even calmer and more respectful. He knew that this seemingly simple meal was more important than the destruction of an immortal dynasty. It was a matter of utmost urgency for the primal ancestor to regain his original sense more swiftly!

“Yes, your humble servant understands,” Fubo bowed deeply, a subtle yet uncontainable excitement in his voice.

Gu Changsheng paid no attention to Fubo’s change in demeanor. He was still savoring his thoughts aloud: “Let’s have… mapo tofu, and tomato scrambled eggs. Simple, good with rice.”

Mapo tofu?

Tomato scrambled eggs?

In his mind, Fubo chewed over these unfamiliar dish names repeatedly, each word seeming to carry supreme Daoist resonance.

“Mapo”—could it be a veiled reference to an ancient female deity or demon who wielded the great Dao of “silence” and “chaos,” whose name had long been lost to time, remembered only by the primal ancestor?

“Tofu,” square and pure white in appearance, seeming weak but embodying “order” and “purity.” To cook tofu with mapo—might this symbolize refining the Dao of order and rules with the power of chaotic silence?

Then there was “tomato scrambled eggs.” “Tomato,” bright red like blood, filled with seeds, symbolizing “life” and “procreation.” “Eggs,” the origin of all growth and the beginning of all things. Combining the two might express the supreme creation philosophy that life arises from chaos and returns to propagation.

The more Fubo pondered, the more awe and reverence he felt.

No wonder it was the primal ancestor! Even two casually spoken dish names contained such terrifying cosmic truths! This was no mere meal—it was the Way itself, a divine decree!

“Young master, please wait. Your humble servant shall prepare it at once.” Fubo bowed again, then slowly straightened. His deeply wrinkled face now bore an unprecedented solemnity.

He turned to glance at Ye Qingxian and Ji Ruxue, who remained dazed.

“You two, come with me,” Fubo’s voice was calm but carried undeniable authority. “Today, you will witness what the Gu family’s ‘home cooking’ truly means. This is a tremendous opportunity; how much you comprehend depends on your fate.”

Without waiting for their response, he turned and walked toward a secluded courtyard deep within the garden. The courtyard appeared plain, even somewhat dilapidated, with a dusty wooden sign hanging over the gate, bearing three flamboyantly carved characters: “Creation Kitchen.”

Like puppets on strings, Ye Qingxian and Ji Ruxue followed Fubo in a daze. Their minds had ceased working entirely, passively accepting everything unfolding before them.

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When Fubo’s withered hand gently pushed open the seemingly rotten gate—

*Creak—*

The sound echoed as if opening a whole new universe.

Inside, there was no stove or pots and pans as one might expect, but an infinite expanse of starry sky. Stars slowly drifted within, each representing an exquisite ingredient. A river of pure light flowed through it—the “River of Time,” brought here to maintain the absolute freshness of the ingredients. Countless chains of cosmic laws wove a net to tightly bind some unruly living ingredients.

At the center of this starry expanse stood a massive stove formed from primordial purple energy. Beneath it burned not ordinary fire, but a wisp of “Creation Flame” drawn from the core of chaos.

A burly, tall middle-aged man clad in simple hemp clothing stood with his back to the door, carefully polishing a black iron pot. His movements were slow and deliberate, as if cleaning a peerless work of art.

As Fubo and the two women entered, the hemp-clad man slowly turned around. He had no facial features—only a smooth surface—but as he faced them, a pair of eyes suddenly appeared, blazing with an unparalleled passion for cooking.

“Fubo,” his voice rang out like the harmonious clash of countless ingredients, “after so many epochs, the ‘Creation Feast’ is to begin once again?”

Fubo’s expression was solemn as he shook his head.

“Chef, today is even more important than the ‘Creation Feast.’”

He paused, speaking each word with utmost reverence.

“Today, we prepare a ‘home-cooked meal’ for the primal ancestor.”

The chef’s fiery eyes suddenly erupted with a brilliance spanning billions of fathoms, shaking the entire “Creation Kitchen” universe violently.

“Primal… ancestor!” his voice trembled, filled with boundless joy and excitement. “He… he is finally… willing to dine?”