Eat It. That's an Order.

The last light sank below the horizon.

Su Chen fished the little jade-green porcelain bottle from his robes, rubbed his thumb over the warmth lingering on its surface, then casually tucked it away again.

He had just been about to take a short nap when the Eye of Omniscience's Light Screen flashed without warning.

Golden characters sprang into view, bright enough to sting the eyes.

[Daily Bonding Quest issued to Binder No. 001, Bibi Dong: For seven consecutive days, personally prepare three meals a day for the Lord of Creation, then stay by his side and supervise him until he finishes eating.]

[Reward: A slight increase in spiritual power for each meal completed. Bonus reward for perfect attendance over seven days: Rakshasa God Trial, Level Eight Pass ×1.]

[Failure penalty: Soul-Devouring Pain, with escalating intensity.]

Su Chen's gaze lingered on the words "personally prepare" for two seconds, and a smile appeared on his face.

He had scraped by in Spirit Hall for sixteen years, eating coarse grain cakes with pickles for all sixteen of them.

A meal personally made by His Holiness the Pope?

Forget eating it—even imagining it seemed a little surreal.

But what he cared about more was the reward.

Perfect attendance for seven days meant a full twenty-one meals.

The accumulated increase in spiritual power, plus a hundredfold critical-return reward for the pass...

Su Chen quickly finished calculating the returns, then closed his eyes, satisfied.

This was one to look forward to.

Pope Palace, top-floor bedchamber.

Bibi Dong had just kicked her bloodstained shoes into a corner when that damned mechanical voice rang in her mind again.

After hearing the quest details, she froze in place as if struck by lightning.

Personally.

Prepare.

Three meals.

She knew each of those words on its own, but together, they were utterly absurd!

Since Qian Daoliu had brought her into Spirit Hall at the age of six, she had trained, killed, and seized power... In the forty years since, her hands had been stained with blood, gripped swords, and crushed the throats of countless powerful foes.

The one thing they had never touched was a kitchen knife!

[Failure penalty: Soul-Devouring Pain, intensity increased by 20% from the previous instance.]

Blood-red warning characters flashed wildly in her mind, as if hounding her to her death.

Bibi Dong clenched her fists. Her sharp nails pierced her palms, and she gripped the beads of blood that welled up so tightly that only pain could suppress the tempest of fury in her heart.

Late that night, in Spirit Hall's Imperial Kitchen.

Angela stood outside the kitchen with four guards, all of them stiff as fence posts.

Half a quarter-hour earlier, His Holiness the Pope, dressed in pale moon-white casual robes, had descended from the sky and ordered, "All of you, get out." The eight imperial chefs had scrambled out in a panic, two of them running so fast they had lost their shoes.

Through the thin paper window, Angela could see the slender, noble silhouette... picking up a kitchen knife.

Her brain shut down instantly.

Twenty years.

She had served Spirit Hall for a full twenty years. She had seen the Pope kill, undertake the god trial, and wield absolute power over the world.

But she had never seen the Pope... chop vegetables.

A guard beside her edged closer, lips trembling, his voice quieter than a mosquito's. "Lady Angela, His Holiness... what is she doing?"

Angela's eyelid twitched wildly.

"Shut up," she hissed through gritted teeth. "You saw nothing."

"Yes! I'm blind! And deaf, too!"

Inside the kitchen.

Bibi Dong stood before the stove, with a piece of raw meat, a few bunches of greens, and a dish of coarse salt laid out in front of her.

She stared at the meat for a full ten seconds.

She could easily dismember a Hundred-Thousand-Year Soul Beast, yet had no idea how to cook a piece of dead meat.

Bibi Dong took a deep breath, picked up the kitchen knife, and brought it down with the precision she might use to extract a Soul Bone.

"Bang!"

The meat exploded on impact, breaking into seven or eight uneven chunks. The largest piece went flying with a slap and stuck to the wall three feet away.

The veins at her smooth temples throbbed.

She needed to light the fire.

A thread of purple-black Soul Power gathered at the tip of her right index finger. She controlled it precisely, reducing it to the lowest possible output, and lightly tapped the stove.

"Boom—!"

Flames shot up three feet. The wooden lid on the iron pot was hurled into the air by the blast, struck a ceiling beam, then bounced back, nearly hitting her forehead.

Thick smoke billowed out.

Bibi Dong choked and coughed twice, covering her mouth and nose with her sleeve. Her eyes reddened.

She clenched her teeth, forced the flames down, and tossed all the meat chunks into the pot at once.

She hadn't added any oil.

She had no idea that stir-frying required oil.

The meat stuck to the scorching bottom of the iron pot, letting out a sharp sizzle as a strong burnt smell quickly spread through the room.

Bibi Dong scrambled to turn it over.

One side was completely black; the other was still bloody, like raw meat.

She flipped it again.

Now both sides were black, but the middle was soft and squishy to the touch—obviously undercooked.

She repeated this struggle for a full two hours.

On the stove sat the remains of six failed attempts.

The wall was blackened with soot, the cutting board was covered in knife marks, and coarse salt was scattered all over the floor.

At last, Bibi Dong stared at the thing on the plate.

Its edges were charred black as coal, its center half-raw, its shape twisted beyond recognition. It no longer looked anything like a piece of meat.

Her jaw clenched tight.

She broke off a small piece of the burnt edge and resolutely put it in her mouth.

After just two chews, her stunning face twisted into a knot.

Bitter and gamey.

The bitter taste of charcoal mixed with the rankness of raw meat, making her stomach roil until she nearly retched.

In her mind, the countdown reached [10:00], flashing with red light.

Bibi Dong snatched up a silver serving plate, placed the unidentified object on it, and covered it with a lid.

The crisp clang sounded like the final nail sealing her dignity into a coffin.

The morning mist had yet to lift.

Sixteen Temple Knights stood outside the Library Pavilion, rooted to their posts like iron stakes.

A faint sound of footsteps approached from afar.

Everyone immediately lowered their heads, not daring to look directly.

Bibi Dong passed through the cordon, her steps as steady as ever and her expression as cold as ever.

But from the corners of their eyes, the knights all caught a detail they would never forget.

Their supreme, untouchable Pope, who never sullied herself with worldly things, was carrying a gleaming silver serving plate in both hands.

Sixteen heads bowed even lower.

The lead knight's Adam's apple bobbed frantically, and the veins at his temples looked ready to burst.

He had served in Spirit Hall for twelve years. Forget carrying anything—he had never even seen the Pope pour herself a cup of water!

Bibi Dong stopped for two seconds in front of the door, which had a new wooden panel nailed over it.

She caught the damned burnt smell seeping through the gap in the lid, and her stomach lurched again.

She pushed the door open.

Su Chen was sitting on a bamboo chair with an ancient book in his hands. His face and lips were pale, as if he had suffered a terrible loss of vitality.

Hearing the door open, he put down the book and slowly got to his feet. His knees had only begun to bend...

Bibi Dong shot him a cold look.

Su Chen immediately straightened his knees, stood with his hands at his sides, and lowered his head obediently.

Bibi Dong walked over to the tea table and set the silver plate down with a heavy clunk.

Her fingertips pinched the edge of the lid.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

She whipped the lid off, then swiftly turned to look out the window, lifting her chin slightly. Her gaze seemed utterly captivated by the crooked old locust tree outside, and she struck a pose that said, "I just happened to put something down here. It has nothing to do with me."

An indescribable burnt smell instantly filled the Library Pavilion.

Su Chen lowered his eyes and looked at the plate.

It held an irregular polygonal object, its surface covered in a layer of glossy black char. Scattered crumbs of burnt charcoal lay sparsely around the silver plate.

At the charred center, there was still a faint hint of undercooked pink.

Was this thing... really meant for people to eat?

Su Chen's gaze stealthily shifted to the system's Light Screen.

[Bibi Dong's current emotions: embarrassment 99% / guilt 90% / nervousness 95%]

[Inner thoughts: Don't look at the plate... You're not allowed to look at the plate... If he dares show even the slightest trace of disdain, I'll throw him and this wretched chair out the window... Yes, that's exactly what I'll do!]

Su Chen almost lost his composure, barely swallowing the cough that had risen to his lips.

Bibi Dong remained stiff beside the tea table, both hands clenched tightly at the sides of her skirt, her knuckles already white.

Her gaze stayed fixed on the crooked old locust tree from beginning to end, as if it were the greatest marvel she had ever seen.

A deathly silence lasted for five seconds.

At last, Bibi Dong spoke, her voice low and cold, as if quenched in ice ten thousand years old.

"Eat it."

"That's an order."

Each of the six words seemed to be forced out through clenched teeth, their final syllables taut as a string about to snap.