Meanwhile, back at the Heavenly Misty Peaks...

"... and then she laughed at me, Hei Lian!" she whines, pouting gently as she watches my work - at a relatively safe distance. It's no good to get too close to the ingredients when they're being cooked - or the end result, really. Getting too close to any of it, at any point, was bad for your health.

Not that I really have a choice, personally.

"Of course she did," I reply idly, more focused on making sure the Violet Tear Mushrooms are sliced to the appropriate thinness then her social dramas. It's important to get them as thin as possible so they can better infuse the soup with their flavour. And their poison. Which, I guess, is another flavour. "Ren Wuolan is a stinking whore trying to sell tofu but nobody's buying - so she's trying to get up another way."

My… companion, Tan Yue, lets out a muffled giggle, hiding her mouth with a dainty hand. "Hei Lian!" she says with a mock scolding tone, "To say such things!"

"Are you saying my words are false, Pretty Sister?" Once I have them sliced properly, I transfer the mushrooms to the pot and try not to breathe too much of the fumes in. It stings naturally, because the soup is poisonous enough I have to cook it in a special pot to avoid melting the cookware.

"No," she admits, once her giggles are under control, "But still, to say such things is unseemly!"

I give her my blankest look. I know what I look like - the bags under my eyes, the sallow skin. Three years of cooking with poison have had an effect on me. I half-expect to wake up one day with an Incurable Cough of Death like I'm a Victorian schoolboy with consumption, or something stupid. "Tan Yue, what about me is not unseemly? It would be more unseemly for this wretched fatty to speak with anything less than vulgarity."

Her good humour falters slightly, and I feel a little bad for it. It's not her fault I'm in this position. It's not her fault I'm here.

She's here for the same reason I am - because Lei Ming willed it. Unlike me, she considers this position one of honour. For an Outer Disciple with little other prospects such as herself, being elevated to a Core Disciple's household is an incredible improvement in station and position. Already, her cultivation has progressed faster than it ever could have if she were still toiling in the Earth Ring. The robes she wears, whilst still simple and of the Outer Disciple design, are of finer quality than she normally could've possessed, and as a member of a Core Disciple's household, she is given accessories and make up so that she may reflect it.

When Lei Ming hosts parties and colleagues, the maids must be beautiful and perfect - they are the ones people see.

Someone such as I - the wretched fatty, Hei Lian - will never see the face of anyone who is not already a part of the household. It doesn't matter what I look like, only what I produce.

And what I produce is poison.

"If you are worried," I begin, pivoting topics, "then there are a few ways you may get revenge. This humble Hei Lian has a few things up his sleeve he could offer in exchange for favours."

Tan Yue's eyes light up a little, and she leans a little closer. "The usual then?"

"If Pretty Sister is kind enough to indulge this one." I reach into my robes, and pull out a small glass vial, filled with a clear amber fluid. "A few drops in her food or drink will see Ren Wuolan's vanity reduced to a more fitting size."

It's a poison, of course. Not a lethal one, by any means - even if Tan Yue were to dose Ren Wuolan with the entire thing. I doubt Tan Yue has it in her to be so ruthless and cold, but either way, I have no interest in being an accessory to murder. Not Ren Wuolan's, at least, even if she is kind of a bitch.

It's a simple laxative effect. A safe one, even. A few drops will cause flatulence. The whole vial will, to put it in the politest terms, clean out your system.

Tan Yue eyes the vial with naked hunger, and it vanishes into her own robes with a swift movement. Then she hesitates. "Your friend… left the Sect a few days ago."

The way I freeze is probably pretty obvious. Even if I wasn't actually doing anything at the moment, there's probably a clear tell.

"He took a Cloud Boat, and two others - so it's likely a mission."

That's… reassuring. Somewhat. If Zhou Cheng is going out on missions, then maybe his position in the Sect is improving again. Whatever bullshit Lei Ming spun might be wearing off. That's good. I'm glad. Heartened, even. But it does make me wonder how much more time I have left to make preparations.

"Do you know who else went with him?"

She bites her lip a little. "They did not know them by name - but one is the boisterous woman who is usually with him. And an icy sister they did not recognise."

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An icy-was it Kong Meiling? Occam's Razor suggested it was more likely she'd be the one to help them. That's good as well. She's still okay. They're okay. They're still okay. "Thank you, Tan Yue," I murmur, turning back to the soup. "That information is very good."

Tan Yue watches me curiously. She has good instincts for a social climber - she has never asked me what the story is between us. Why Lei Ming clearly hates me yet keeps me around. Why I always ask after Zhou Cheng. But I think she can put it together. I think she knows something.

I keep expecting her to say something to Lei Ming. Perhaps she already is. Perhaps she's always been spying on me for him. It doesn't really matter.

In the end, she says nothing else for now, just watching me cook. Perhaps she's just learning something about cooking by observing me - she's made it rather clear she intends to marry someone rich and powerful, and I can't fault her for that given I have similar life goals.

To finish the soup, I take a handful of Corpse Blossoms and toss them in a small mortar, taking the pestle and grinding them swiftly into a thin paste. I have to be careful when scraping it into the pot, setting the mortar aside to disinfect later, and begin stirring the whole thing carefully.

It's settled to a lovely blood red shade, and a single mouthful could probably kill a whole village. It's not the kind of thing I would've normally considered cooking for any number of reasons, but I don't really set the menu in Lei Ming's household.

This is, as a matter of fact, one of his favourite's. Bloodthistle Soup.

I take a ladle and begin scooping it into a bowl with measured movements, setting it on the tray. I add a few cut sprigs of Bloodthistle on top as a garnish - thin, spindly little red twiggish things - and set the customary bowl of rice, and some sliced Serpent Tongue Fruit.

If you ignore how pretty much everything on this platter is lethal, it looks pretty good. It even tastes pretty good.

I wasn't going to let a little poison stop me from tasting my cooking.

"Here," I offer, gesturing to the platter, "His lunch is ready."

Tan Yue bows lightly and takes it from the bench. "Thank you for your hard work." And then she's gone to set the table.

I wait perhaps a minute longer, and then close my eyes, extending my senses as far as they'll go. There is always a chance there is a spy, or something I can't notice. That maybe Lei Ming has some kind of talisman set to observe me.

But that was always true. So once I'm satisfied, I take the pot and move to my cauldron. When i remove the covering, tendrils of chilled fog surge out in a way that reminds me of liquid nitrogen meeting room temperature air. The soup - if it can still be called such a thing - within has turned to a pitch black that seems to devour all the light such that I cannot even see it ripple.

I pour the entire pot of soup in, watching as it vanishes into the ink, and only once it has all disappeared do I allow myself to lean forward and take a deep inhale.

It smells like black licorice. I hate black licorice. So it's an appropriate scent, I suppose.

Three years of cultivation - of condensing, refining, and building. Slow accumulation of ingredients, resources, and power. All of it has created this. It doesn't have a name - not one I know, at least. I assume someone else has used the Yin Vessel Cauldron Technique to do something similar, and I'm sure they gave it a name.

I'm not sure I want to. Naming this implies it's a technique, something I will have to do again. Have to use again. And I don't want to do that.

Carefully, I use the heronbone ladle to lift up the broth, and watch as it shifts in that unearthly way. Not a single ripple. It's like scooping up pure, undiluted darkness. I lift it up towards my gently parted lips, and allow it to slide into my mouth.

It's only because I've been drinking it for three years now that I can stop myself from gagging.

Of fucking course it has to taste like black licorice as well.

----------------------------------------

"You sliced the mushrooms too thickly," Lei Ming declares the moment I step into the dining room to receive the usual berating and critique. "It completely ruined the soup. It was disgusting."

And yet you cleaned the entire bowl.

"And that Serpent Tongue Fruit wasn't ripe. It was like eating a rock! I still cannot believe you fucked up the rice. How long have you been cooking, and you still can't cook rice properly?"

I keep my head bowed carefully, eyes on the ground and expression neutral. It's the same old song and dance. I cook and clean, and he sits there and criticises every inch of it when I'm done. Sometimes he makes me do it again, if it's cleaning - but the food? Oh, he'll finish that no matter how 'awful' and 'disgusting' it is.

I keep myself sane by imagining myself stabbing him repeatedly. Oh Lei Ming? He ran into my knife. He ran into my knife ten times.

Unfortunately, that would never fly here as satisfying as it would be. And I'd never actually manage to stab him to death even if I tried - he'd just overpower me easily. The obvious method to kill him is poison, but well. There's a reason his favourite food is an extremely poisonous soup.

I'm pretty sure he's hoping I'll try to poison him.

His fingers clasp around my chin, digging into my cheeks as he pulls me in close. His eyes are an acidic green, and his breath stings. "Honestly, Lian-er… I don't know why I still keep you around."

Then let me go, you swollen cockpimple.

He releases me then, as if he read my mind. But truly, if he read my mind, he probably would've done something terrible to me. "I will be hosting a party tomorrow," he declares, giving me a haughty sneer. "I expect something edible then. Do not embarrass me in front of them."

His Qi flares around him, a burning corona of acid that makes my eyes water but I keep my gaze steady and focused despite it. I'm used to the little power plays now. "Of course, Young Master."

He kept the gaze up for a little longer, waiting to see if I'd falter. Then he just sneers wider. "Why are you still here? Get out of my sight."

I give him a low bow and reverse out of the dining room.

Another party. That has to be the fifth one this week. I'm starting to think he's spending more time trying to schmooze than he is cultivating. It feels hypocritical, but that pisses me off. If you were going to be a conniving, ruthless little weasel, then at least keep going.

But I suppose his laxness was my advantage. If he cultivated more ardently, my plan might not have any hope of working.

I was pretty sure he had an idea of what I was trying to do. It'd be completely naive to believe he wasn't aware of what was happening under his roof. But that was fine. His arrogance would be his downfall.

What is the saying, after all? Holding onto hatred is like swallowing poison and hoping for the other person to die. But I wasn't just hoping.

Call me Oprah, bitch, because I am manifesting.