The next day, despite the lingering aches from his less-than-ideal sleeping arrangements, Tian Hao awoke with a sense of lightness he hadn’t felt in weeks.

The weight of his exile, the strange encounter with Jiuwei, the looming threat of the Iron Talon Sect—all of it seemed a little less daunting in the familiar comfort of his own chambers. The silken sheets, the plush carpets, the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the ornate lattice windows—it was a welcome return to the opulence he’d taken for granted before his journey.

Back in the familiar comfort of his chambers, Tian Hao finally allowed himself to truly rest. A long, ylang-ylang-scented bath washed away the grime of his journey, the warm water soothing his aching muscles, the fragrant steam a balm for his weary spirit. As he sank into the depths of the tub, letting the water envelop him, Tian Hao couldn't help but reflect on how much he had missed this. The simple luxury of a warm bath felt almost surreal after the hardships of his journey—the cold nights on unforgiving ground, the constant sense of danger, the weariness that had seeped into his very bones.

He realized that this comfort was something he had taken for granted before, but now, it felt like a true blessing. The scent of the oils and the warmth of the water were reminders of the life he had fought to return to, and he vowed to never forget just how precious these moments of peace were. He closed his eyes, savoring the simple pleasure of cleanliness, the fragrant reminder of the comforts he’d so recently been deprived of.

After his bath, he donned fresh silk robes, a deep azure embroidered with silver thread, replaced his tattered rags. As he dressed, he ran his hands over the smooth, luxurious fabric, a tangible reminder of the comforts he had missed during those long days and rough nights on the mountain.

He stuck his head out the door and spotted one of the ever-waiting servants. "You there," Tian Hao called. The servant immediately bowed, awaiting his command. "Fetch Fatty Wu for me," Tian Hao instructed,. The servant nodded and scurried away, eager to carry out the request.

A while later Fatty Wu arrived beaming with pride, a small train of servants carrying with them a feast that would make even a celestial immortal weep with joy.

The table was laden with an array of culinary masterpieces—glazed duck shimmering like polished amber, steamed buns plump and delicate as clouds, fragrant rice infused with exotic spices, platters of colorful fruits and vegetables arranged in intricate patterns, and small bowls filled with sauces and condiments of every imaginable flavor. Each dish was a work of art, a testament to Fatty Wu’s skill and dedication.

Tian Hao's eyes widened at the sight, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten.

“Fatty Wu, you’ve outdone yourself,” he said, his voice filled with genuine awe.

Tian Hao couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth as he took in the sight of the feast. During his time outside the sect, he had sorely missed these moments—the comforting meals, the familiar scents of Fatty Wu's cooking. Seeing the elaborate spread before him now, Tian Hao realized just how much Fatty Wu's dedication had meant to him. It wasn't just about the food; it was about the effort, the warmth, the sense of home that his friend had always provided.

Fatty Wu chuckled, his round face beaming.

“Only the best for the young master’s return,” he replied, gesturing towards the spread with a flourish. “Now, dig in! You must be starving after your… arduous journey.”

Tian Hao lifted a piece of the glazed duck to his lips, its glossy skin crackling under the gentle pressure of his teeth. As he chewed, the flavors burst forth—smoky, rich, and faintly sweet, like a memory of a campfire under a starless sky. The warmth of the spices unfurled across his tongue, and he felt his weary spirit unravel, tension loosening with each indulgent bite.

He reached for a delicate bun, tearing it open to release a puff of steam, its softness yielding as if to embrace his fingertips. The mingling aromas of ginger, garlic, and something subtly floral enveloped him, pulling him deeper into this sacred moment.

He closed his eyes, letting the sounds around him fade until all that remained was the symphony of flavors, the warmth spreading from his center, and the quiet contentment that settled into his bones. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Tian Hao allowed himself to savor the simple joy of being, his heart brimming with a sense of belonging that all the martial glory in the world could never hope to replicate.

Jiuwei, now comfortably nestled on a pile of spirit beast furs watched the proceedings with a critical eye. Though her usual arrogance was softened slightly by the enticing aromas, her tail still twitched with an air of aristocratic judgement.

“Hmph,” she sniffed, her tiny nose wrinkling slightly, before relenting with a slight flick of her tail, as though granting the chef the privilege of her acknowledgment. “Perhaps this… Fatty Wu can prepare some decent food after all. It's not quite roasted phoenix feather pheasant, but it’ll do.”

Tian Hao, already halfway through a succulent duck leg, chuckled, his mouth full.

“Patience, Jiuwei. All good things come to those who wait—or those who have a talented chef at their disposal.”

The conversation, initially focused on the culinary delights before them, gradually shifted towards a more philosophical discussion about the nature of cultivation, sparked by a snarky comment by Jiuwei.

“Mortals,” she declared, her tiny voice echoing through the chamber, “are so quick to dismiss the power of pleasure. They chase enlightenment through suffering, forgetting that true strength lies in mastering one’s desires, not denying them.”

Tian Hao and Fatty Wu exchanged glances. Tian Hao found himself nodding in agreement. “You know, Jiuwei, you have a point,” he said thoughtfully, swirling his wine in his glass. “Why deny ourselves life’s joys if it helps us cultivate?”

Fatty Wu, while skeptical, couldn't deny the effectiveness of Tian Hao's unorthodox methods. Tian Hao’s recent advancements—from Body Refining Stage 1 to Stage 5 in a matter of weeks—spoke volumes.

“It goes against everything I’ve been taught,” he admitted, his brow furrowed as he tried to reconcile what Tian Hao had done with what he knew of cultivation. “Hard work, discipline, self-denial—these are the pillars of our path. Yet,” he paused, looking at Tian Hao, his eyes widening slightly, “here you are. Stronger, more attuned to your spiritual energy than ever before, having achieved what so many struggle with for years while barely seeming to have put any actual… effort…”

He couldn't help but shake his head, bemusement and wonder coloring his expression, his earlier certainty replaced by a dawning realization.

Stolen story; please report.

"Four years I’ve been here, and I’m still stuck at Body Refining Stage 3," he thought. "All that discipline, all that self-denial, and for what? Maybe there’s another way, a way that aligns with my own passions. After all, food isn't just sustenance. It's art. It’s energy. It’s… connection.”

It felt humiliating somehow, and more than a little demoralizing, when compared to how little effort Tian Hao seemed to put in for what looked like vastly greater rewards.

"Perhaps," Fatty Wu said, glancing at Jiuwei, whose eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "Perhaps the sect's focus on asceticism and self-denial... it isn't for everyone. Maybe some of us, maybe many of us, are limiting ourselves without even realizing it."

Tian Hao raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What do you mean, Fatty Wu?"

Fatty Wu hesitated, swirling his own cup in his hands. He remembered his early days in the sect, how his love for cooking had often clashed with the rigid expectations of cultivation. There were times when the elders had scolded him for focusing too much on experimenting with new and exotic tastes. Yet, he had always found solace in cooking—an art that allowed him to connect with others in a way meditation never could.

"Well," he began, his voice low, "think about it. We’re taught to deny ourselves pleasure, to suppress our desires. But what if… what if those desires are not inherently bad? What if they can be channeled, transformed, turned into a source of strength?” He paused, glancing at the little fox whose earlier flippant remark now seemed like some celestial guidance he'd unknowingly asked for.

“Perhaps there's an alternative. Like you, Young Master,” Fatty Wu added, picking up his glass of wine and holding it to the light. “Not everyone can sit in meditation for hours, their mind still as a placid lake.”

He gave a small, self-deprecating chuckle before continuing, his words gathering strength. "Honestly, I can’t even sit for more than a few minutes. I enjoy food. I find pleasure in creating new dishes, in exploring flavors, in seeing the joy on people’s faces when they taste something I’ve made. What if… what if I could channel that joy, that passion, into my cultivation? What if I could create dishes that not only nourish the body but also nurture the spirit? What if, much like you Young Master, I could find a new path to strength—a path built on my own unique skills and enjoyment.”

His words seemed to echo the little fox’s earlier remarks.

“Mortals are indeed amusing," Jiuwei muttered with a smug, almost predatory smile that hinted she was enjoying this far more than she was willing to admit, as though the chaos were her own doing, "so ready to chase greatness through needless discomfort."

She hopped off her pile of furs, pacing back and forth on the table as she continued, her tiny form radiating an ancient wisdom. “True discipline doesn’t come from deprivation. It comes from understanding. From balance. From knowing when to indulge and when to restrain oneself—from choosing moderation not from a lack of access, but from the responsibilities that must be carried."

Tian Hao exchanged a glance with Fatty Wu, who raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her words. "Balance, huh?" Tian Hao muttered under his breath, rubbing his chin thoughtfully "Where have I heard that before?"

She paused, observing their reactions before continuing with her own insights. "Mortals focus on the external, on the acquisition of power, and forget the true strength within them—their ability to control their desires rather than simply deny their existence. A true cultivator does not seek to extinguish their flames, but to master the flames that reside within. It's a dance, a play, a constant balancing act."

Fatty Wu nodded slowly, his brow furrowed. "So, it's not just about denying yourself, but about mastering your own wants..." he mused aloud.

Jiuwei's tail flicked in annoyance, as if to say, "Exactly." She sighed before continuing, her posture now one of serene command. "You must have the discipline to resist the excesses and indulgences that might impede your path. Yet that discipline," she sighed before flicking her tail again, "must not come from fear or ignorance."

Tian Hao frowned slightly, tilting his head. "So, it's about choosing when to indulge and when to hold back? That... actually makes sense."

Jiuwei closed her eyes, as if speaking to something that no longer resided in their plane. "I have known pleasures beyond mortal comprehension. But each one had a price, each indulgence tempered by what duty demanded of me, every act balanced by the responsibilities I carry within. Not simply because someone said that those pleasures were bad, or that discipline and ascetic practice was the only path. Yet I do wonder which is more indicative of true discipline: to have never known a pleasure so there is nothing to control, or to know the greatest of pleasures and have the strength and resolve to experience them in balance and moderation."

Tian Hao leaned back, letting out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "That's... deep. I guess it's harder to control something once you know how good it can be."

Fatty Wu chuckled softly. "Seems like cultivation isn't just about the body or the spirit, but also about the heart and mind, eh, Young Master?"

Jiuwei continued, her tone softening slightly. "This path of mine, so steeped in indulgence, each indulgence was tempered by an act of power, each one an assertion of my authority, every act justified by some deeper understanding of who I was meant to be and the burden of responsibility I had chosen to carry. Pleasure without purpose is like a cauldron heated without ingredients—a blaze that burns hot but yields no elixir, only smoke and waste, until the cauldron itself cracks under the strain, ruined by its own empty fervor. Power without control is like a storm without a center—it rages and consumes. But pleasure with purpose is a tool for change, a catalyst for growth. Power with control is a weapon wielded by a master."

She glanced at Tian Hao, tilting her head slightly. "You are still young, still too easily swayed by the whims of your desires. You seek indulgence for the sake of itself, forgetting that it is a seed with potential for something grander. But," she added, "the spark is there, mortal. Perhaps, under my guidance, you might just... flower."

Jiuwei's words, imbued with an almost ethereal wisdom, hit both Tian Hao and Fatty Wu with the force of an unexpected revelation.

They paused, considering her perspective on how to integrate discipline into their own lives, her teachings mirroring their own thoughts and guiding them towards a more balanced approach.

It wasn’t about asceticism, as Elder Hua believed, nor was it about mindless hedonism, or even the casual, careless hedonism Tian Hao had so far sought out.

“It’s about choice and purpose,” Tian Hao muttered, as if reciting a newly learned mantra to himself, his eyes widening in wonder.

Fatty Wu beamed. He felt that he had found a new understanding of the role pleasure played within his own nascent cultivation, her voice resonating with him in the language of flavors. It felt as though a door had opened before him, revealing a path to power he had never considered before now.

“This isn’t just about cooking anymore, Tian Hao,” he said, his voice laced with both excitement and determination. “It’s about cultivation, it’s about balance, and perhaps even about enlightenment.” He gestured at the exquisite dishes surrounding them, “I need to find a way to infuse those flavors with purpose, not simply to satisfy the senses, but to nourish bodies and spirits. Like the legends I have read about, I think... I think I must become a true culinary cultivator.”

Tian Hao smiled, his heart swelling with admiration for the newly determined Fatty Wu. He remembered how Fatty Wu's face used to light up whenever they talked about food—how excited he'd been when he found those rare cloudberries and used them to create fantastical desserts. Tian Hao also recalled the way Fatty Wu had integrated the sect's spiritual herbs into delicious dishes for the feast, even if Elder Hua hadn't appreciated it afterwards.

To see his friend now, finding his own path to strength, filled Tian Hao with a sense of pride and warmth.

He raised his glass in a toast. “To cultivation… through measured indulgence. May we all find enlightenment at the bottom of a wine cup, or perhaps a stew-pot of greatness.”

As Tian Hao surveyed the opulence of his quarters with newfound appreciation, a small laugh escaped him. The exhaustion of his journey had all but faded away, replaced now with a surging, almost youthful anticipation.

“Time to make the most of it then,” he muttered, picking up another perfectly carved dumpling, his gaze now distant as he considered the potential of this Celestial Conclave. "I have a feeling it's not going to be as boring as a night at the sect or another session with the elders." He paused, considering his interactions with Zhao Fei before adding, "Especially not with what I might discover in a new city."