Thirty Minutes Later...
Han Yu had tears streaming down his face.
"These aren’t tears," he whispered to himself, blindly chopping. "This is... nasal-based spiritual enlightennt."
At least his sinuses that had been clogged due to the mold infested room were clear now.
The head chef waddled over, squinted at the pile of onion mush, and gave a snort.
"Perfect," he said. "We’re making soup."
Things were looking up—until Zhen Shi returned.
"Oh no, Han Yu. You’re not done yet. The rice stear is acting up. Go fix it." The man said in a misfortune laden voice.
"...I’m a servant. Not a blacksmith."
Zhen Shi pointed dramatically. "Figure it out. Or I tell the chef you used the soul pepper powder instead of salt."
Han Yu froze. "You wouldn’t."
"I would," Zhen Shi replied, then whispered, "I already did. Everyone already knows about your fancy of peppers from the assessnt."
"Fuck..." Han Yu cursed.
Ten Minutes Later
Han Yu knelt in front of the monstrous ancient rice stear that hissed like a demonic tea kettle.
He tapped it.
The stear gurgled.
He hit it with a ladle.
It honked.
Han Yu stared at it in confusion. "Why did it honk?"
Then he noticed the glowing runes on the side.
"Oh no. It’s... spirit-powered?" Han Yu realized he was in over his head.
"How the fuck am I supposed to fix this? I’m not a formation master or a weapon refiner, heck I’m not even a cultivator!" Han Yu dreaded his luck, realizing Zhen Sui had intentionally given him the wrong task.
The rice stear shuddered violently, shot a plu of steam toward the ceiling, and began spinning in place like a drunken top.
"Abort! Abort!" Han Yu yelled, diving behind a counter.
Seconds later, the stear exploded in a majestic display of rice, smoke, and what may or may not have been spiritual poultry.
Han Yu stood in front of the chef, drenched in sticky rice.
"...It honked," he said again.
The chef sighed and handed him a mop.
"You’re now on rice cleanup duty. For the next three days."
Zhen Shi walked by, absolutely radiant with joy.
"Cheer up," he said. "At least now you’ll be too busy to fail at anything else."
Han Yu gave him a thumbs-up, then quietly whispered sothing to Fatty Kui behind his back.
"...What did you tell him?" Zhen Shi asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Oh, just that you’re scared of rats."
"I’m not."
"You will be," Fatty Kui said ominously.
A short while later, Han Yu left so half eaten dumplings to lure so rats that he intended to use to scare Zhen Shi later. Though he had no idea of the way fate was about to turn in his favor.
That Night
Back at Dormitory Nine, Han Yu flopped onto his mat, now permanently scented like vinegar and sadness.
Fatty Kui brought him a bowl of soup. "Here. Chef said it’s ’Han Yu Style Onion Stew.’"
"Does it... taste like betrayal?"
"Like three kinds of betrayal and one regret."
Han Yu sipped it anyway.
"How did you get this soup anyways? Wasn’t this intended for the Inner Court Disciples?" Han Yu asked.
"They made multiple batches of different types. This was intended for the Outer court disciple and doesn’t have any spirit ingredients in it." Fatty Kui answered. "I was assigned to delivery duty and managed to scope out cupful of it into another container every ti I served it to them." He explained.
"Smart Fatty Kui, a bit dangerous, but smart." Han Yu couldn’t help but like the boy. ’He’s definitely better than the original fatty Kui.’ He compared.
At the very least the taste of the soup was a lot better than their daily slop and allowed Han Yu a bit of comfort. It was good enough that he felt the will to practice a bit more of Bolt God Fist before heading to his rough bed.
As the night deepened, Han Yu gazed once more through the hole in the roof. The sa star twinkled at him—except now it looked vaguely like a judgntal rice ball.
"One day," he whispered, "I’ll rise above this. I’ll find the secret cultivation manual hidden under the chicken coop. Or ta a beast. Or start a cult. Sothing."
A small rustle ca from the rafters.
Han Yu sat up.
Two glowing eyes peered down at him. A rat. No... a spirit rat. With an aura of faint qi and suspicious intelligence.
Han Yu squinted. "...Are you here for the onions or revenge?" He wondered if he had sohow offended the rat too.
It wouldn’t be surprising considering the misfortune that was following him around. But much to his surprise, it was a relatively pleasant encounter.
The rat dropped a peanut onto his chest and vanished into the darkness.
Fatty Kui stared. "You might actually be a protagonist."
Han Yu looked at the peanut.
And grinned.
Han Yu didn’t sleep much that night.
Partially because he was plotting revenge. Partially because Fatty Kui snored like a war drum. But mostly because he couldn’t stop staring at the peanut.
It sat on his chest like a divine offering.
"Do you think it was a warning or a gift?" Han Yu asked.
Fatty Kui peeked over from his mat. "Depends. Was it salted?"
Han Yu sniffed it. "Lightly roasted. No shell. This rat has taste."
"That’s terrifying."
"I know," Han Yu whispered reverently. "I need to find it again."
Han Yu didn’t know why the rat had co to him or why it had even given him a peanut. But having seen a chicken that could probably defeat half of the recruits in a combat assessnt, an intelligent rat was nothing.
Though Han Yu certainly wondered just how was the rat that strong.
’It certainly didn’t seem like it was a real spirit beast. Did it gain intelligence sohow?" Han Yu wondered. ’Well, even normal street rats are relatively intelligent compared to many animals.’ he thought, finding the peanut-giving rat, a bit ’normal’.
The morning bell rang and the disciples began throwing around task slips like confetti. Han Yu braced himself.
Today, he was not going to end up in the latrines. Today, he had a plan. Today, he would dodge the worst jobs, make contact with the spirit rat again, and begin his slow, passive-aggressive rise to power.
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