Facing Chu Yuan’s shout, the Dragon Emperor stopped and turned around. A rare trace of confusion surfaced in those lifeless golden pupils. “What is it?”
To his surprise, the voice of the black-haired Dragon Emperor was unexpectedly tender, sounding more like that of a young child. Concealing his shock, Chu Yuan steeled himself and stepped forward. He retrieved a food box from his sleeve, holding it respectfully with both hands. “I have heard that Your Majesty enjoys Osmanthus Cake. I personally prepared some. If Your Majesty does not mind, please give it a taste!”
This was the Osmanthus Cake he had made this morning. To befriend the Dragon Emperor, he knew he had to prepare it himself to show sincerity. His subordinates had offered to help, but Chu Yuan politely refused. For this first contact with his target, he didn’t want to reveal any flaws. For this, he had risen before dawn, borrowed a kitchen, kneaded dough, steamed cakes, and prepared syrup, busy for a full hour. He believed that considering his status as the Holy Son, even if the Dragon Emperor before him felt some internal resistance, she would at least give it a try.
He opened the food box, and the fragrance of osmanthus wafted out.
“Gurgle~!”
Instantly, the sound of a stomach growling echoed through the grand hall. Everyone was startled, clearly hearing where it came from, but no one dared to mention it. Their gazes, intentionally or not, drifted toward the throne. The Dragon Emperor, like a cat smelling fish, instinctively twitched her nose. Yet, her face remained expressionless. She just looked from afar at the food box in Chu Yuan’s hands, a flicker of light passing through her golden pupils.
Chu Yuan chuckled inwardly, feeling more confident in his plan. The next moment, the Dragon Emperor’s cherry lips parted, but the voice that came out was as cold as deep winter spring water. “What kind of garbage is this, daring to ask me to taste it? Truly…”
Just as he was about to take the food box back, a black dragon tail shot out like lightning, wrapped around the box, and snatched it away. By the time everyone reacted, the Dragon Emperor was already holding the food box. She picked up a piece from the neatly arranged Osmanthus Cakes and stuffed it into her mouth.
Instantly, the chill in her frozen golden pupils was shattered by the sweet, non-cloying flavor. The next moment, the Dragon Emperor picked up piece after piece, her face filled with an almost childlike delight. Devouring them ravenously, osmanthus honey smeared at the corner of her mouth, her cheeks puffed out like a hamster’s—there wasn’t a trace of imperial dignity left. This scene left everyone present utterly astonished.
By the time they recovered, the Dragon Emperor had already swallowed the last piece, licking her jade-like fingertips with lingering satisfaction. She looked down at the empty food box, then raised her eyes to look at Chu Yuan, her gaze full of contentment and pleasure. Seeing this, the Eagle-Nosed Grand Elder frowned and scolded, “Your Majesty! Please mind your decorum!!!”
Hearing this, the Dragon Emperor’s delicate frame trembled. She quickly cleared her throat, trying hard to stiffen her face and regain her previous aloof demeanor. Lifting her chin, she spoke with feigned reserve. “The Holy Son’s culinary skills… are passable. I hereby appoint you as the Imperial Chef, responsible for my daily meals from now on.”
But osmanthus honey still clung to the corner of her mouth, making it impossible for the Dragon Emperor to maintain her stern expression, instead rendering her somewhat adorable. Watching her obvious desire masked by feigned indifference, Chu Yuan suddenly felt this dragon wasn’t so terrifying after all. Compared to the cold glances he endured from his wooden Senior Sister, the Emperor’s satisfied feedback gave him motivation to continue cooking. Having been reborn in the Realm of True Emotions for over a hundred years, this was the first time Chu Yuan’s cooking had been affirmed by a stranger. He couldn’t suppress his elation. The corners of his lips lifted as he bowed with cupped hands. “Yes, Your Majesty!”
From then on, he had an additional duty within the alliance. Every day before dawn, he would dive into the kitchen—kneading dough, chopping fillings, simmering soups, steaming cakes. He learned everything he knew how to make and even things he didn’t. Grilled fish, steamed cakes, candied fruits, sugar-coated haws… Chu Yuan made them all, varying the dishes. The Dragon Emperor never said anything, but every time he came to deliver food, she would clear the spot next to her throne in advance.
She didn’t like being watched while eating and would always turn her back. But Chu Yuan could always hear faint chewing sounds and occasional satisfied sighs from behind. The black hair cascading over her shoulders often caught crumbs of pastries. Sometimes, the sleeves of her black robe would get smeared with syrup, and the Emperor would remain oblivious. After finishing, she would wrap her tail around his waist. That dragon tail was long and powerful, its black scales always shimmering with a warm glow under candlelight. Chu Yuan struggled at first, but later got used to it—there was no point resisting anyway.
Later, she would even coil him up and bring him to the side of the throne, making him sit beside her, like a food-guarding cat carrying its favorite toy back to its nest. Whenever this happened, Chu Yuan could feel the increasingly wary gaze of the Eagle-Nosed Grand Elder. During court assemblies, he would always stand in the closest spot, watching her use her golden pupils to look down upon the assembly of demons. But once everyone dispersed, she would secretly tug his sleeve and ask softly, “What are you making tomorrow?”
The more he fed her, the more eagerly she anticipated his arrivals, wagging her tail in a way that always reminded Chu Yuan of his neighbor’s dog. Of course, he knew the comparison was a bit disrespectful. But for some reason, the Dragon Emperor always made him think of that dog. What had happened to that dog in the end? He seemed to have forgotten.
However, compared to the torment of acting every day at the Heavenly Sword Sect, thanks to the Emperor’s presence, Chu Yuan’s days in the Demon Path Alliance were unexpectedly fulfilling and relaxed.
He remembered that night when Chu Yuan prepared a late-night snack. That bowl of Lotus Seed Pudding had been simmered for a full hour, the heat perfectly controlled. Carrying the food box toward the Dragon Emperor’s bedchamber, the corridor was silent, with only the sound of his own footsteps. Reaching the chamber door, he heard a strange sound.
“Thwack! Thwack!”
The sound of a whip striking flesh made Chu Yuan halt. He stood outside the door, listening to the sound emanating from within the chamber. Each strike felt like it landed on his own heart. Quickly activating the [Phantom Ethereal Dharma Robe] on his person, Chu Yuan infiltrated the chamber. The moment he slipped inside, he froze after just one glance.
Inside the chamber, a burly dragon beast was firmly suppressed within a formation. Judging by the shape of the horns on the dragon beast’s head, Chu Yuan immediately recognized it as the Dragon Emperor’s true form before transformation. At this very moment, standing before the dragon beast was the Eagle-Nosed Grand Elder—that sanctimonious figure from the meetings—holding an iron whip, lashing it down upon the beast’s back again and again.
“You beast!” the other’s voice was as cold as a snake’s. “Who gave you the authority to appoint that brat as Imperial Chef? Who gave you the gall? Don’t forget, you’re nothing but a mongrel dragon I hatched from an egg!”
As the Eagle-Nosed Grand Elder exerted force with each swing, the wounds on the dragon beast’s flesh overlapped old and new scars—some already scabbed, others still oozing blood. Baring its teeth, the dragon beast was forced prostrate by the formation’s pressure, not uttering a word. There were no howls or resistance. It just silently endured, as if already numb.
Watching that whip fall again and again, adding fresh bloody welts to the dragon beast’s back, Chu Yuan suddenly felt the scene before him overlap with a memory he had desperately tried to forget. Back then, his neighbor’s alcoholic uncle used to beat his dog the same way. Iron chains, leather whips, howls—day after day, year after year. He would stop and watch for a while each time he passed, his heart raging with fury, but he could do nothing. He was too young and too weak, forced to watch helplessly. Later, that dog died on the coldest night of deep winter. It curled up in a corner, its wounds not yet healed, was kicked a few more times by its owner, and never got up again. In the end, it was slaughtered for hot pot, completely consumed.