Reborn as a Human Cauldron, But I'm the Top - Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Explosion!

Cooking?

Shen Yirong instantly felt the sky had fallen. She couldn’t cook!

Shouldn’t the Demon Lord be very busy? According to the typical tropes, she should be engaged in a life-and-death struggle with those righteous cultivators, or at the very least, busy building a harem, right?

Never mind all that for now. Given what happened yesterday, Shen Yirong felt that if she didn’t cook well, her spirit stones might fly away again.

Shen Yirong rigidly walked to the stove. Looking at the collection of antiquated items, her forehead started to smoke.

She had been transmigrated for so long, but Shen Yirong had never missed the modern world this much: the rice cooker, the microwave, the air fryer—help!

The cooks’ holiday was abrupt. The stove fire was raging, and the water in the pot was bubbling. A cutting board lay nearby with a dough ball on it. It looked like the original plan for breakfast was noodles.

Qi Wu dutifully stood guard by the door, her eyes wide as copper bells, looking quite alert.

Shen Yirong complained internally while engaging in a battle of wits with the dough.

In the modern world, she quite liked Lanzhou pulled noodles. There was a shop near her university, and she would frequent it during lunch hour.

The owner pulled the noodles inside the window, which was quite a sight to see.

Shen Yirong recalled the scene. Isn’t this simple?

She confidently pulled the noodles, and then the noodles snapped.

“Pfft.”

Shen Yirong looked up, but Qi Wu’s face was calm and detached, as if the laughter she had just heard hadn’t come from her.

Shen Yirong’s cheeks were slightly red, “This… this is just a warm-up exercise.”

To save face, Shen Yirong closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then recalled the noodle-pulling technique in her mind.

She opened her eyes, her gaze resolute.

She was full of confidence again, and the dough snapped again.

She held a long piece of dough in each hand, her nose smudged with flour. The pose made it look like she was about to perform a Northeast Errenzhuan (a type of folk dance).

Shen Yirong was so embarrassed her toes curled. She felt this had to be Song Yin’s malicious revenge.

This was less satisfying than a good whipping, at least she was quite good at enduring pain.

Maybe I should try knife-cut noodles?

Shen Yirong kneaded the dough back together, picked up the kitchen knife, and started recalling.

A flash of inspiration, and the kitchen knife went straight for the dough.

Then the dough split into two.

Shen Yirong looked at the two pieces on the cutting board, lost in thought. Finally, she couldn’t help but ask Qi Wu, “Do I absolutely have to do this?”

“Absolutely.”

Shen Yirong immediately wilted.

The dream last night was very strange, alternating between good and bad. She dreamed of tripping Song Yin in her past life, and she also dreamed of the possibility of life without the system.

The Song Yin in the dream refused her offer to cook and instead cooked for her useless Master.

The Song Yin in reality forced her to cook, and failure would likely result in punishment.

Shen Yirong glanced around, looking at all the ingredients but having no idea where to start.

The fire began to weaken as she procrastinated.

Shen Yirong finally found something she knew how to do. She lowered her head and blew into the bottom of the stove.

The originally weak flame shot up high with her breath. Shen Yirong’s eyebrows and hair were almost scorched off.

“Cough, cough, cough!”

Shen Yirong leaned back. Seeing the stove fire steady, she picked up some firewood and tossed it in, making the fire burn fiercely.

However, she had just accidentally knocked over the cutting board, and the dough fell to the ground and was stepped on. It was unusable.

Shen Yirong wiped the sweat off her face. The sunlight outside was too harsh, making it uncomfortable to stand in.

Shen Yirong walked over and closed the door, but this made the kitchen unbearably hot.

She still knew a little spell for summoning wind. So, she pressed two fingers together and silently chanted the incantation.

Qi Wu had entered the room when Shen Yirong closed the door. She leaned against the wall with her arms crossed. Her originally indifferent expression instantly became serious.

This cauldron’s Wind-Summoning Spell is exquisitely executed.

Shen Yirong spent most of her past life lying in bed. Her daily activities consisted of reading, looking out the window, drinking medicine, and tormenting Song Yin.

There was a small wind chime by the window, a trinket Song Yin had bought when she went down the mountain.

Even though she lacked spirit stones for cultivation, she always bought these useless things.

But the place where Shen Yirong lived was too quiet.

Only after Song Yin left would she move her eyes to the wind chime, summoning the wind to create some sound in the silent room.

Listening to the sound of the wind brought her peace for a long, long time.

Perhaps the power of the memory was too strong. Shen Yirong made a slight error in her Wind-Summoning Spell.

A sudden gust of wind erupted. Vegetables flew everywhere.

And not just vegetables. The flour in the corner was also blown up, filling the room with a cloud of dust.

Shen Yirong didn’t even have time to retract her spell before she was “BAM!” blown out of the kitchen.

“Cough, cough, cough!”

She rolled a few times on the ground, then stood up, covered in dust and dirt. Her clothes were tattered, and her face was blacker than the bottom of a pot. When she spoke, the contrast with her big white teeth was striking.

“What happened?” Shen Yirong’s head was spinning.

Qi Wu was fine, only the corner of her robe was slightly singed.

The real problem was the kitchen, which had been completely destroyed in the explosion.

Qi Wu hadn’t expected a simple Wind-Summoning Spell to cause such severe consequences. If she hadn’t quickly protected Shen Yirong’s body, the person would likely be dead.

Most of the cultivators in the Demon Palace practice Bigu. Only one kitchen was needed for those who had not yet achieved it. Now that it was destroyed, where would they fulfill the Lord’s task?

Qi Wu was troubled. She pondered for a long time before taking the disheveled Shen Yirong to see Song Yin.

When they arrived, Song Yin was drinking spiritual tea.

She looked up and saw Qi Wu in black robes followed by Shen Yirong with a black face.

The person’s eyes, however, were very bright, secretly glancing forward to gauge her expression.

Song Yin: …

Did she suddenly break through while cooking and get struck by the Heavenly Tribulation?

That would be quite the genius.

Shen Yirong also knew what a sight she was. She slyly hid behind Qi Wu. Realizing that Qi Wu was not as tall as her, she quietly squatted lower.

Then she was lifted out by Song Yin.

The other party used a spell to lift her. Shen Yirong felt like a piece of clothing hung out to dry.

So embarrassing.

Shen Yirong felt humiliated. She didn’t pay attention to what Qi Wu was saying.

“Exploded?” Song Yin’s cold voice seemed to carry a hint of distaste.

“Yes, it exploded,” Qi Wu’s expression was a little embarrassed.

A hint of disappointment flashed in Song Yin’s eyes.

A fake is just a fake. But this fake was quite clever, knowing how to use this method to cover up her lack of cooking skills.

Song Yin sneered. She had lost interest. Remembering how much this person cared about spirit stones, she casually said, “A penalty of six months’ spirit stones.”

Shen Yirong instantly lost her composure. That was six months’ worth of spirit stones!

In her agitation, she stopped playing the ostrich. “Lord! Please change the punishment!”

Song Yin had intended to have Qi Wu take the person away, but seeing her so worked up, she dropped the idea.

She stared at the face and suddenly raised her hand, washing away all the soot on the person’s face.

Song Yin stared at the similar face for a while, her eyes mocking, “What punishment do you want?”

Shen Yirong was momentarily speechless.

Sensing the tense atmosphere, Qi Wu wisely backed out, closing the door behind her.

The room became dim. Shen Yirong knelt there, momentarily at a loss for how to handle the situation.

What exactly did Song Yin want?

Her voice trembled, “The Lord can do whatever she wishes.”

She had no choice. Shen Yirong couldn’t be without spirit stones. Her cultivation required them.

Song Yin walked silently. When the orchid fragrance came too close, Shen Yirong knew she had arrived.

Shen Yirong tried hard to control herself from trembling, then calmed down.

She thought she heard Song Yin chuckle softly.

“Lift your head and look at me.”

Shen Yirong paused. She complied, but her movements were slow due to her apprehension.

She was afraid her face would provoke the person in front of her.

Suddenly, her chin was pinched. The force was so great it felt like it would crush her bone. Pulled up by this force, she involuntarily grabbed Song Yin’s wrist.

Song Yin’s eyes were completely devoid of warmth. When she looked at Shen Yirong, it was like looking at an ugly insect, and in the next moment, the insect would be crushed.

But then the hand released her, and with disgust in her voice, she said, “Don’t cry.”

Shen Yirong immediately shut up, but the tears still wouldn’t stop. It was as if she couldn’t wipe them all away.

Suddenly, someone wiped away her tears. The disgust on the other person’s face was still evident, and the movement wasn’t gentle; it felt like it was intended to wipe her face raw.

Song Yin herself was surprised by her action.

Just seeing that face cry made her feel a little soft.

Perhaps she missed Master too much.

Song Yin had so many questions she wanted to ask that person: Why were you so cruel to me, and why did you kiss me in the end?

These questions had been winding around her heart, and every time she thought of that person, it hurt.

Song Yin couldn’t decipher her own feelings, unsure if it was love or hate, or merely simple unwillingness to accept the past.

Shen Yirong didn’t understand why the person in front of her suddenly became silent.

She looked at Song Yin’s face, at her distracted eyes.

She had always known Song Yin’s eyes were beautiful. They were clear and cold when looking at people, with the corners turning up as if smiling. But if one looked closely, they would find that the light-colored pupils concealed deep detachment.

Those eyes only changed when they looked at her, like a calm lake surface suddenly stirred by the wind, wrinkling everything, and then she would smile lightly and call her Master.

At that time, Shen Yirong dared not look. She was afraid she would give herself away, and afraid she would drown in the other person’s eyes.

Shen Yirong didn’t dare to look now either. She was just a small cauldron. If the owner was displeased, she would become a small corpse.

But wasn’t this lapse in concentration lasting too long? The floor was quite cold. Kneeling for too long hurts the knees.

Just as she was complaining internally, Song Yin’s voice finally rang out.

“Why?”

Shen Yirong was confused. Why what? Could you be clearer?

Song Yin looked at Shen Yirong’s bewildered eyes. She suddenly felt ridiculous, trying to find an answer from a fake.

She lost the patience to play games and roared in anger.

“Get out!”

The long-lost Qi Wu suddenly appeared and swiftly ushered Shen Yirong out.

The sunlight fell upon her again. Shen Yirong belatedly realized her spirit stones were gone.

With such beautiful sunlight, why couldn’t she feel any warmth?

Qi Wu walked ahead with a gloomy face. She had been by the Lord’s side for so many years and had never seen her lose control like this.

It seemed the scars the Sword Venerable had left on the Lord had not yet healed.

As she was thinking, an orange-red figure came into view ahead.

This person walked directly past Qi Wu, extending a hand toward Shen Yirong, their smile more fervent than the sun overhead.

“Hello, my name is Yu Zhuotan.”

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