When Alex opened his eyes, the ceiling swam above him.For a moment he didn’t remember where he was. Then the faces came into focus—eight round, stunned faces staring down at him as if he had just crawled out of a grave.All eight Fattys crowded around the chair he had awkwardly converted into a makeshift bed.Their bulky frames blocked out the light, their shadows falling over him. Eyes wide, mouths slightly open, they stared down at him as if he had just performed a miracle—or survived one.Awe. Pure awe.“Little Brother Ninth,” the First Fatty said carefully, like he was handling something fragile. “Tell me the truth. Did you really cook those food pills?”Alex swallowed. His throat felt dry. “Yes.”A ripple passed through the room.The First Fatty leaned closer. “Did you change the recipe?”“Yes.”Alex pushed himself upright. His body still felt weak, but his mind was clear. He glanced around the chairs until he spotted a stack of paper notes on a nearby table. He reached for it.

Alex knew, these people here could kill him and call it justice.He could die at the hands of Wan Junhao—a servant—or at the hands of the Outer Disciples who watched from the sidelines like vultures.Either way, death was on the table.So Alex made his choice.If he had to die, he would die fighting Wan Junhao on the platform.At least there, he would have a chance.The best a servant in Wudang could ever learn were scraps—some Wudang’s basic cultivation techniques, a handful of crude sword forms, simple movement arts.Wan Junhao leapt onto the platform with the confidence of a man who had already won. He pointed at Alex, his finger sharp as a blade.“Number Nine,” he called out coldly. “You’re dead. Get up here.”The crowd shifted, hungry.Alex didn’t rush. He bent down, picked up his battered soup pot, and settled it over his head. Then he climbed onto the platform.He lifted the iron wok in his hand like a sword. The metal caught the light. It looked ridiculous.For a moment, there

Everyone could see it.The Tiger Group’s outer disciple staggered backward, his face smashed flat by the iron wok that had just collided with it.Blood poured from his mouth. His two front teeth were gone. Completely gone.He swayed for half a second, eyes unfocused, then collapsed onto the stone platform in a heap—humiliated, broken, ugly in defeat.A ripple of shock ran through the crowd.Eight Fatty didn’t hesitate. He stomped onto the platform, grabbed the fallen disciple by the collar, and dragged him across the stone like a sack of trash. The man’s heels scraped uselessly against the ground.With a final grunt, Eight Fatty hurled him off the edge of the platform. The body rolled and landed hard at the feet of the Tiger Group.“Take your useless disciple back,” Eight Fatty barked.“You—!” The injured Tiger Group disciple tried to rise, fury blazing in his bloodshot eyes.“What?” Eight Fatty shot back, folding his arms. His voice boomed across the square. “This platform is sacred.

On the platform, after defeating Chen Liong, Alex swayed once—then his body gave out.Every muscle in him had reached its limit. His arms trembled uncontrollably. His chest burned as if it had been torn open from the inside.Pain screamed through his bones. He had pushed himself far beyond what his body could endure.Then everything went black.Eight Fatty reacted instantly. He rushed forward, grabbed Alex before he could collapse to the floor, and supported his weight with both arms.Carefully—almost urgently—he pulled Alex away from the center, shielding him from the eyes of the crowd.The other Fatty brothers hurried over and gathered around Eight Fatty and Alex, their faces tight with worry.“Don’t tell me he died dramatically and left us some legendary inheritance,” Fourth Fatty blurted out, eyes wide.“Shut your mouth,” Third Fatty snapped, smacking him on the back of the head. “Don’t curse him, you idiot. He’s not dead.”He leaned closer, listening carefully.“…He’s snoring.”T

First Fatty stepped forward without hesitation. The other seven fatties moved with him, forming a solid wall in front of Alex.First Fatty rolled his shoulders and let out a thunderous laugh.“I was wondering why I heard dogs barking just now,” he roared, his voice shaking the rafters. He stood there like a mountain—broad, unmovable, towering over the rest. “Turns out a pack of mutts from the Servants’ Discipline Department came to make noise in our Kitchen.”Across from them stood twenty men clustered around Wang Junhao. They wore servant uniforms, but their sleeves were embroidered with a bold character—“Discipline.” It gleamed like a badge of authority.They weren’t ordinary servants. They carried themselves with the smug confidence of men used to power.One of them stepped forward. He was built like a tiger and thick as a bear. The air around him trembled faintly—fifth level of Qi Condensation. His presence pressed down like a stone.“Other people might fear the Kitchen,” he said