Chapter Sixty-Five: The Chef and the Engineer

You’re on errand duty until the cubs are born. If the Snake King wants a specific berry from the top of a mountain, you fly until your wings fall off."

By afternoon, a new, surreal tradition had begun to form in the village. Qin Mo, finding that the new metal pots made the cooking process significantly faster and more precise, had taken over the kitchen duties entirely.

He found a strange, meditative peace in the chopping and stirring, though his "imperial" personality remained as prickly as ever.

He did not cook for the village. He did not cook for the Dragon warriors at large. He prepared a rich, aromatic stew specifically for Lin Wan, using the "miracle spices" she had pulled from her storage—dried garlic, sea salt, and a pinch of black pepper that made the steam rising from the pot smell like absolute heaven.

However, he wasn’t entirely heartless—or perhaps he was just showing off. He allowed a small portion of the "spirit soup" to be given to Lily and Ember, who had come to check on Lin Wan.

The two rabbit-females sat huddled in the corner of the cottage, their eyes wide as saucers as they sipped the savory broth.

"It’s... it’s like eating a cloud of summer," Lily whispered, her nose twitching as she clutched the warm ceramic bowl. "I feel my blood moving faster. My ears feel warmer."

Qin Mo ignored the praise, his focus entirely on the warriors he had deigned to use for his errands.

He allowed Davy and the disgraced Kray to have the leftovers of the broth as "payment" for the heavy lifting they were doing outside, hauling stones and timber for the new wings of the house.

Watching the legendary gentleman Davy, a warrior who usually looked like he could bite through an iron bar—practically licking the bottom of a stainless steel pot was a sight Lin Wan never thought she’d see.

He was a Dragon warrior, proud and stoic, yet here he was, defeated by a bowl of soup seasoned with "foreign" salt.

"Is it to your liking, Dragon?" Qin Mo asked. He leaned against the doorframe, a silver-handled knife in his hand, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. He looked at Long Zhan, who was busy sanding a piece of wood for a new table. "I noticed your bowl is empty. Would you like the scrapings? Or is your pride enough to fill your belly?"

Long Zhan merely grunted, his violet eyes fixed on Lin Wan. She was finally looking color-flushed and healthy again, her eyes bright with life rather than the hollowed-out terror he had seen in the woods. He didn’t care about the soup; he cared that the snake was winning the "domestic war" by being a better servant.

"Enjoy your broth, Snake," Long Zhan rumbled, his wings twitching with a hidden, competitive resolve. "Tomorrow, the expansion begins. You may be the chef, but I will be the one who builds her a palace. Let’s see how your soup tastes when she’s sleeping in a room made of gold."

Lin Wan let out a soft, genuine laugh, leaning back into her pillows as the warmth of the food and the cottage settled over her.

As she watched the two most dangerous males in the territory bicker over soup temperatures and floor plans, she felt a soft, rhythmic

thump! thump!

against her palm from her belly. The cubs were happy. For the first time since the fire, the darkness felt like it was finally receding.

. . .

The following days in the Orycto village were marked by a symphony of labor. The rhythmic thud, thud of hammers against stone and the sharp shrrr of saws through timber became the new heartbeat of the community.

While Lin Wan remained under what she called "house arrest," her presence was felt in every decision. She had become the silent architect, her bed serving as the war room where she plotted the transformation of her small cottage into a sprawling fortress.

Qin Mo had fully leaned into his role as the household’s exclusive chef. He treated the kitchen like a laboratory, fascinated by the way the stainless steel pots reacted to the flame.

He had quickly mastered the art of the "slow simmer," realizing that the even heat of the metal allowed the marrow in the bones to melt into the broth without burning the herbs.

He was a perfectionist. If a stew wasn’t the exact shade of golden-brown he desired, he would hand the "failure" to Kray and start again. Kray, of course, didn’t mind. He was eating better than the Dragon King’s own council back at the peaks.

"The flavor is... different today," Lin Wan noted one evening as Qin Mo brought her a bowl of mushroom and wild poultry soup. "It’s creamier."

"I used the fat from the mountain goat Kray brought back," Qin Mo explained, sitting on the edge of her bed to watch her eat.

He took a clean cloth and wiped a small drop of broth from her chin, his touch lingering for a second too long. "And a pinch of that white powder from the ’spirit bag’ you called... cornstarch? It thickens the soul of the soup."

Outside, the aroma of Qin Mo’s cooking was causing a near-riot. The other tribesmen would find any excuse to walk past Lin Wan’s cottage, their noses in the air.

Even the stoic Dragon warriors were becoming increasingly distracted. Davy had to institute a "no lingering" policy, though he himself was often seen standing downwind of the kitchen window, inhaling deeply.

Qin Mo’s cooking was more than just food; it was a display of dominance. By feeding Lin Wan the most exquisite meals the village had ever seen, he was proving that he could provide for her in ways a brute-force warrior like Long Zhan never could. He wasn’t just filling her stomach; he was courting her through her taste buds.

Long Zhan, sensing the "service war" shifting in the Snake’s favor, redoubled his efforts in construction. If he couldn’t cook a delicate soup, he would build a monument to her comfort.

He realized that a single-room cottage, even an expanded one, was an insult to a female carrying three high-ranked cubs.

"The cubs will need space to grow, and the air must be warm," Long Zhan declared, spreading out the blueprints Lin Wan had sketched for him.

He pointed to the thick, obsidian stones his warriors were hauling from the riverbed. "Stone holds the heat of the day. We will double-wall the nursery. We will line the interior with the softest cedar and the thickest furs from my own hoard."

He directed his warriors with the intensity of a general preparing for a siege. He wasn’t just building a house; he was building a sanctum. He ordered two additional wings to be added.

The first was the Nursery Wing. It was a massive, circular room designed to capture the morning sun. Long Zhan insisted on a specialized flooring, smooth, interlocking wooden planks that he spent hours sanding himself to ensure there wasn’t a single splinter that could harm a cub’s paw.

He even designed a triple-cradle, carved from a single piece of ancient, aromatic heartwood, designed to sway with the slightest touch.

The second wing was for the Males’ Quarters and Storage. Long Zhan was pragmatic; he knew that as long as Qin Mo was around, they needed a place to stay that didn’t infringe on Lin Wan’s privacy.

But more importantly, he wanted a place to store the "Spirit Tools" she kept summoning. He built heavy, reinforced shelving and a secondary hearth that could be used for the metal pots without cluttering the main living area.

The most ambitious project, however, was the Bathroom. Lin Wan had mentioned, almost in passing, how difficult it was to maintain hygiene while her belly grew and her balance shifted. Long Zhan took this as a personal challenge.

"A female of your status should not have to rely on cold buckets and shivering in the corner," he told her, his voice firm.

He designed a small, stone-lined room attached to the back of the cottage. It was a marvel of beast-world engineering.

He used a series of hollowed-out logs to create a primitive but effective drainage system that led away from the house. Inside, he installed a massive wooden tub, reinforced with iron bands, and a secondary hearth specifically for heating large river stones.

"You drop the hot stones into the water," he explained, showing her the heavy iron tongs he had fashioned. "The water will stay steaming for as long as you wish. I have even gathered the crushed petals of the winter-rose for your soak."

Despite the bustling activity, the atmosphere remained one of strict "bed arrest." Every time Lin Wan tried to slide out of her furs to inspect the progress of the bathroom or the nursery, she was met with a wall of muscle.

"I just want to see if the drainage pipe is level!" she protested one afternoon, her hand resting on the now-unmistakable curve of her stomach. "I can’t just sit here and watch you all do the work."

Long Zhan simply picked her up, ignoring her indignant squeaks, and sat her back down on the furs. "You will sit. You will eat the soup the snake gives you. You will tell me if the stone in the bathroom is too rough, and I will sand it down until it is as smooth as your skin. But you will not walk until the healer says the cubs have firmly ’anchored’ their spirits."

Qin Mo walked over, holding a small plate of sliced mountain apples he had chilled in a bucket of deep-well water. "Listen to the lizard, Wanwan. For once, he is being practical. You are the heart of this house; if the heart strains itself, the whole structure fails. Direct us. Rule us. But do not move from that spot."

Lin Wan looked at the two of them—the Dragon Sovereign with wood dust in his hair and the Snake King with a fruit knife in his hand. She felt the cubs move again, a soft, synchronized flutter that felt like a tiny round of applause.

Despite the missing piece of her heart that still called out for Wang, there was a strange, beautiful peace settling over the Orycto village. They weren’t just building a house; they were building a future.