Chapter 1: The Stove Writes Back

The night was as black as ink. Neon signs along Old Street bled into the rain and mist, smearing their light into a murky haze that couldn’t penetrate the depths of the alley. All that reached the ground was a smear of wet, broken light, shattering and reassembling itself under every strike of the rain.

Su Wan shoved the last enamel cup, stuffed with goji berries, into the thermal box. The zipper snapped shut with a dull thud, as if she were sealing every last shred of life into that cramped space. Her fingers were stiff from the cold, the knuckles tinged blue, yet they held the box with startling steadiness.

The siren of the enforcement van wailed closer, slicing through the downpour. Red emergency lights swept across the mottled bluestone pavement, flickering over her face in jagged bursts of light and shadow. She didn’t panic. Her movements were brisk, almost coldly efficient; in three quick passes, she organized the soup pot and herbal packets from the street stall.

Steam rose from the pot, vanishing instantly into the cold rain, much like the secret she couldn’t find a place for. She slung the bag over her shoulder, the strap biting into her flesh, and turned to slip through the sagging iron gate at the end of Old Street.

It was the Old Kitchen, abandoned long ago. The air hung thick with the smell of rotting wood and decades of damp. Time seemed to have stood still here for half a century. Plaster flaked off the walls, revealing the coarse red bricks beneath. Cobwebs had layered themselves in the corners, stark white and faintly glowing under the dim light.

The room was cold and humid. Water seeped through the floor, squeaking faintly under her feet, like something being swallowed. Su Wan didn’t turn on the lights. She leaned on the faint glow of a streetlamp filtering through the window, her gaze locked on the silent wood-fired stove in the corner.

It was Grandma’s relic. Built of blue brick, the stove mouth was a deep, black abyss, like a vast, bottomless vortex quietly opening its mouth. The moment her fingertip touched the icy counter, the impossible happened.

From the depths of the stove mouth, a jet of eerie blue flame shot up without warning. There was no crackle of burning wood, no acrid smell of oil. Instead, an intensely clear medicinal fragrance exploded, instantly filling the cramped, stifling space. The scent pierced through the damp mildew, hitting her nose with a sharpness that was almost painful.

Su Wan’s pupils contracted. She knew this scent too well. It was the lingering sweetness of Grandma’s Heart-Saving Soup, carrying the earthiness of soil and the resilience of herbs. Yet now, no one in the world knew the complete formula for this prescription. Even she had only a blurred outline of it in her childhood memories. To encounter it again in this godforsaken place...

In the flickering firelight, the blue-black interior of the stove seemed to come alive. Golden light seeped from the mottled cracks, condensing into two ancient, imperious characters—"Right Target." The characters hovered in the blue flame, radiating an air of old authority.

Su Wan’s hand trembled as she extended her index finger. The moment her fingertip brushed the phantom characters, a massive stream of information was forcibly poured into her mind. The rules of the Zao Wang Bu (Book of the Kitchen God) exploded in her consciousness, like a chorus of ten thousand cicadas, pounding in her temples: Only if she personally performed Observation, Auscul

tation/Olfaction, Inquiry, and Palpation to pinpoint the exact ailment, and if the patient finished every last drop of the matching Medicinal Diet, would the stove mouth condense "Fireworks." Misdiagnosis, sloppy work, or leftovers—none of it would count.

Every word was branded into her mind, carrying an undeniable, coercive force. She forced herself to calm down, quickly pulling a bowl of freshly cooked millet porridge and a set of silver needles from the canvas bag at her side. This was her only trump card right now.

The zipper on the bag was rusted stiff, so she had to lean sideways against the damp, cold wall. Using the residual heat of the stove, she carefully cradled the bowl of medicine against her chest, guarding that last warmth.

The iron door was suddenly pushed open. A gust of cold wind, carrying rain, rushed in, making the stove flame sway violently, nearly extinguishing. Jiang Yan stood in the doorway. His tailored white coat looked jarringly sharp against the gloom, the hem still dripping with a mixture of rain and cold sweat.

He didn’t panic at the strange sight. His warm, restrained eyes swept quickly over the self-igniting stove, then landed on Su Wan’s pale face, keenly catching the subtle, unsettling changes in her complexion.

He stepped over the threshold. His shoes squeaked faintly on the slippery floor, each step steady as if this absurd scene were just another pathological phenomenon he could analyze. Su Wan didn’t turn around. Her voice was cold and hard as ice: "You’re right on time. Don’t get in the way of my test. This stove only recognizes me tonight."

Jiang Yan stopped, his gaze deep. "Fire without source, complexion in disarray. Doctor Su, are you gambling with your own life to test limits, or betting on the ghost stories of legend?"

His tone was calm, but it carried an interrogative, no-argument-needed scrutiny.

Su Wan ignored his challenge and turned to the corner. A middle-aged man was curled up there, his face the yellow of decaying leaves, hands clutching his stomach. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead, soaking the rags beneath him. Jiang Yan frowned and took a step forward, but Su Wan raised her hand to stop him.

She crouched, her fingers moving like a gale as they landed on the man’s wrist. Three light presses, and the pulse was deep, slow, and choppy. A moment later, she stood, a flash of sharpness in her eyes: "Deficiency-cold in the middle burner with stagnation. This isn’t simple acute gastritis. If cooling herbs had been used, his stomach wall would already be ulcerated and perforated."

The man let out a pained groan and lifted his head. His eyes were unfocused and desperate, as if the last straw had already broken.

Su Wan held out the bowl of millet porridge. It was laced with tiny flecks of herbs, the color a bright gold, the aroma inviting. Her tone was non-negotiable: "Eat. You must finish every drop. This porridge works only for this body."

The man took the ceramic bowl with trembling hands, his eyes full of wariness and suspicion, as if it were poison rather than food. Jiang Yan stood quietly to the side, arms crossed. His eyes didn’t leave the stove mouth; they were locked on Su Wan’s changing expression.

He waited. He waited for this seemingly absurd experiment to yield results, his hands unconsciously tightening and loosening on his white coat. The man took the first sip, his brow furrowing, then relaxing; on the second sip, the fear in his eyes dissolved, replaced by an incredible comfort. His previously curled body gradually loosened, leaning back against the cold wall.

As he swallowed the last drop of porridge, the man let out a long breath. His sickly yellow complexion flushed with a visible rose color, as if a warm current had been injected back into his withered body. Su Wan stared intently at the stove mouth, holding her breath, her heartbeat becoming cautious.

The instant the man set down the empty bowl, a flash of gold lit the inner wall of the stove. A single, crystal-clear golden Firework slowly condensed in mid-air, emitting a warm, resolute light. Su Wan reached out and caught it. The Firework settled steadily in her palm, smooth and warm like a pearl, carrying an indescribable sense of solidity.

Jiang Yan had watched the whole thing. The doubt in his eyes shattered completely, replaced by deep shock and awe. He silently stepped forward, standing beside Su Wan, saying nothing, offering only a silent support through his gaze.

Su Wan ignored the shift in the room. She quickly guided the Firework into the depths of the stove. The light swallowed it, and a yellowed, ancient scroll materialized out of thin air. Its edges were brittle, smelling of old paper and ink. She unrolled it, her pupils shrinking violently. The ancient characters were wild and fluid, describing an herb named "Xuan Shuang Yin."

Su Wan’s fingertip traced the unfamiliar name, her brows knotted tight. Jiang Yan spoke quietly, a hint of chill in his voice: "Doctor Su, this Xuan Shuang Yin was declared extinct ten years ago. In my father, Dean Zhou’s, private collection of medicinal texts, only one annotation mentions it..."

Su Wan snapped her head up, staring hard at Jiang Yan. He met her gaze, his expression calm but firm: "It’s only recorded in the old archives of your late grandmother, Old Su’s former residence, and in the recipe notebook of the Zhou Ancestral Home. If you want to substitute this herb, you’ll have to brush up against Zhou Manqing’s proudest 'exclusive R&D' project."

"That’s not just an herb. It’s the moat they use to monopolize the high-end Food Therapy market." The rain grew heavier, hammering the iron roof with a deafening roar, burying the tense silence between them. Su Wan let out a cold laugh, gripping the scroll until her knuckles turned white: "A moat?"

"Then let them see just how much muck they’ve been trampling in the riverbed. Dean Jiang, thanks for pointing the way. But this muddy water, I, Su Wan, will wade through it alone."

She turned her back on him. Her silhouette, cast by the stove fire, looked thin but isolated, like a statue ready to step into the unknown abyss.

Jiang Yan didn’t get angry at her resolve. Instead, a trace of amusement flickered in his eyes. He tapped the table lightly, his movement elegant, like a silent ritual. Then he pulled a shard of black porcelain engraved with the Zhou Family crest from his inner suit pocket and tossed it gently onto the edge of the stove.

"Since you’ve chosen to go it alone, consider this a meeting gift. It’s the key to the lock on Zhou Manqing’s study. It’s also your only pass into that 'poison nest.' But, Doctor Su, let me remind you: the security system in the Zhou Ancestral Home was designed by my father personally. Even a fly buzzing in would trigger a triple alarm."

"In your current state, you might not even be able to step steadily onto the first threshold."

Su Wan stared at the black porcelain, which reflected a cold, eerie glow in the firelight. She didn’t reach out to take it. She turned to look at the ancient scroll, her gaze piercing through the paper, as if seeing through time and space, landing on the long-lost Xuan Shuang Yin. Rain dripped from the eaves, the rhythm erratic, like a hurry-up, or like a warning.

She suddenly realized that the "extinction" Jiang Yan mentioned wasn’t entirely true. It was a truth deliberately covered up. Ten years ago, when the Zhou Family announced Xuan Shuang Yin was extinct, it wasn’t natural depletion. It was a strategic destruction to monopolize the remaining resources.

Those medicinal roots crushed into the mud may never have truly vanished. They had just changed form, hidden deep within the Zhou Family’s most prized "exclusive R&D" system.

"I don’t need your sympathy, and I don’t need your warnings." Su Wan finally spoke, her voice hoarse but clear. "I need an antidote, not your leverage."

Jiang Yan was silent for a moment, slowly erasing that smirk. He stood up and walked toward the door. Just as he crossed the threshold, he stopped, turning his back to her. His voice, blurred by the sound of the rain: "Then don’t disappoint me. After all, what Zhou Manqing is best at is digging a grave labeled 'success' for those who think they’re smart."

The door closed, shutting out the wind and rain. Su Wan sat alone in the dim light before the stove. The ancient scroll in her hands trembled slightly. The flame deep in the stove flickered, and on its own, traced a line of small characters. It was the last line of the folk remedy Grandma used to murmur: "To wash gold from mud, you must first break your own body."

A chill crawled up her spine. It wasn’t just from the wet cold of the rainy night, but from the cruel price hinted at by those words. For that life-saving herb, she might have to shatter some belief she relied on for survival herself. She might even have to make the entire Zhou Family her enemy.

Outside, a lightning bolt split the sky, illuminating the resolute light in her eyes. It was the final counter-attack against the abyss that gazed back.