Chapter 139: Making Cookies

Yun Jiao decided she couldn’t keep indulging her Ancestor Master anymore. After all, when it came to a spoiled child, the bottom line was that there was no bottom line.

So she dragged him all the way to the kitchen, turned around, and shoved a wooden stick into his hands.

“What is this?” Ye Yuan frowned at the object, clearly puzzled.

“A rolling pin,” Yun Jiao explained patiently, pointing at the sack of flour beside him. “Didn’t you say you wanted cookies? I’ll teach you how to make them.”

Ye Yuan looked down at the flour, still confused. “Why?”

Wasn’t mixing dough enough?

“Ancestor Master…” Yun Jiao sighed, then said firmly, “I can’t keep cooking for you all the time.”

His expression tightened at once, a faint trace of panic flashing through his eyes. “You’re leaving?”

“Leaving? Of course not—” she blinked, thrown off. What did that have to do with anything? “I mean I have other things to do. I can’t spend every day in the kitchen baking snacks for you.”

“Oh.” His face relaxed slightly, though he quickly added, “I help knead the dough.”

“That’s not the point,” Yun Jiao said seriously. “We’re the Qingyang Sect, not a culinary school. Cooking three meals a day is fine, but treats and pastries are luxuries. If you like them, that’s fine—but I have cultivation to do too. I can’t be your personal chef forever. So from now on, I won’t be making any more cookies for you.”

The light in his eyes dimmed instantly, his entire aura turning gloomy.

He looked… almost aggrieved.

After a long moment, he murmured, “…Alright.”

Something tugged at Yun Jiao’s heart. Maybe she’d said it too bluntly.

Still, the issue had to be settled. She softened her tone.

“I’m not saying you can’t eat snacks—just that you’ll have to make them yourself from now on. I’ll teach you how until you learn, alright?”

Ye Yuan blinked at her, studying her face for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Alright.”

Relieved, Yun Jiao smiled. “Good. Let’s start with cookies then. You can mix the dough first.”

He nodded. Dough mixing he was familiar with. With a casual flick of his wrist, the flour bag floated up; water rose from the barrel in a clean stream and began swirling with the flour. The process was smooth, controlled—efficient. Within moments, the mixture formed into a perfect ball of dough that kept rotating rapidly, kneaded by invisible energy.

Less than half a quarter-hour later, a flawless dough dropped gently onto the board.

“Done,” Ye Yuan said, turning toward her.

Yun Jiao: “…”

So, a full-auto magic dough mixer now?

Apparently those kneading lessons had paid off—several times faster and with perfect technique.

Suppressing her surprise, she began teaching him how to roll, cut, and bake.

To her astonishment, the Ancestor Master was an excellent student. He only needed to see a demonstration once or twice before mastering each step exactly as she described. His imitation was precise, meticulous—far better than certain students she knew who copied homework without understanding a thing.

Yun Jiao was genuinely proud. Finally, after teaching so many hopeless cases, she’d found a model pupil. Her enthusiasm surged.

Before long, his first batch of cookies came out of the oven, filling the kitchen with a warm, sweet aroma. Ye Yuan took one and bit into it. The familiar flavor blossomed on his tongue, but… something felt different. Faintly lacking, somehow.

“How is it?” she asked. When he didn’t answer, she glanced at the tray, then at the half-eaten cookie in his hand. Without hesitation, she took it, popped it into her mouth, and crunched it down.

“Not bad!” she said with approval. “Really good, actually.”

It tasted almost identical to hers.

Ye Yuan froze, staring at her—at the fingers that had just brushed his, and at the lips that had just eaten his half-eaten cookie. His heart gave an inexplicable jolt. The cookie in his mouth suddenly seemed more fragrant, the sweetness deeper. A warmth spread through him, quiet and pleasant.

He picked up another cookie and held it out to her. “Try again.”

Yun Jiao blinked, confused, but seeing his expectant gaze—and unwilling to discourage a diligent student—she took another bite.

Crunch, crunch.

He was already reaching for a third.

Yun Jiao: “…”

Did every chef have this kind of feeding compulsion?

“Let’s pack the rest up,” she said quickly, taking the chance to stop him. She grabbed an empty jar from the shelf and handed it over. “You can save them for later.”

Reluctantly, he withdrew his hand, a faint shadow of disappointment flickering in his eyes. Still, he carefully packed the cookies away, one by one, as if handling precious treasures.

Since it was his first time, there weren’t many—just enough to fill a single jar. But before closing the lid, he paused. After thinking for a moment, he fetched another jar, then began transferring half of the cookies into it.

“What’s wrong?” Yun Jiao asked, thinking something was wrong with the container.

Without answering, he held out the half-filled jar to her. “Yours.”

“Huh?” Yun Jiao blinked.

When she didn’t take it, he made a quick hand seal, and golden light flashed over the jar. Glowing characters appeared on its surface:

“Little Disciple’s Cookies.”

Yun Jiao: “…”

Why did this feel suspiciously like a loot split?

She wanted to refuse, but his expression was so earnest she couldn’t. With a sigh, she accepted it. “Thank you, Ancestor Master.”

“Mm.” Ye Yuan nodded, finally satisfied. The cookies suddenly tasted even sweeter.

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After that day, it was as though something inside him had awakened.

The Ancestor Master dove headfirst into culinary arts—learning a new pastry or snack every single day. Before long, he didn’t even need her guidance; he just asked for the recipes, then turned out perfect results entirely on his own.

At first, this was great news—Yun Jiao was finally free from her role as live-in chef.

But the problem was… he insisted on sharing everything.

Every single batch.

Half of every jar.

She glanced at the latest one on her desk, then at the shelf now groaning under the weight of matching ceramic containers—each neatly labeled in shimmering gold script:

“Little Disciple’s Dried Fruit.”

“Little Disciple’s Sweet Cakes.”

“Little Disciple’s Cookies.”

“Little Disciple’s Pastries.”

They lined up in perfect rows, heavy enough to make the shelf sag.

The flavors were admittedly wonderful—but maybe… just maybe…

She should gently remind her Ancestor Master that she didn’t actually like snacks that much.

(End of Chapter)