I'm Just an Innkeeper, Why Are You All Kneeling?

The autumn wind whistled through the jagged peaks of the Azure Cloud Mountain Range, a perilous region usually reserved for high-level cultivation sects, rogue immortals, and deadly spirit beasts. Today, however, the mountains were host to a far more dangerous entity.

Crimson strode through the dense, ancient forest, his long dark robes brushing silently against the overgrown foliage. In his right hand, he held a piece of plain wooden parchment with absolute reverence, as if it were an imperial decree from a ancient immortal emperor. In reality, it was simply Lin Fan’s handwritten grocery list.

To anyone else, the title of Head of Supply Chain and Ingredient Procurement Manager might have sounded like mundane tavern chore. But to Crimson, an ancient demon lord who had spent millennia mastering the art of supreme discipline, it was a sacred duty. His Master had entrusted him with the core foundation of the establishment’s new culinary era. Failure was not an option.

”Quality must be absolute,” Crimson murmured to himself, his ruby-red eyes glowing with cold, analytical focus. ”Master demands meat, poultry, fish, and spices. Serving inferior stock to the patrons of Lin’s Teahouse would be a grave insult to the establishment’s prestige.”

A deafening roar suddenly shattered the silence of the forest. The ground trembled violently as trees were uprooted like mere blades of grass. Emerging from the thick mist was a Flame-Horned Tyrant Bull—a legendary Saint-grade spirit beast whose body was draped in natural obsidian armor and whose breath could vaporize a river in seconds. It glared down at the solitary figure blocking its path, releasing a wave of terrifying spiritual pressure that turned the surrounding stone to liquid lava.

Crimson did not even pause his step. He glanced up at the giant creature, his expression entirely deadpan.

”High density muscle fibers. Rich natural qi distribution. Excellent fat marbling,” Crimson noted aloud.

The Tyrant Bull roared in fury, raising a massive, stone-crushing hoof to flatten the intruder. Crimson casually raised his hand and flicked his thumb against his middle finger. A single, invisible thread of demonic qi flashed through the air with instant, silent precision.

Snap.

The giant, mountain-sized beast froze instantly. Its fiery aura vanished like a snuffed candle, and it collapsed onto the forest floor with a heavy, muted thud, completely lifeless without a single drop of blood spilled to ruin the meat.

Crimson walked over, patted the beast’s thick, armored flank, and gave a firm nod. ”Suitable.”

From that moment onward, the wilderness of the mountain range suffered a swift, terrifyingly efficient harvest.

When Crimson required poultry, he hunted down a flock of Nine-Color Spirit Pheasants—rare creatures known to fly at supersonic speeds and spit lightning. Crimson merely raised his hand, pulsing a soft wave of suppressed frost energy that instantly plucked their feathers and flash-froze them mid-air, preserving their tender meat at peak freshness.

When he needed fish, he arrived at the banks of the Dragon-Vein River, home to the elusive Silver-Scaled Flood Dragon Fish. Normal cultivators spent decades trying to catch a single one using enchanted nets and spirit bait. Crimson stood on the riverbank, slapped the surface of the water once with his palm, and watched as five giant, glowing silver fish flew thirty feet into the air. With a flick of his sleeve, he caught them all, wrapping them in a protective bubble of ice-element qi.

Next came the herbs and seasonings. Crimson scoured the deepest subterranean caves and highest mountain cliffs, gathering Thousand-Year Spirit Ginger, Fire Peppers that pulsed with raw elemental flame, Frost Mint that sparkled like diamonds, and Moonlight Mushrooms that only grew under the light of a full moon.

Finally, Crimson pulled the parchment list from his sleeve once more, squinting at the remaining items written at the very bottom in Lin Fan’s neat handwriting: Common cabbages, wild onions, basic carrots.

Crimson paused, his brow furrowing in deep, genuine confusion.

Why would his Master, a supreme existence capable of manipulating spatial dimensions and commanding demon lords, want cheap, dirt-covered mortal vegetables? Was there a hidden, profound Dao buried within the humble cabbage? Did the common carrot hold the secret to balancing cosmic harmony?

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

”Master’s vision is truly profound,” Crimson thought, his respect for Lin Fan reaching new, unmeasurable heights. ”He seeks to combine the supreme essence of Saint-grade beasts with the raw, grounded nature of mortal earth. A brilliant, mystical balance.”

Treating the mortal vegetables with even more delicate care than the thousand-year spirit herbs, Crimson carefully harvested a bed of common cabbages, lifting them from the dirt with tiny, precise strands of energy so as not to bruise a single leaf.

Back in the quiet rear courtyard of Lin’s Teahouse, Sect Master Lu and Scartail were standing near the water well, happily washing wooden bowls in a tall bucket. The morning air was pleasant, and the teahouse was running as smoothly as ever.

Suddenly, the sky above the courtyard turned dark.

”Is it going to rain?” Scartail asked, wiping his brow and looking up. ”Those look like heavy storm clouds...”

”Wait...” Sect Master Lu squinted, his cultivator senses tingling with sudden, instinctive dread. ”That isn’t a storm cloud. That’s... that’s a falling mountain!”

BOOM!

A massive shadow fell over the courtyard as a towering mountain of raw materials slammed onto the stone floor with a deafening crash, shaking the entire teahouse to its foundation. Dust clouds billowed into the air, carrying the overwhelming, dizzying aroma of rich spirit energy, fresh river water, and rare mountain spices.

Scartail dropped his wooden bucket, his jaw hanging open so wide it nearly unhinged. Sect Master Lu stumbled backward, grabbing his chest as the lingering, residual aura of a dead Saint-grade Tyrant Bull hit his chest like a physical sledgehammer.

When the dust finally settled, the entire courtyard was completely filled.

Stacked thirty feet high was the colossal carcass of the armored bull, neatly plucked spirit pheasants frozen in clear ice cubes, giant silver fish floating in shimmering water spheres, crates bursting with glowing red Fire Peppers, stacks of Thousand-Year Ginger, and, resting right at the very top of the massive pile, three small, perfectly clean mortal cabbages.

Standing calmly beside the mountain of meat was Crimson, his dark robes completely spotless, his posture pristine.

Lin Fan pushed open the rear kitchen doors, holding a fresh cup of tea. He took one step into the courtyard, looked up at the giant, horned head of a mythical behemoth looming over his roof, and froze mid-sip. His eyes darted from the mountain of meat to the frozen dragon fish, then to the glowing red peppers, and finally to Crimson.

Silence stretched across the courtyard for several long, agonizing seconds.

”Crimson...” Lin Fan said slowly, lowering his teacup. ”I asked you to buy ingredients.”

Crimson bowed his head slightly, his tone completely stoic and calm. ”I gathered them.”

Lin Fan stared at the giant, dragon-like horns of the bull, which were currently resting dangerously close to his laundry line. ”...You killed all of these?”

”Yes,” Crimson replied simply. ”The local merchants in the city market possessed stock of inferior quality. I concluded that only the finest natural materials in the wilderness were worthy of Master’s new menu.”

Lin Fan opened his mouth to explain the concept of a normal butcher shop, but stopped himself. He looked at the sheer volume of high-grade, premium meat stacked in his backyard. In the local city auctions, a single ounce of spirit beast meat sold for hundreds of silver coins. A Thousand-Year Spirit Ginger root was worth a small fortune in high-grade spirit stones.

He had spent exactly zero copper coins. His profit margin for the new food menu wasn’t just intact—it was practically infinite! A massive, brilliant grin spread across Lin Fan’s face as he clapped his hands together in pure financial joy.

”Crimson, you absolute logistical genius!” Lin Fan laughed, walking over to pat the cold leg of the giant bull. ”This is incredible! We have enough high-grade meat and stock to run the kitchen for two solid months without spending a single cent on suppliers! You deserve a raise!”

Crimson blinked, a subtle, proud tilt returning to his chin. ”I merely executed my designated operational duties, Master.”

Lin Fan leaned in closer to inspect the massive flank of the Tyrant Bull, ready to plan his first batch of slow-braised meat. But as he reached out toward the deep red flesh, he suddenly noticed something odd.

The meat was visibly pulsing. Faint, dark-red veins of concentrated, raw volcanic energy were throbbing beneath the surface of the fat. Next to it, the glowing Fire Peppers were emitting tiny, crackling sparks of real flame, heating the stone floor beneath them until it glowed red-hot.

Lin Fan’s grin slowly faded. He looked at the crackling peppers, then at the pulsing monster meat, and finally turned his head toward Crimson.

”Wait...” Lin Fan murmured, his voice dropping an octave as a cold bead of sweat rolled down his neck. ”Are these... actually safe for normal people to eat?”

Crimson froze.

His glowing red eyes blinked once. Then twice.

For the first time since Lin Fan had met him, the ancient, unflappable demon lord looked completely rooted to the spot, his stoic expression cracking into a moment of pure, silent panic.

High-grade spirit beasts were packed with immense, volatile spiritual energy. If a normal mortal—or even a low-level cultivator—took a single bite of unrefined, Saint-grade Tyrant Bull meat, the raw energy inside their stomach would instantly trigger a mini-tribulation, likely causing them to detonate on the spot like a living spirit bomb.

Lin Fan stared at Crimson. Crimson stared back at Lin Fan.

The silence in the courtyard was deafening.

”Crimson,” Lin Fan said softly, pointing a finger at the glowing, spark-spitting mountain of beef. ”Tell me our customers aren’t going to explode if I make fried rice out of this.”

Crimson remained entirely still, his mind racing at lightspeed as he contemplated the absolute catastrophic failure of his first procurement assignment. ”...I shall immediately research culinary refinement methods.”