Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Way of Heaven and the Way of Man

Thank you to Martial Dust for the generous reward. Now that the recommendations have ended, my collection count is somewhat worrying. If I can gain fifty new collections in a day, I’ll post two chapters; otherwise, I can only maintain one a day. After all, spending a few more days on the newcomers’ list means more people can see this story.

All things in the world serve as proof of the Dao, and the path to godhood for those who traverse worlds is no exception.

Though there are said to be three thousand paths, in the end, all can be summarized into two: the Heavenly Way and the Human Way.

The Way of Heaven takes from the surplus to fill the lacking;
The Way of Man takes from the lacking to serve the surplus.

These two statements reveal the essence of the two great avenues available to transmigrators seeking godhood.

Those who pursue the Way of Heaven nourish themselves with the world’s spiritual energy, regarding themselves as lacking and the world as abundant, much like water flowing to the lowest point, allowing the world’s spiritual energy to naturally converge into their bodies. Therefore, those who cultivate the Way of Heaven have extremely high demands for resources, companions, and locations. As can be observed from countless worlds, the higher the world’s level, the more cultivators of the Way of Heaven there are. In the grandest worlds, where energy is most abundant, everyone can cultivate the Way of Heaven and become gods on the spot (referring to immortality, not divinity in the sense of a deity).

Those who cultivate the Human Way nourish themselves with the lives of myriad beings, regarding themselves as surplus and others as lacking. They follow the law of the jungle, where the fittest survive, growing by seizing and plundering the resources of others. It’s not that human cultivators dislike the Way of Heaven, but rather that resources are insufficient. In contrast to heavenly worlds, the lower a world’s level, the more practitioners of the Human Way there are. In the age when the Way is lost, the Way of Heaven is forgotten altogether. Yet, from another perspective, even technology is a form of heavenly cultivation (scientific research emphasizes experimentation and following the rules of nature; though individuals cannot become immortal, it drives the advancement of the entire race. Unfortunately, after the Gaia Council was established on Earth, technological abilities were greatly weakened and now only serve civilian purposes).

Take the world of immortal heroes as an example: a transmigrator cultivating the Way of Heaven, upon entering such a world, need only find a hidden paradise, meditate, and absorb the abundant spiritual energy until the energy of that world is no longer sufficient for rapid advancement.

On the other hand, a transmigrator cultivating the Human Way, upon entering the same world, would inevitably wage war upon the land, seizing opportunities from others, seeking breakthroughs in battle, and comprehending reality through life and death.

Thus, those who walk the Way of Heaven build solid foundations and rarely fall prey to inner demons, but their progress is slow. Conversely, those who embrace the Human Way can achieve in a few short years what might take a practitioner of the Way of Heaven decades or centuries, but at the cost of inner turmoil and a treacherous path to advancement.

Because of this, cultivators of the Way of Heaven are typically not skilled in combat. In life-and-death struggles, it’s usually practitioners of the Human Way who survive. (Of course, those second-generation cultivators who rely on draining their entire sect to support themselves may technically follow the Human Way but still lack real combat experience.) This results in the phenomenon where cultivators of the Way of Heaven grow ever fewer, and those of the Human Way proliferate, with the lesser driving out the greater.

But the Human Way is not inherently inferior, nor is the Way of Heaven necessarily superior. Both are paths to enlightenment; there is no intrinsic difference in value. In reality, if the concept of lifespan did not exist, who wouldn’t prefer the safe and reliable Way of Heaven—simply finding a hidden paradise, meditating, and eventually becoming a god?

Alas, reality is otherwise. Lifespan is a concept no living being can escape, and it locks the Way of Heaven. Except for those with extraordinary talent, most cannot continue to break through in their limited lifetimes. Hence, spiritual treasures and miraculous elixirs come into play, but at their core, these merely use the essence of the weak to nourish the strong, causing cultivation to gradually drift toward the Human Way.

In truth, most of the time, the distinction between the two ways isn’t so stark. For example, in online novels, those stories where the protagonist consumes others are the epitome of the Human Way, while those focused on research and experimentation—like “Arcane Throne,” “Sage of Confucianism,” or “Into Cultivation” (especially “Into Cultivation,” the only work I’ve seen where the Way of Heaven surpasses the Human Way even in martial arts, representing the perfect ideal for heavenly cultivators, though the character names are rather odd, and besides, the author is a legend while I’m a nobody, so rest assured I’ve received no advertisement fees)—fall under the Way of Heaven.

Yet, protagonists who devour others still meditate and absorb spiritual energy, while those focused on research must still compete and seize resources.

There’s no contradiction here. The interplay between the two is the path most transmigrators choose.

The only difference is which side predominates.

But Feng Xue is different. The foundation of his Dao—the Gourmet Cell—is, in essence, pure Human Way, the ultimate expression of “taking from the lacking to serve the surplus,” reaching the peak of this extreme path.

He cannot cultivate by absorbing the world’s spiritual energy; even relying on training brings only the slowest improvement. If he wishes to grow stronger, he has only one path: to eat!

From the very moment he gained the Gourmet Cell, Feng Xue was destined to walk a road of slaughter.

Therefore, he is bound to stand in opposition to many.

The struggle of the Human Way allows no compromise!

Feng Xue understands well that the transmigrator’s path is one of destruction. If he continues down this road, one day he will have to consume world after world, using each as nourishment for his own ascension. If he cannot restrain his emotions, he will surely be destroyed by himself.

A saint cannot be a transmigrator.

But hypocrisy can.

He can maintain a semblance of kindness, so long as his own interests are not at stake, but once they are, that kindness becomes conditional.

This is the current state of transmigrators, and the baseline for most of them.

Those without boundaries are truly dangerous, and what the Transmigrator Academy wishes to cultivate are legendary beings who can strengthen humanity’s fate, not world-destroying demons.

Thus, in the early stages, Feng Xue can only minimize his contact with characters from the plot, avoiding deep relationships to keep his emotions in check, so that he can ruthlessly seize their opportunities.

…

Leaving aside Feng Xue’s inner thoughts, the autumn selection preliminaries had indeed come to an end. The first round of the main competition would be held a week later (in the manga, it’s stated that the theme is announced the day before the first round, but in the original novel, Alice’s bento uses ingredients requiring two days of low-temperature maturation—unless Alice, as the Nakiri heiress, got the theme in advance, it’s a plot hole; to make sense of it, let’s say it’s a week later), mid-month, in a one-on-one, knockout format, whittling eight down to four.

Currently, only the four matchups are known: each will pit one Group A contestant against one from Group B. No one will face a contestant from their own preliminary group right away.

As for the detailed match list and the theme of each contest, these would be announced at today’s briefing.

Feng Xue felt uneasy. Although he already knew the themes for all four matches, he had no idea who his opponent would be.

Nakiri Alice was undoubtedly the most troublesome. Molecular cuisine, so dependent on equipment, is the least likely to give birth to a true culinary heart. And besides, Feng Xue, raised in the great Celestial Empire, had no idea how to prepare a bento! In his view, food should be eaten hot—cold dishes, aside from Korean cold noodles, were all just oddities.

True, Totsuki Academy had taught a bit about bentos, but since they were a niche subject, and since at Totsuki even the random “heir to a top restaurant” knew more than most, the topic was only briefly mentioned. Mastery would require joining the Bento Research Society.

As for ramen, it was the same story. Feng Xue was skilled at making ramen noodles themselves, thanks to the sensory perception granted by the Gourmet Cell and the precise vibrations of Ripple Energy. He could even pull out “thread-level” ramen—thinner than a hair, supposedly requiring at least twenty folds to achieve. But the contest was about Japanese ramen, which focuses on the broth and toppings, with the noodles provided by the academy. This meant Feng Xue’s skills were rendered useless, and he was forced to compete in his opponent’s area of expertise. With Megumi Tadokoro—a lucky favorite—as his potential opponent, Feng Xue had little confidence.

As for the secretary’s “meat bun”—no, the burger showdown—this was where Feng Xue was most confident. The secretary might use soft-shelled turtle meat, but Feng Xue could use snake. In medicinal cuisine, too, he was no less skilled than his opponent. Most importantly, his “Gastronomy” talent could perfectly bring out the essence of each ingredient, so the more complex and demanding the dish, the greater Feng Xue’s advantage.

Judging by the plot’s inertia, however, his most likely opponent was Takumi, the one who originally faced Subaru Mimasaka before Feng Xue replaced him.

…

The next morning, Feng Xue, along with the other two Polar Star Dorm qualifiers—Megumi Tadokoro and Soma Yukihira—boarded the academy’s official vehicle to the administrative area where the briefing would be held. Guided by the staff, they were not led to a typical conference room, but instead to a lounge complete with sofas, a television, and coffee. The other selected contestants had already arrived.

“Huh? Are we having the briefing here? Is Kurokiba not here yet?” Soma wondered aloud.

“No, each contestant is briefed individually. Kurokiba is in the office across the hall… I hope I get to draw you in the first round! Let’s settle our unfinished match!” Takumi declared, brimming with fighting spirit as he addressed the protagonist. Yet, as a supporting character—and not even a rival—his fate was already sealed: defeat.

At that moment, Kurokiba returned. Without his “true form,” he appeared half asleep and muttered, “Um… you’re next, Feng Xue. Miss, shall we go back?”

At these words, Feng Xue immediately stood. Alice showed no sign of provocation, suggesting she was not his opponent. This put Feng Xue at ease, and, as expected, he was indeed matched against Takumi, with the theme being desserts.

This was almost a skill-less contest. Without Subaru Mimasaka’s pressure, Takumi wouldn’t even think of making lemon curd. Even if Feng Xue simply copied Mimasaka’s recipe from the original, he would easily win. But Feng Xue wasn’t eager to do so; following a guide and blazing his own trail brought completely different satisfaction. Of course, if his trial dishes didn’t turn out well, there was no harm in peeking at the “strategy guide” now and then…