The Spicy Battle for Sisterly Pride

“Sister, if you can’t handle it, there’s no need to keep eating.”

Ling Chen, witnessing my tragic struggle—tears streaming down my face as I blanched tripe in the hotpot—couldn’t bear it. He set down his chopsticks, rose, and offered me a tissue.

“Thank you.”

As I wiped my nose, I noticed Ling Chen was still standing there, watching me with deep concern.

“Ling Chen, sit down!”

“Sister…”

I scoffed. “I’m treating you to hotpot today; can you at least show some respect? Even Chairman Chiang Kai-shek once said that hotpot is a specialty of Mountain City and a must-try. Are you suggesting you can’t handle the spice?”

The scene reminded me of the final act of Hamlet, where I (Hamlet) was nearing my end, and Ling Chen (Horatio) declared himself a spiritual Roman, ready to die alongside me.

Could hotpot truly be a poison?

“I’m not afraid of spice, but I know you’re stubborn, Sister, like a duck quacking even as it faces death. That path ahead is pure hell, Sister. Do you still wish to continue?”

“Absolutely no problem! (The magnanimity of a king!)”

I knew how miserable I felt at that moment. I hadn’t realized a girl’s body could be so fragile; even a medium spice level had my stomach cramping. My stomach felt as though it had swallowed the sun, burning with excruciating pain.

Yet, I absolutely refused to surrender. My love for chili was my last shred of pride!

Though I knew agonizing pain awaited me soon, the feeling of pain mixed with pleasure was something ordinary people would never understand.

“I sometimes think, Sister, that your misfortunes are entirely self-inflicted.”

“If you don’t fight, you die. If there are no enemies, you create them and fight anyway. Seeking death is an attitude towards an absurd life.”

The spice became unbearable, so I added vinegar to my sesame oil. Ling Chen, meanwhile, was blanching duck intestines—three times up, three times down, for a few seconds—seemingly enjoying himself.

“Then don’t cry later, Sister. This morning, when you dragged me out to buy butter hotpot base and select ingredients, I warned you it might be best not to eat hotpot today.”

“Hmph, you’re the one who’ll be crying.”

Beads of sweat, like large beans, formed on Ling Chen’s forehead, yet he remained perfectly composed, as if completely unfazed.

A war of attrition?

I refused to believe Ling Chen was as calm as he appeared. He had to be suffering just as much as I was, simply putting on a brave face to avoid losing to me, feigning concern to conquer without a battle.

Although my stomach, once accustomed to spice, had likely reset, could my willpower not overcome a mere teenager like you?

Of course, I wasn’t just being competitive; I intended to show Ling Chen the harsh realities of society as his older sister.

Constant competition is part of society’s cruel rules, just as capitalists tell workers, “Better to work yourself to death than let your peers starve.” Complacency towards oneself is cruelty towards one’s enemies.

Even if I had to sacrifice myself, I would teach Ling Chen a societal truth:

“Put on socks before shoes, be a grandson before a grandpa.”

As the head of this household, I needed to establish some authority. Even if Ling Chen had a cheat, as long as I could defeat him in one aspect, I wouldn’t consider myself a failure.

This was my pride as a mere mortal!

The induction cooker’s temperature was quite high, causing the boiling oil in the hotpot to splatter outwards. I carefully turned down the heat, preventing the hot oil from splashing onto me.

Becoming a woman meant being extra cautious in everything I did. After all, it would be unsightly to have scars on these fair, slender arms.

I recalled how an elderly woman praised me for being beautiful and thrifty while grocery shopping today, saying I would surely make a good wife. Besides feeling shy, I also felt a small surge of pride.

It seemed I wasn’t entirely useless; at least many people my age couldn’t even cook a proper meal.

As for becoming a good wife…

Ling Chen, that brat, got to enjoy my services before my Goddess. What a steal for him.

Thinking about it, a gentle, kind, and modest beauty like myself should at least qualify as a maid for the Goddess, right?

That way, I could change the Goddess’s intimate apparel daily and serve her every day. It would feel no different from being a simp, yet I’d also get to enjoy glimpses of her beauty.

Going deeper, would there be a scene where I serve the Goddess during her bath?

A steamy bathroom, two naked beauties being honest with each other, playing, wiping each other down, warm water flowing over their young, exquisite bodies and down their smooth skin…

Damn it, why is this hotpot so spicy? It’s making me feel feverish. I need to find a way to cool down later, so I don’t get a nosebleed.

I imagined myself in a maid outfit. If I didn’t lose my composure, I would be an absolutely adorable maid!

The beautiful girl in my mind was so sweet it made me want to buy a maid outfit and cosplay as one myself.

But that thought was rather unsettling.

Maid outfits… they were too lewd.

Of course, this lewdness was primarily psychological.

A fragile maid often triggered a master’s sadistic desires, and bullying a maid often brought a sense of domination, satisfying the bully’s deep-seated desire for conquest.

Although I knew the Goddess treated everyone equally, the difference in status between a maid and a master meant I could never be her partner, only someone dependent on her.

Besides, as an awakened proletarian, how could I be a lackey for a capitalist young lady?

The archetype of a maid can be traced back to the ancient Roman Empire, but back then, female servants were slaves with no personal freedom whatsoever. Even now, being a maid is not considered a noble profession.

An awakened person would not harbor thoughts of being a s*ave. Although maids are adorable, this cannot hide the dark truth of their unequal status under exploitation.

Even if I were a simp, I’d be one who licked while standing—a simp with dignity.

Having me wear a maid outfit and call the Goddess “Master” would make me identify with the weaker party.

That simply wouldn’t do. Even if I were a girl, I had to be the dominant one! I should be the master, if anything…

The Goddess would look amazing in a maid outfit…

“Sister, why did you suddenly decide to eat hotpot?”

Ling Chen’s question interrupted my fantasy of the Goddess in a maid outfit calling me “Ling Jiu-sama.” I shot him a resentful look.

“No classes today, the sun is shining brightly, and the Goddess even expressed her concern for me. It’s the perfect time to eat hotpot and sing songs.”

Just to mention, the sound system in my living room was playing pieces by my favorite composer, Bach, which perfectly matched the theme of eating hotpot and singing songs.

Now, that’s what you call living with a sense of ritual! (Tactical lean back)

With my level of swagger, even going out for skewers could make me the most dazzling star in the crowd!

Ling Chen’s lips curved into a barely perceptible smile.

“You’re actually very happy to have my company, aren’t you, Sister?”

“No… no, I’m not!”

It’s not because the last time I went to Hai Di Lao alone, I was excessively pampered by a beautiful older sister, which triggered my social anxiety and left me with a psychological trauma about eating hotpot alone ever since!

“Ah, there it is, the classic tsundere!”

Infuriated, I slapped the table. “Do I have to spell it out? Fine, yes, I am very happy to have family to eat hotpot with me!”

Ling Chen said with satisfaction, “Sister, what you lack is precisely this kind of honesty. For instance, your eyes are swollen from crying due to the spice, yet you still refuse to surrender. Do you need a cola?”

“Yes!”