The Almighty Dominance (by Sunshine) novel Chapter 570

When Alex opened his eyes, the ceiling swam above him.

For a moment he didn’t remember where he was. Then the faces came into focus—eight round, stunned faces staring down at him as if he had just crawled out of a grave.

All eight Fattys crowded around the chair he had awkwardly converted into a makeshift bed.

Their bulky frames blocked out the light, their shadows falling over him. Eyes wide, mouths slightly open, they stared down at him as if he had just performed a miracle—or survived one.

Awe. Pure awe.

“Little Brother Ninth,” the First Fatty said carefully, like he was handling something fragile. “Tell me the truth. Did you really cook those food pills?”

Alex swallowed. His throat felt dry. “Yes.”

A ripple passed through the room.

The First Fatty leaned closer. “Did you change the recipe?”

“Yes.”

Alex pushed himself upright. His body still felt weak, but his mind was clear. He glanced around the chairs until he spotted a stack of paper notes on a nearby table. He reached for it.

“This,” he said, holding it out, “is the new recipe.”

The room went silent.

Eight pairs of eyes dropped to the papers. Then they snapped back to him as if he had just placed a priceless treasure in their hands.

For the Xia people, recipes and cultivation arts were lifelines. They were status. They were power. A chef without secrets was a chef without worth. No one shared such things—not unless blood bound them or death forced them.

And yet Alex had handed it over like it was nothing.

The First Fatty stiffened. He quickly pushed the paper back toward Alex, almost offended.

“No,” he said firmly. “That recipe must be something special. You shouldn’t share something that important with us.”

Alex went quiet.

In Estoria and Prussia, new discoveries were celebrated publicly. Innovation was meant to be shared, improved, debated. Knowledge was a bridge, not a weapon.

But here… here it was different.

He studied their faces—suspicious, touched, confused.

Then a slow smirk curved his lips.

“Brother First,” he said calmly, “this recipe was taught to me by my master. My only family.”

His voice softened.

“But my master is gone. My only family died long ago.”

The room felt smaller suddenly.

“Now I’m here,” Alex continued. “And you eight are the only family I have.”

He held the paper out again.

“So of course I’ll share it.”

The First Fatty’s lips trembled.

The others looked at Alex as if he had just done something reckless and noble at the same time.

“You… you…” one of the Fattys stammered before suddenly lunging forward and wrapping Alex in a crushing embrace. “From now on, you’re my little brother!”

“Yes!” another shouted, charging in.

The rest followed.

Eight heavy bodies collided with Alex at once.

The bones creaked violently. The air vanished from his lungs.

“Please—” Alex gasped, his voice strangled between layers of flesh and fabric. “Please… don’t kill me…”

Spots exploded in his vision.

Then everything went black.

—

When Alex woke again, he heard animated voices.

He blinked and turned his head.

The eight Fattys were gathered around the table, hunched over the paper like scholars around a forbidden scripture.

“I never realized,” one muttered, tapping the sheet, “if we mix this herb with this one, the efficiency doubles—and the energy output increases.”

“Look here,” another said, eyes shining. “If we cook this herb at high temperature, it actually becomes less potent. We’ve been ruining it for years.”

A third Fatty slapped his forehead. “This herb doesn’t need to be cooked at all. Just grind it and mix it raw with this one. Maximum energy preserve!”

They spoke over one another, excitement rising.

Each of them was discovering something new.

For men who had spent decades in the kitchen—decades repeating the same methods, the same traditions—finding a breakthrough was like discovering fire for the first time.

Their eyes gleamed.

Their minds burned.

“Ninth Brother—you’re awake!”

The Eighth Fatty was the first to notice. He hurried to Alex’s side, nearly knocking over a chair.

The others immediately followed, crowding around him again.

“Wait—wait!” Alex threw both hands up, genuine panic flashing across his face. “Don’t hug me. I’m going to die.”

The Fattys froze mid-charge.

“Sorry, sorry!” one of them said, scratching his head awkwardly. “We forgot you’re still weak. Hah… we got too excited.”

The First Fatty cleared his throat and stepped forward, his tone turning serious.

“Brother Ninth, the Elder gave us herbs for three thousand food pills. You made four thousand.” He paused, eyes steady. “I’ll report three thousand. The extra one thousand food pills—you keep them. Sell them. That money is yours.”

It was a generous offer.

Alex shook his head immediately.

Money was useless if he ended up dead.

Right now, he needed protection. In this sect, any servant could kill him. Someone like Wang Junhao wouldn’t hesitate.

“Brother,” Alex said, forcing his warmest smile, “what I have belongs to this family. Let’s share the extra thousand pills among us.”

The Second Fatty slammed his plump palm against the table so hard the bowls rattled.

“I told you! Our Ninth Brother is different!”

“Thank you, Ninth Brother,” the Seventh Fatty said earnestly. “If you ever need anything—anything at all—you tell me.”

Voices rose around him.

Praise. Laughter. Genuine affection.

“Brother Ninth,” the First Fatty said with authority, “you worked three days and three nights without stopping. I’m giving you one full week off. Rest properly.”

“Brother,” Alex cut in quickly, almost urgently. “Please. I want to work.”

The Fattys blinked at him.

“Don’t make me rest,” Alex insisted. “How can your little brother sleep while his big brothers are working?”

What he didn’t say was this: his room was not safe. Alone, he was vulnerable. In the kitchen, surrounded by eight heavy, loyal shields, no one would dare touch him.

“Little Brother Nine…” the First Fatty began.

“No,” Alex said firmly. “There’s no compromise. I still have many recipes to write. We can make more spare pills. Sell them. Strengthen ourselves.”

He would do everything he could to stay in this kitchen.

The words hit them harder than any compliment.

Eight pairs of eyes turned red and glossy.

“You were born for this kitchen!” someone choked out.

And before Alex could brace himself—

They rushed him again.

Eight massive bodies slammed into him in a wave of emotion.

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