Dao of Cooking

Chapter 8 - Honest Work

The sun beamed through the clouds, and it seemed brighter today than it ever was as people sauntered about the Eastern Square. Each one had their own story, regrets, and plans, but the only stories worth lending an ear to, Lei was thinking, belonged to the ones who had the courtesy to grant him a coin or two on this bloody hot day.

He worked with brutal efficiency, hardly breathing, hardly aware of the noises that surrounded him. He let the coins pile in the corner as he delivered one bread after another, flashing that half-smile that had long since become a natural thing for him after all the years he'd spent keeping a front against faces he'd cared little to remember.

But behind that front wasn't the usual fury or the cold emptiness gnawing at his heart, but rather some warmth, and a good deal of nervous excitement that kept him away from focusing too much beyond the reach of his hands.

Fatty Lou had visited him earlier today and told him that he'd bring a guy who they could trust the mission with after sundown. They were to meet at Swirling Frog, for Fatty Lou thought making the deal in a crowded place would let them keep away from curious eyes.

Not like we're starting a drug business. Some honest work, that's all.

But so long the matter went smoothly, Lei didn't mind meeting at a teahouse or a dark shed by the lake. Though he must say, the tea here was rather strong and had a nasty kick about it. Perhaps that old, mute guy added more than just leaves to the pot before serving it to his regulars.

"Six coppers, Sir," Lei said as he smiled up at a wrinkled old man, who gave him a copper coin with the word 'one' engraved upon it. The man fumbled with the coin, seemed embarrassed for a second, and fished for some time in the depths of his pocket before flashing an additional glinting, five copper piece with a trembling hand.

Lei took the coins and gave him a portion of the freshly cooked menemen, smoke curling beautifully over it.

Now that they were taking the matter of cultivation seriously, he'd become painfully aware of how lacking his little stall business was. The whole morning had gone without him gaining a single tier or a level in the [Essence Enchanhement] skill, and the coin pile started looking awfully short in height even though it was growing at each passing minute.

Three handfuls of spirit rice had cost them about one hundred fifty coppers. That was half the average wage of the masons and the carpenters in the city. The lucky few who owned their craft could make between five to six hundred in a month, but that sum depended highly on the Governor's Office's unreliable tax practices.

When Lei rented this little stall for the flat sum of fifty coppers for a single month, Master Li, Fatty Lou's Father, had told him that rent would be the least of his worries should he keep this practice In the long run.

And it was true, kind of. While the fifty-coppers rent was not that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things, the flat 20% tax part was rather cruel to Lei's thinking. He didn't know who'd been the genius behind this flat income tax idea, but he certainly hadn't the best interest of the normal folk while coming up with it. To make matters worse, the Governor's Office could jerk this rate up to 40% should they see a need for it.

At least there's no VAT or something like that.

Just then, a cold sensation pricked Lei's skin. Felt like a mother's touch to him now that he knew what was really causing it. A look around the scattered crowd told him that the business hadn't been the same as when Fatty Lou worked his magic the other day, but he still had about a dozen people chewing on the loaves round the square.

"I'll be taking a little break," he said when another man came up to the stall, who gave him a nod before trudging away. Lei stepped back and sat on the ground, bracing himself for the pain that could come poking through his chest at any moment now.

Eh?

Seconds crawled past, but the pain didn't come. In fact, he felt better than ever before, probably because of the little breather he took from the constant cooking and sweating.

The strange thing was, he could still feel the cold sensation. So there had to be something causing it. He used the Yellow Maiden's Eyes to take a glance around him, and then saw, much to his surprise, a flash of light coming off from the ladle that rested by the wok.

Your [Common Ladle: Poor Quality] has been upgraded to [Spiritual Ladle: Mortal-rank, low-grade - Poor Quality.]

What?

Lei sprung forward, heart thumping in his chest, and took the ladle in hand. He turned and twisted the worn metal. At first, he couldn't see anything different about it, but then slowly felt that cold sensation trickling down from the ladle to his fingers, making them itch.

A spiritual tool? Are you serious?

He gave it a swing. It whistled through the air, producing a ringing sound. His fingers hurt from how hard he had to clench them around the handle just to stop the ladle from slipping out through his hold. He didn't want to bloody his hands after a good morning run, not with a ladle, at least.

Lei stepped back and slammed the ladle down on the stall, which made the poor wooden logs groan and creak under its weight. A web of cracks spread from the curving edge of the damned thing, nearly breaking his lifeline in two and leaving him jobless.

As usual, the system barely provided any information about his new tool. Mortal-rank, sure, low-grade, yeah, that was some help alright. Thankfully, his soul brother's education at the Liang Clan had come with basic knowledge about spiritual tools.

A Mortal-rank, low-grade spiritual tool was barely worth anything in the eyes of most cultivators. An average sect disciple could get a Mortal-rank, middle-grade tool as a welcome present from whatever sect they decided to join.

But it was still a spiritual tool, and anything spiritual was better than decisively mortal in Lei's eyes. For a second he wondered if this would be how he'd rise to new heights. A ladle-swinging, soul-cooking chef who would defy the already twisted common sense of this world.

That made him laugh right before it dawned on him the real implications of this function. This could mean that in time, and with great care, he could produce heavenly ladles and immortal woks with which he could truly ascend higher into the heavens to become one of the old monsters he'd often read in those novels.

I'm getting ahead of myself.

He shook his head as he kept pondering on the matter.

It didn't slip past his notice that this upgraded tool was the same ladle he'd used cooking that Spirited Fried Rice the other day. So it was either charmed by the spirituality brimmed inside that glorious dish or suddenly struck with enlightenment that it could, by all means, transform into a better version of itself by simply willing it.

When Lei stared intently at the ladle, he didn't see anything quite resembling a will about it. It was a ladle through and through.

So it was because of that dish.

A strange thought popped into his mind. What if he cooked those spiritual dishes with a sword? Would it become a spiritual weapon that could hack through cultivators and monstrous beasts like a real treasure? If so, then it meant he could be a rich man far quicker than he'd thought.

But I'm a chef. I don't think this system would have such a glaring loophole.

Though it was stingy in its explanations, Lei never thought of it as a broken thing he could take advantage of. Still, he made a mental note to try a sword when he'd have the chance.

There's no harm in trying, right? Trial and error, simple as that.

Straining to lift the ladle, which had become heavier like a twenty-pound rock, Lei cooked the last batch of menemen before calling it a day. The afternoon sun slowly eased back to the west, its crimson light bouncing off of the coin pile that rested on the stall.

Lei secured his tools and put the ladle under the counter before counting the coppers one by one. His right eye twitched when the total came up with a grand sum of forty-eight coppers.

Not bad, I guess. But it's time I take advantage of the drunk crowds of the night. It's getting too hot for me to work my ass off for the whole morning.

For that, though, he needed a new recipe. He'd chosen menemen because of its low cost. It was also a touch familiar in taste for these ancient folk. Lei found that cooking completely alien food was a wasted effort, as these people weren't that open to trying new things.

On the other hand, he wasn't planning to go with the usual noodles or fried seafood like most of his competetion often sold. He didn't want to lose his edge, but he had to take account of the cost before coming up with a new dish.

Something with meat, maybe? The last time I'd checked the prices weren't that bad.

Locking the stall, Lei wiped his face with a towel and stared up at the sky. He had a good hour or two before the meeting with Fatty Lou and his shady friend, enough time for him to do a little market search.

He gave a last look over the shoulder to the stall. Somehow he didn't feel right leaving the ladle in there. It was a spiritual tool, after all, even though it didn't look like it.

I'll take you with me after the meeting.

…….

There were many things these ancient folk lacked. Refrigerators, your everyday tools, even a simple sink and a flush. In the month he spent here Lei came to greatly miss those things he took for granted back on Earth. Even finding a soap could be a hurdle sometimes.

But if there was one thing this ancient world had over modern times, it was the quality of basic ingredients. Everything was too organic to the point that you could almost taste the hard effort behind these ingredients which were cultivated by great care and honest sweat.

That was why he found solace in the East Market. This was his heaven on earth, a place that displayed the simplicity and authenticity of this ancient world. There were no packed foods, or fluorescent lights that drilled into his soul, nor there were the tired, lifeless faces of people who hated every second they wasted in some giant building that lacked any warmth.

As Lei strolled from between the stalls that stretched across the market, he couldn't help the wide smile creasing his lips. Tomatoes flashed red and green from under the thin veils, beckoning him for a taste. Beside them stood eggplants, peppers, bok choys, and broccolis, painting the stalls with a cacophony of colors.

Hard faces would turn mellow whenever people inched a step closer to one of these stalls, often followed by the gentle voice of a farmer asking them if they would be interested in trying one of the ripe melons that they'd cut open, displaying the gorgeous play of colors between red and green.

A single piece from that juicy wonderfulness would be enough to hook most of the customers into a heated bargain where they didn't stand a chance against these grizzly workers. More often than not these customers would leave the stall with sacks filled with melons, eggplants, and peppers, even though they'd just come for a jin of tomatoes.

But when they saw Lei, those faces creased further, wary eyes staring at him as though he were a thief with the deftest of hands in this part of the city. They had learned better to give him a piece or two after Lei filled his sacks without paying a dime.

He didn't mind it. In fact, he respected their attention to detail, as it wasn't easy to remember a face when there were dozens of people crowding the place every day.

Soon the fresh air gave way to the heavy stench of the animals as Lei rounded a corner. Ahead, the butcher shops came into view. The sounds of bleating goats, clucking chickens, and the occasional low of cattle dinned inside his ears, accompanied by the sharp clinks of knives on chopping boards and the rhythmic thud of cleavers splitting bone.

Lei approached a familiar butcher's stall, run by a burly man named Hu Liwei. His pate shone under the crimson lights of the setting sun as he chopped a chicken with a deft hand, barely blinking as he readied the cuts.

"Master Liwei, good day," Lei said as he smiled at the man. He'd stared around, but couldn't see Fatty Lou.

"Oh?" Master Liwei gave him a side-eyed glance, his mouth twitching. "Little Lei, so it was you? Your bastard of a friend isn't here if you're looking for him. Said something about a friend or a business, can't remember. If you ask me, he must be out chasing some young ladies."

Lei chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm actually here to buy some meat. I'm thinking of a new recipe."

Master Liwei's expression softened as he set aside the chicken and reached for a sizable lamb leg hanging from a hook. "Good, good! What about some lamb? Freshest one we've got."

"I can work with lamb." Lei nodded as he took out his coin pouch. "How much for that leg?"

"Fifty coppers would be more than enough," Master Liwei said with a strained smile.

"Just for a leg?" Lei was taken aback. "The last week it was about thirty, no?"

"Courtesy of our Governor." Master Liwei scowled down at the lamb leg. "They've been devouring lambs and cattle over there for the last week. Don't know who's been visiting, but it can't be a nobody, tell you that much. I'm thinking some officer of the court."

Is it related to the cultivator attack? Perhaps the capital did send a relief package.

If so, there was not much he could do. The lamb was expensive, but it'd sell for more by that logic.

"Alright, I'll take four," Lei said, then raised a hand. "But I need lean cuts, no thicker than a finger. Leave the fat, and save me the bones, will you? I'll take them tomorrow morning if it's fine with you."

"As you wish," Master Liwei said and flourished his cleaver. Unlike Fatty Lou, who seemed he'd have horses chasing him whenever he worked here, Master Liwei was careful, and slow in his art.

"What about this new recipe?" Master Liwei asked just as Lei was about to leave.

Lei smiled over his shoulder. "Something from far away. A dish from my mother's side."

"Oh?" Master Liwei raised an eyebrow at him. "What's it called?"

"It has a different name depending on the region, but our folks used to call it doner kebab."

…….