Mu continued to see the two lovebirds around. Eventually, he had to admit that Hong had a point - they squabbled all the time and were needlessly disruptive, but it was entertaining and lent a pleasant atmosphere to the restaurant.
Plus, it reminded him a little of the Sacred Histories he’d read, where the plot of the history was interrupted by the unpredictable arrival of a noodle shop repairman.
The mysterious lady Hong kept seeing - who Mu learnt was named Yue - thought much the same. He could see her amusement as she watched them fight in the corner, and once heard her remark that it was good material for her xianxia novel.
On his part he continued to work on his cultivation, integrating the lessons he learnt while watching Hong into his sitting meditation. This involved a series of three steps - knowing what Hong said, understanding that knowledge, and then internalising it such that it existed superactually, beyond conscious thought.
Mu was no cultivation genius; as he himself was well aware, he was very much the Young Master who would overestimate himself, then die horribly at the first sign of a plucky young rogue. Nonetheless, he was learning.
He was noticing slow but continuous improvements in his perspective, listening abilities, and - surprisingly - ability to coordinate his body with his heart-mind. Not sufficient improvements - not by a long shot; he was not yet immortal - but enough that he was more than satisfied with his decision to follow Hong.
Another day had ended. Mu said goodnight to Hong - who was vanishing mysteriously into the darkness to do whatever Hong did at night - and returned to his own inn. Unlike Hong, Mu didn’t mind sleeping in the same building as cultivators, and was staying at a rather fancy inn outside of town, one used only by travelling cultivators.
It was exceptionally ornate in design, with gold and precious stones carved into the marble pillars, a carven entryway, and a private bathhouse in each room. Mu had chosen it, however, not because he liked ridiculously ornate inns but because of its exceptionally sound structural design. They employed the latest - and most expensive - techniques in cultivator-proof architecture, carving various soothing talismans and strengthening techniques into the structure of their building to ensure it would survive whatever cultivators inevitably threw at it (in some cases, literally).
They weren’t as thorough or as effective as Hong at his best (when he really had materials to work with, and the time to invest in proper talismans and formation arrays), but they had one thing Hong didn’t: money.
Mu would be lying in bed, drifting in and out of the pseudo-sleep that was Jarnvidr’s Night Garden Sleepytime Cultivation Technique, and would hear the familiar cries of ‘you dare, you’re courting death!’ There would be several thumps as whoever they were went at each other, followed by a shrieking and hissing noise as the security talismans activated, and then several more thumps as the human security of the inn dealt with the disturbance.
In the morning he’d wake and go downstairs to find several large but easily fixable holes punched through the marble, and one of the staff in the middle of recharging the talismans or reassembling the formation arrays. Then he’d grab a quick breakfast and a takeout lunch before scurrying off to rejoin Hong for the day’s work.
He had graduated from just observing Hong to being permitted to hand him his tools, and even assist in certain exceptional situations. Hong had taught him the basics of using tools - something Mu had never learnt as a child, but which he picked up quickly thanks to similarities between construction and cultivation - and was hoping Mu could help him when the next tournament came to the Xiaoxian region in a couple of months.
Mu was happy to do this, as he doubted he’d be done with his observation by then. Plus, the inevitable catastrophes that were tournaments brought were good opportunities for training his martial techniques.
There was one rather strange thing Mu had noticed, however: Hong never cultivated, at least not in any normal sense of the word. He didn't meditate, or consume any pills, or eat secret substances found under dubious circumstances in hidden locales. (Though he had tried cooking the mould found under the kitchen sink, once; Mu had been given to understand that it was as utile to one’s cultivation as it was delicious.) He had no cultivation scrolls or magic devices which might help in his cultivation, and while he knew techniques they were all related to noodle shop repair.
So far as Mu could see he behaved as if he was no more than a normal repairman, going to work, doing his work, and then going home.
Every now and then he disappeared at night, wishing Mu Ba a good evening before vanishing off over the hills and far away. It was possible he cultivated then, but even if he was going secretly to cultivate that couldn’t explain his fantastical strength.
Deciding it couldn’t hurt to broach the subject, Mu waited until they were alone and asked, “May I ask, sir, how it was that you were able to become so strong? What types of meditation did you use? What pills have you taken?”
Hong didn’t answer for a moment, and Mu blanched as he realised Hong might be offended by the question - it wasn’t acceptable to ask for details about one’s cultivation techniques. He hurriedly added, “Not the details of the techniques, of course. Merely a general idea as to what the technique is, as I’m afraid I’ve never seen you cultivate.”
Hong sawed as he answered. “You’ve never seen me cultivate? Of course you’ve seen me cultivate. I do it all the time.”
“I have…? How, sir, if I may ask?”
Hong stuck out one hand. “The sander, please.”
Mu handed Hong the Magi-Sander 3000, a specialised device designed by the Noodle Shop Repair Sect. It was a rather bizarre contraption with several multi-coloured, twisted toggles and a disk which honked as it rotated. It could apparently both sand and seal a piece of wood, in a display that was as weird as it was impressive.
Hong adjusted his goggles. He was meticulous about workplace safety, which seemed rather unnecessary to Mu given that cultivators of Hong’s calibre could chug glass shavings or go snorkelling in magma with no injury, but Hong said it was a matter of ritual propriety.
Then he powered on the fantastical device and, to the sound of its honking and kersplonking, proceeded to answer Mu’s question.
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“I use the Basic Noodle Shop Meditation Arts, as does everybody else in the sect. It’s a pretty easy technique, with a reasonably high rate of return based on the rate of meditation - but, of course, you’ve seen me use it.”
Hong motioned for patience on Mu’s part, without moving his hands from the Magi-Sander 3000 (which would constitute a workplace hazard).
“To cut a long story short, I cultivate by repairing noodle shops. The act of noodle shop repair is itself the act of cultivation, to further my noodle shop repair.”
“But how could you possibly become that strong, if you only train by repairing noodle shops?” Mu inquired, his tone still confused.
Hong turned off the Magi-Sander 3000, made sure its safety was on, then stood up and motioned for Mu to follow him before walking to the door.
When Mu arrived Hong opened the door, and waved his hand down the street magnanimously.
There were four noodle shops, two taverns, and an inn on Main Street. They were repairing one of the noodle shops; two more were due for repairs, as was one of the taverns; the fourth noodle shop was on fire, a tornado of qi eviscerating it from within; and there were uncomfortable noises coming from the second tavern.
"Well, at least the inn is fine," said Mu, right as someone went flying out the window. The man picked himself back up, began glowing a strange colour, and then kicked down the inn door.
Hong stayed silent; some truths spoke for themselves.
Then he went to the flaming noodle shop. There were two conspicuously loud thumps, the sound of something breaking, a horrified scream, and then the fire doused itself.
Hong stepped out of the noodle shop, motioned to Mu to wait for a moment, and then repeated the process in the second tavern and the inn.
Hong walked back to the noodle shop he was repairing, and stared Mu dead in the eye.
"Do you know when I first learnt that I didn't need rest like regular humans? It was when someone tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I didn't want a meal after spending four straight days repairing noodle shops. Needless to say, if there’s one thing I’m unconcerned about it’s the speed of my cultivation."
Mu coughed. Hong went back to his sanding, working in silence for a few minutes. Finally, he spoke some words of great wisdom:
“Pass the hammer.”
Mu handed the hammer to Hong, who lined up some nails and began merrily banging away.
“Now, the method of my cultivation is another matter - there’s always a better way to repair noodle shops, to make them cosier, more durable, and more affordable. Knowledge is never a waste of time.”
Mu stroked his magnificent beard. “How would you refine a technique based on repair work, if I may ask?”
“Expand your perception,” Hong said after a moment, continuing to hammer as he spoke, “as The Analects say, ‘the doctrine of the Master is that of an all-pervading unity… to be true to the principles of our nature and the benevolent exercise of them to others.’ On this point master Zhu comments, ‘only if we know to learn, will we have no deficiencies. People today think learning is something from the outside added on to them.’ To learn about noodle shop repair is to learn about the principles of your nature; to increase the number of perspectives is to step foot on the way of all-pervading unity.”
Mu raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t a scholar, and neither understood such discussions or cared.
Hong noted his scepticism and chuckled. “Perhaps an example. Years ago the Yicileye Association of Restaurant Repairers (YARR) - the organisation which oversees all the different restaurant repair sects - organised a team of scholarly repairers to take an epic Journey to the West in search of lost restaurant repair scrolls. Alongside myself there was Le Cochon, a fromagerie repairman from Rabais Quebec; Sandy Sammy the Sando Sammie Servicewoman; and Moon Wukong, of Yangnyeom Unified.
“The last one had been out West before - he studied under the divine chefs of the Kenclucky Chicken Friars - so he led our party. We met at the house of Le Cochon and from there canoed across the ocean, landing in Mieux Quebec and heading south. In every location, we communed with the local restaurant repair sects on the matter of the Dao.
“In Mieux Quebec the fromagerie repair sects taught us the secrets of the glass counter, and we transmitted the Paper Wall Repair Technique-”
“Wait, you just gave them the technique? Just like that? No secrecy? No trials?”
“Zisi says, ‘Sincerity is the way of Heaven… The possessor of sincerity does not merely accomplish the completion of himself. With this quality he completes other men and things also.’ So yes - why would I hide knowledge that could help others repair noodle shops?”
“Doesn’t sound very cultivator-like, is all.”
“‘The true king is able to ride the Heavens and uphold the world; the phenomena of nature are helped by him to completion.’ We transmitted the Paper Wall Repair Technique to the fromagerie repair sects; and to the Saloon Servicemen in the south, too, who gave us their greatest technique after I disabled a particularly strong Young Master with my baguette:
“The Balustrade Rejuvenation Arts, the art used by the Western sects to fix the balustrades after the inevitable moment in every cowboy gunfight scene where a guy appears on the top balcony, gets shot, and crashes through the rails while screaming ‘Aiiieeeee.’
“But more than the technica of specific arts, they taught us how to see the restaurants from their perspective. The balustrades and swinging doors of the saloon use an entirely different understanding of space from the humble noodle shop; the fromageries showed us how different restaurants interact with each other, when they cannot serve alone; and when we went yet farther south, to study the art of pulque distribution, the naguals taught us how the wilds appear in even the heart of the city.
“My point here is that as we learned more about restaurants, we learned about what it means to be restaurant repairmen; and as we learned about what it means to repair a restaurant, we learned about what a restaurant is - the heart of man, a place full of good cheer, good food, and good friends.”
Mu was frustrated. First Hong gave him a lot of mystical quotes from Zhongni; then he told him about a work trip. “So you learned… and that helped you grow your cultivation?”
“Your nature, principle, learning - aren’t these all synonyms? What is a human if not one who learns; what is a human if one does not learn? Now, I believe you also asked about pills, correct?”
“Correct.” Mu said, allowing the conversation to shift.
“Never had one.”
“You’ve never had a pill?”
“No; don’t need to. The purpose of a pill is either to purify you so that you might better take marvels into yourself, or to increase your magic directly. But why would I need to open myself to marvels, when I daily encounter the eternal wonders that are noodles? The humble noodle is the only supreme ingredient I need, the noodle shop the only secret realm worth exploring.”
Mu shrugged. He had no real response to that. It matched no cultivation technique he’d ever seen, but there was no point arguing with success.
Eventually, Hong finished his repairs. He wiped his forehead as he looked at the newly repaired and cleaned noodle shop.
“There, finished - all fixed.”
The door shattered, exploding with great force across the room.
The demonic cultivator of the Flaming Bloody Organs Sect strode in, warhammer in hand. He pointed the weapon at Hong.
“Hong Yu, you have defied us for the last time! Prepare to die.”
Hong looked at the sprinkles of wood littering the floor.
And then he whipped out his screwdriver.