Running a restaurant was hard. It took people to run one — people with skill. And that often came with a lot of ego. You had your prep cooks, your line chefs, and your service personnel. You had to be mindful of costs. The owner wouldn’t like it if you tried to pull a fast one on him.

Order. Quality. All hidden behind a façade of glory, usually represented by smiling faces and lights — so many lights.

Lei often dreamt of becoming a head chef and opening his own restaurant. Not a big one, just a small place where he could oversee all the work himself. He would design the menu, taste the ingredients, and be watchful but compassionate. His staff wouldn’t hear him screaming like a madman.

Attentive. Yes. All smiles and laughter in his kitchen.

Now, he had a chance to take over one. It was in a different world, in a different society, with different food. But as he checked the spiritual ingredients laid across the counter, he found himself shaking with excitement. By all means, he should be afraid. Rotten bastards lurked in the forest — and in the city, as far as they knew. The Governor was corrupt, and his plans were unknown. The diary was full of ominous signs, suggesting something big was approaching.

But his own restaurant? Just the idea thrilled him.

To do that, he just needed to impress the old couple. Nothing too hard. A simple gnarled fries and spiritual burger would do the job just fine, but those could be dangerous. And it somehow felt wrong to achieve such a milestone with one of his classic dishes. He needed something mild, yet still spiritual.

“Are you sure about this?” Fatty Lou asked, lounging to the side, his doubtful eyes scanning the counter. “You know they’re… old. And this idea of targeting the cultivators, what if they figure out something is wrong?”

“You’ve heard Sister Luli,” Lei said, picking up one of the stalks from the counter. It was an odd plant. The stalks were a bright pink, the color softening below where it dug into the soil. It looked like a pink spring onion but had no roots. It tasted mildly acidic, with a hint of mustard underneath. An odd combination. “She said normal Spirit Chefs are not uncommon in the Empire.”

“Yeah, but that’s not what I mean. There hasn’t been a Spirit Chef in Jiangzhen before. People will start asking questions. Curiosity, Brother Lei, is an insidious poison,” Fatty Lou said, his face solemn. “What will we tell them? That a Spirit Chef suddenly decided Jiangzhen would be a good place to do business?”

“Less competition. More profits,” Lei said. “A washed-up, sorry bastard from the Middlelands. Kicked out of his own place. Had to find somewhere to start all over again. I say Jiangzhen is as good as any city for that. Hell, it’s even better!”

“But you’re not some unknown face. You’ve been cooking in that stall for weeks!” Fatty Lou argued, crossing his arms. “People will recognize that stupid face of yours. Then what?”

“Answer me this,” Lei said, glancing at him. “You’ve been to many restaurants around the city. You even told me your old man brought you to some places in Lanzhou, correct?”

Fatty Lou nodded.

“How many times have you seen the face of the chef who cooked your dishes?” Lei asked, a smile playing on his lips. “How many times have you personally thanked the men or women who prepared your food?”

“Er…”

“Figured,” Lei said, shaking his head. “That’s the thing with people, Brother Lou. We have a tendency to take everything for granted.”

“You’re speaking as if they offered everything free of charge,” Fatty Lou said. “We paid good money at those places.”

“You did, of course,” Lei said, pointing at him. “And look how proud you are! You’ve paid for the service, and that there is what I’m talking about. As long as the food is good, as long as the service is fast, people just pay and go about their lives. Nobody bothers to see the chef.”

Fatty Lou looked troubled for a second, then nodded curtly. “I have to admit that makes sense. But what if some guy tries to go after the chef? I’ve seen people like that. There was even one guy who tried to barge into the kitchen, saying he’d kiss the chef’s hands.”

“Then he’ll find the Master is out for a stroll,” Lei said, placing the stalks gently on the counter. Roseroot, a Mortal-tier Low-Quality plant. It would grow real roses if it could survive until the Earth-Tier. Pink ones were the most common, but Zhu Luli said there were all kinds of colors. Lei cleared his throat. “We, as his disciples, are just following his recipes in the kitchen. Simple, eh?”

“Simple…” Fatty Lou mumbled. “I don’t believe Granny Xu would give up her place just because you’ll mix some spirituality into the dishes. She’s different around my old man, but you know they call her—“

“The Iron Lady, I’m aware,” Lei said, taking his knife. “I worked under that woman. Cooked for her, then she made me wash the dishes. But things are changing, Brother Lou. When I went to see them, I saw the truth in their eyes. They just want to be happy again. This whole bakery and restaurant business has kept them alive, but they always needed more, and now they’ve found it.”

“You mean love? I doubt that old bastard is capable of something like that. The last time I checked, he’d added a few new curse words to bash them into my face. He won’t change. It’s just a phase.”

“At sixty years old?”

“He hasn’t changed in the last ten years,” Fatty Lou said, frowning. “He didn’t shed a single tear for my mother, and you’re telling me he’s in love with another woman? Sure, I could believe that, but I have more than a few reasons to think otherwise.”

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Lei stared at him. For all his smiles and trickery, his brother-in-arms always had a silent side. They had different relationships with their fathers. The Heavens knew Lei was the same. That’s the thing about fathers and sons — there seemed to be an ever-present line between them, invisible. To cross that line would be to admit all the past wrongs, and those painful memories would come crashing down. So they just kept at it.

“Give them a chance,” Lei said. It was the only thing he could say. Like most fathers, Master Li was a different man to others than to his own son. To Lei, he was a capable, hardworking man who appreciated effort. To Fatty Lou, he would always be the harsh, bickering voice in the back of his head, telling him how useless he was.

Lei allowed himself a wide smile when he heard the footsteps. Light steps on the wooden tiles. More joined them a moment later, marching closer to him like a little army. This one was an army of would-be cooks. They had a lot of promise in them.

“I want the onions soft and sweet,” Lei said without looking back, raising his knife as if in thought. “I don’t want to chew on them. I want them to fade into the background, but not so much that I can’t still taste them. How should I cut them, then?”

“Dice them!” came a voice, strong and steady.

Lei arched an eyebrow and turned toward Little Chuanli. The boy was eager, Lei had to give him that, but he had a tendency to speak without much thought. His brown eyes seemed a little too big for his face, but his long, curling dark hair made up for that. To become a cook, though, he would have to start paying more attention to the lessons.

“We need strips,” said another voice, too sure of herself. Little Jiao stepped forward, pointing at the onions on the counter. “You’ll slice the onions and cook them until they’re golden brown. That will bring out the sweet taste and nearly melt them, so you won’t feel their hard texture.”

“One point to our team leader!” Lei said, nodding with a smile. He gestured for Little Jiao to come closer and handed her the knife. “Don’t forget, we’re not racing against the clock here. Precision is key. Speed will come later.”

Little Jiao’s eyes wandered down to her left hand, where a small scab had formed. She’d cut one of her knuckles the other day when she tried to go a little faster. Her claw grip had loosened, and a bit of blood had come out. She seemed to carry that wound with pride.

Lei nodded as she began cutting the onions. Then he turned toward the other three. Little Chuanli still had that eager look on his face, which was good. Little Ning, on the other hand, stood sheepishly to his side, staring down at her hands.

She was one of the quietest kids in the house. Though Lei didn’t force anyone toward a specific path, she seemed to prefer hanging out with Little Chuanli and Little Jiao most of the time. Lei didn’t know if she wanted to become a cook, but he wouldn’t dismiss the kid with a wave of his hand either.

And lastly, there was Little Yunru. The boy carried himself well, as if he were a couple of years older than the others. Most of the kids were around 10 years old, but Little Yunru towered over most of them. He was quite good at following instructions. Bulky, too—a little too much, perhaps, since even Stone had taken him as a rival for some time. Nowadays, though, Lei hardly saw Stone and Snake around with the other kids.

“Now, who can tell me,” Lei said, pulling the pink stalks into his hand, “the properties of Roseroot?”

Little Jiao stopped and seemed to consider for a second if she should raise her hand, but a look from Lei made her get back to the onions. The other three remained silent for a moment, with even Little Chuanli hesitating.

“Mildly acidic,” said Little Yunru in a confident, straight voice. “As a Low-Quality Mortal-tier plant, Roseroot is mostly cultivated by nobles for artistic reasons, displayed in big gardens all across the Empire. These gardens are seen as a sign of wealth and prosperity.”

Lei found himself nodding along with Little Yunru’s words, but when the boy finished his explanation, Lei raised a finger in the air. “Very well put, Little Yunru, but I asked for its properties, not its uses around the Empire. We’ll be cooking with Roseroot. You said it’s mildly acidic, but is that all?”

“It’s juicy!” Little Chuanli said, fists clenched tight as he glanced at the stalks. “The stalks carry rainwater inside, thick with the spiritual energy of the world. Teacher Zhu said it’s through this dense juice that the plant cultivates. And she said it’s tasty! That’s why spiritual beasts drink the juice rather than eat the whole stalks.”

“Not bad,” Lei said with a small nod. “You’re right that the juice is an important part of Roseroot, but it creates a contrast with the stalks. These stalks can absorb rainwater through their tiny pores, but the process is so slow that we would have to wait for days if we wanted them to soak up all the juice. Therefore, we have to treat the juice and the stalks as two different ingredients.”

“If we cook the juice, it will just evaporate,” Little Yunru said, thoughtful.

“We can use meat.” Little Chuanli stepped forward, looking over Little Jiao’s shoulder at the other ingredients. He frowned. “But the meat has enough juice on its own…”

Lei kept silent, letting them ponder the matter for a while. The process of handling new ingredients demanded practice. Theory was the first step, but you had to dive into the process to see if your thoughts held true. Fortunately, they had enough Roseroot for the trials.

“What if we baste the meat with the juice as we cook it?” Little Ning said, then flinched when all eyes turned toward her. Even Lei had to admit he was surprised by her sudden, yet insightful, suggestion. She cleared her throat a moment later, as if building confidence to speak. “I’ve seen Big Brother Lei do it before. He poured the juices over the meat with a spoon, over and over again.”

We can use normal meat. The juice has enough spiritual energy in it. Rather than directly injecting it into the meat, if we use the basting method, we can get that mild spirituality I wanted. Hmm. Not bad at all.

The room went silent as the others stared at Little Ning. The little girl, however, was looking into Lei’s eyes with nervous expectation. Lei wanted her to be confident, to push herself to try these new ideas rather than doubt them right after she’d spoken.

“Well?” Lei muttered, arms crossed over his chest. The kids looked up at him, waiting. “We can’t learn if we don’t try, right? Let’s give this basting idea a go. We’ll see if the meat holds up.”

The kids bolted toward the counter, fumbling around the ingredients. Little Ning got herself a lean steak from one of Lei’s cuts, her fingers trembling. She lingered for a moment, hesitant, before Little Chuanli patted her on the shoulder, an encouraging smile on his face. Little Yunru nodded from behind her.

“Is this… safe?” Fatty Lou asked, shaking his head at the kids. “You let them play with fire and handle knives?”

“Ideally, I would’ve prepared a three-month course for them to take it step by step,” Lei said gravely. “But I don’t have the luxury to wait that long. And you’re not giving them enough credit, as I once did. These kids are strong and eager. While we have the chance, I want them to learn as much as possible.”

Fatty Lou sighed, raising his hands. “You’re the head chef.”

“I am, aren’t I?” Lei almost laughed at those words. It still felt unreal. Then a look at the kids grounded that near-laugh into a small smile. He might be a head chef, but his staff desperately needed time and training to meet his standards.

Baby steps. That’s the key here. I think we can do it.

But first, they had to convince that old pair to believe that Lei had what it took to run a restaurant in Jiangzhen.