“Is this cut fine?” she asked, stretching out her hand to show a small plate of carrots she was chopping up to Zhang Sheng - the other cook at the restaurant - so that he could judge the size and shape of the little vegetable cubes she was making. He glanced at it, nodded, and she continued to make her way through the rest of the ingredients, gradually ramping up her speed.

Her worries about him turned out to be unfounded. He was a man of few words, but she could tell he held a faint disdain for the owner of the restaurant, which immediately brought them together, and despite being surprised at having to work with a cultivator had adapted to the situation surprisingly well.

They quickly agreed on a simple division of duties: she would prepare the necessary ingredients, infusing them with a sliver of spiritual energy to make them more nutritious, and pass them on to him to be turned into the actual dishes. The great speed and dexterity that came from being a cultivator made up for her lack of practical skill, and with a scattering of advice from the other cook, she only got better and better as the day went on.

As her hands worked the knife, her mind kept itself occupied with observations. She started to count all the little things: how many clumps of noodles went into each bowl of ramen, how long it took for her to cut servings of various vegetables, how many bowls they made per hour, how often Xiao Li came by to give them new orders from the customers, and so on. When she had the time, she noted her observations down, setting her writing set down on the windowsill. Her observations helped her slowly adjust her work accordingly, keeping a little task schedule inside of her head to make sure Zhang Sheng would get just the right amounts of the necessary ingredients at just the right times.

Old Chen came by several times to ask if she needed anything, and if she perhaps wanted to rest, annoying her to no end. In the end, she had to lie and tell him she practiced a special cultivation art that could blind anyone who wasn’t already a cook, and if he didn’t clear out of the kitchens right now he might suffer that very fate at any moment. That finally made him flee. Zhang Sheng seemed amused, at the very least, though she could tell he didn’t believe a word she said.

She wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact that Old Chen didn’t tell Xiao Li about her “special cultivation art”, nor asked how the waitress could be protected from it, when she had to enter the kitchen to bring the plates of ramen to the customers. Was he too stupid to notice the contradiction, or simply didn’t care what might have happened to his waitress?

By the time the evening approached, she had memorized all the steps needed to produce every dish sold at the restaurant - all five of them, plus the sides - and was sure she could take Zhang Sheng’s place if absolutely necessary, though she would need some time to truly gasp all the small adjustments that had to be made on top of the overall recipe to account for the individual differences of each batch of ingredients. She wasn’t going to try and upset the employment of the other cook, of course - her stay in Xiaohongshan was to be measured in days, not months, and after she left, this restaurant would need to manage somehow.

Keeping all of the recipes in her memory was no great task: she knew a dozen small tricks for keeping information inside of her head when the need called for it. For example, the human mind wasn’t particularly suited towards memorizing numbers and quantities, but the numbers could be turned into words according to a simple substitution schema, and those words could be made to rhyme, making the process so much easier.

Back at the sect, she trained those tricks to perfection once she realized the Elders would not grant her the same knowledge of the sect secrets as her supposed peers. She hoped an opportunity would present itself to at least glance at some of the hidden manuals, letting her learn something of use, but sadly, that was not to be.

At least the skills were occasionally useful in gambling. Few people would even suspect the possibility that you could have memorized the deck of cards after casually looking through it once, but once the mind was used to quickly dancing through the many-layered substitutions, the trick was no harder than reading words off a page.

When the evening fell and Old Chen closed up shop, he seemed poised to try and get her to speak about the Will of the Heavens to about a dozen other karmists that came by. Instead, she claimed that she needed to retreat into meditation for the night. In fact, it would be better if the rest of the house was quiet as well - could they skip today’s sermon entirely?

Old Chen was disappointed, but told his flock to leave, and even managed to keep his mouth shut on the subject of her being a cultivator - as was their agreement. Zhang Sheng gave her a little smile and a nod as he left, and she knew she did the right thing in saving at least one other person from the torture.

Instead of meditating, she took a piece of wood from the stove, stole a small liquor bottle from the stores of alcohol, and made herself a new divination tool, with much the same design as the one she had used back in the world fragment. Once it was ready, she shook it, and started to count the dice.

Her main plan for finding Wang Yonghao was simple, and also completely insane in that it could not be used to find anyone in the entire world except this one elusive man, whose luck rampaged all out of control. She would shake her divination bottle filled with dice, focusing on the idea of finding him, and then see which side most of the dice fell on. If there were more ones, she would turn left; if there were more twos, she would turn right; threes and fours would control if she went up or down, and if sixes filled the bottle, she would know she was staring straight in the direction of Wang Yonghao.

Ordinarily, no cultivator’s luck could be powerful enough to make a method like this worth trying. Furthermore, the luck of their quarry would fight against the attempt, making it even more futile. But Wang Yonghao’s luck was strange in many ways, and she hoped she could piggyback off it: if her theories about what it was trying to make him do were correct, then there should be a narrow sliver of opportunity for her to exploit.

She rolled the dice, and they came up with nothing of value. This wasn’t unexpected: she would have to try focusing on slightly different intentions, until she would find one that worked best.

All she could do was keep rolling.

----------------------------------------

When the sun rose, she got up, stretched, and started making noodles they would use for the day. Zhang Sheng came by soon after, bringing fresh vegetables from the port, and joined her in the task.

She felt strange as she worked, and it took her a while to figure out why. For many years now, she had cultivated every single day unless she was too sick to manage it - but spiritual energy in the middle of town was incredibly poor, even thinner than in the surrounding forests, so she barely had anything to work with. If she cultivated to purge her meridians of impurities, she would be relying almost exclusively on the spiritual energy already contained within her body - it would run out rapidly, and take many hours to recover. Given that she already needed that energy to cook, she could scarcely afford to do that - but her body ached for exercise nonetheless.

If she had ample wealth, then she could have consumed spirit stones in order to supplement her spiritual energy reserves, but there was no way to afford them on a cook’s salary. She was paid a single silver yuan per day before her bonus for bringing in more customers, but from what she remembered of Cheng Dao’s store, low grade spirit stones in this town started from seven yuan. Back in Golden Rabbit Bay, her sect issued her four low grade spirit stones per day for her cultivation, and she would have preferred to have double that number. As it was, she would be lucky to afford even a couple of them per month.

For all the issues she had with her sect, she supposed she couldn’t fault them for being too cheap, even if she hadn’t put the numbers together until now. Of course, her so-called peers got much more than she did, and even a successful merchant would lust after the riches of princes.

It really put things into perspective that for all the wealth on display within Wang Yonghao’s inner world, his largest treasure remained the dense, yet invisible spiritual energy it was constantly producing.

She wasn’t used to having to scrounge for every little scrap of spiritual energy - when she had time, she would need to sit down and rewrite her training plans from the ground up, now that she had to make do with being a pauper in the world of cultivators.

She could only hope she would find Wang Yonghao again soon.

----------------------------------------

“How lucky of me - fellow cultivator Liu Fakuang! You are just the man I need.” She smiled, approaching the familiar spirit hunter she tricked back at the inn.

Luck had nothing to do with it, of course - she casually walked past every spot where guards aggregated looking for the man out of the corner of her eye - but there was no need to mention this. She finally found him on the southern edge of town, where he seemed to be performing an inspection of a gatehouse. He was dressed in much the same way as two nights before - dark robes with many lanyards and ribbons, with his black hair tied back into a short braid.

“Lan Yishan?” He raised his eyebrows at her, recognising her, and smiled openly. “Is there a problem? Please, let’s go inside where we can speak freely.”

He led her to a small rest room within the gatehouse, where a couple guards had been playing cards while waiting for their shifts to start. As soon as they got a stern look from Liu Fakuang, they cleared out, and left the room to the two cultivators. There wasn’t much in the room itself: just a table, some cabinets full of paper records, and a small clay stove. Liu Fakuang put a tea kettle on the fire while she took a seat at the table.

She didn’t hurry the man - she had plenty of time to spare. The noodle shop was busiest late in the evening and early in the morning, as sailors who were spending the night in town came to have a hearty meal or a good breakfast before setting off down the river. In the middle of the day, the flow of people dried up, and so she excused herself for several hours to handle her own affairs. She didn’t expect the conversation to take longer than ten minutes, in any case.

“So, miss, how might the Empire help you on this fine day?” Liu Fakuang sat down once both of them had cups of tea in hand. She cradled her own in both hands, warming her fingers from the cold mountain air, as she pretended to consider her response.

“In truth, it’s somewhat embarrassing,” she sighed, “I appear to have misplaced my seal, and I want to know how one would go about acquiring a new one.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Seals were a widespread fixture of the empire, used by cultivators and common people alike. They differed in size and shape, with some small enough to fit on a ring and others as large as a fist. Their overall design wasn’t particularly complex, with most being merely an embossed engraving on wood, stone or metal, that could be pressed into paper to leave behind an identifying mark of ink, but some were radically different. Spirit hunters like Liu Fakuang carried special seals, so as to better identify them among other cultivators. Her own sect seal stated her name, her sect, and the name of the city she came from - all the information she wished to conceal at the moment.

It wasn’t particularly unusual for someone to lack a seal, even if they were a cultivator - in fact, the majority of the people in the empire did not possess one. However, having a seal was a requirement for accessing many important services - for example, entering any imperial library, selling or purchasing landed property or major cultivation goods, and so on. This was a part of the overall imperial effort to make their adoption more widespread, and in turn, to make it easier for people to identify each other on paper documents.

Her father helped her acquire her first seal when she came of age, and once she joined the sect, the Elders handled the replacement. She had personally barely interacted with the entire process, and so couldn’t begin to guess where to get a new one, or even if she could do so at all.

Ordinarily, this would be the time to head over to the local library to research the topic - but of course, a seal was already required for entry. To make matters worse, in a town of this size the imperial library would be managed by the post office, and in fact should be located underneath the building itself - trying to enter it would be dangerous, as postmaster Lan Yu was one of the only people in town who could conclusively identify her as Qian Shanyi. Having a seal with her fake name on it would make moving around the empire so much easier, especially when she would set off on her chase after Wang Yonghao.

“Misplaced? Do you mean you have lost it or did someone steal it?”

“I am not sure,” she hedged, taking an opportunity to pull on her other investigative thread, “I would rather not make any accusations without good evidence, but there was this strange man…”

She described Wang Yonghao, and a fictional situation where they had a short argument on the street, and saw a frown come onto Liu Fakuang’s face like a cloud coming in front of the sun.

“Hmm, he sounds very similar to the man from the pair of cultivators I have been told to keep an eye out for,” he said, scratching his chin.

“The ones you mentioned to me back at the tavern?” She raised her eyebrow, taking a sip of her tea. It was surprisingly good, for a guard post. “Did anything come out of your search?”

Lan Yishan, a burgeoning immortal chef and a disciple of an unnamed spirit hunter had no particular reason to be interested in the search for an unlicensed sword seller Qian Shanyi and her accomplice. By making up the story about Wang Yonghao, she was simultaneously justifying her lack of a seal in the eyes of Liu Fakuang and giving herself a reason to be interested in the investigation. This was one of the main reasons why she sought him out personally: the rapport she built on the night before would help sell the story better.

“No, they pretty much vanished into thin air,” he shook his head, “Without anything concrete to base our suspicions on, we don’t even have the grounds to send missives to other cities about them.”

Well, so much for that.

“Unless you would be willing to make a report about the theft?...” he trailed off.

“No, I wouldn’t besmirch the honor of a fellow cultivator on a mere suspicion,” she shook her head, pushing down her disappointment. Relying on the empire was always going to be a reach. “It’s just as likely that I lost it to a mere pickpocket in town.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t either, in your place.” He shrugged, and the frown vanished off his face as if it was never there. “But enough about them, let’s talk about you! How did you come into this town?”

“Through the port, of course,” she said smoothly. It wasn’t much of a choice - there were only two ways into the town, but cultivators entering from the forest were a highly memorable sight, and if the guards at the gates were questioned, her story would fall apart quickly. The port saw dozens, if not hundreds of ships per day - she could easily hide among the crowds. “Do you think I lost my seal there?”

“No, no,” he shook his head, getting up, and putting away their empty tea cups. “You see, normally for a cultivator to get a new seal, they would have to wait several months as we send messages around to make sure they aren’t trying to impersonate someone. But if we already have evidence they are who they claim to be - such as reliable documents, or the vouching of someone honorable from the local community - then we can expedite this process. There should be a ship manifest at the port with the mark of your previous seal still on it - with my help finding it, we’ll get the whole thing wrapped up within just a couple days. It’s good that you didn’t enter from the forest - there is no guarantee that the guards on duty would have even recorded your entry.”

Her mind ran into a wall and bounced off.

“I see.” She nodded, following after him as he strolled out of the gatehouse, frantically trying to think of a reason why her name wouldn’t be where he expected it to be. “Thank you for the advice, but surely there is no need for you to involve yourself? I can find the port authority on my own.”

“Oh it’s really no trouble,” he waved her off, “I was about to head off to have lunch with my fiance in the docks in any case. With me there, you’d get to skip queues - it would be over in a jiffy.”

She studied his face carefully, but there wasn’t even a hint of duplicity or self-satisfaction there. He was really just that helpful.

“Surely you’d prefer to have lunch instead of escorting me around through dusty port offices?” She smiled, still following after him through the streets. “I do not mind queues. I have some reading with me to pass the time.”

“Nonsense. It’s the least I can do after you entertained me with conversation that night.” He waved her off, giving her yet another of his sunny grins. “I always hate stakeout missions, they are incredibly boring.”

Damnable moron, stop being helpful!

“What will happen if I find my seal again?” She asked to pass the time, as she searched for better options to get out of the trap she walked herself into. Rudely refusing this courtesy when she clearly had no reason to would only make the man suspicious, but he was clearly missing her subtle hints. At this point, her best idea was to try faking a medical emergency, but she wasn’t sure she could do that convincingly. “Would I have two different seals to my name?”

“It’s not that uncommon,” he responded, “for example, when a new sect is established but before it is properly registered, cultivators that join it often carry two seals. They can’t use a proper sect seal before the registration is complete, of course, so instead some order loose cultivator seals with the name of the sect added next to their name. Various clubs and organizations that don’t pass the mark for registration do so as well.”

“But doesn’t that defeat the entire purpose of the seals? To identify someone?”

“No, not really - it still uniquely identifies you, you can just choose which one to identify with. Now, if you wanted a sect seal, this would be a whole process, but the requirements for loose cultivators aren’t quite so stringent. After all, what would we care? If you were in a sect but pretended to be a loose cultivator, you would just pay higher taxes.”

“Couldn’t someone pretend to have a different name by making a new seal?”

“Well, yes, that’s why even loose cultivators need to have some evidence they are called by their chosen name before we grant them the seal,” he grinned at her, “Empire isn’t quite so loose! Besides, why would anyone except demonic cultivators bother? There are legal ways to make a seal with a pseudonym, if your deals require discretion.”

Unless the one you are trying to keep discretion from is the Empire itself.

She kept spinning the problem inside of her head as they walked into port, and was already prepared to try and use her spiritual energy to “stumble” and “accidentally” dislocate her own foot, when a young, richly-dressed woman from a group of merchants near one of the ships called after them.

“Shining Fakuang! Surely you won’t walk past without giving me a smile?” the woman said, quickly separating from her group and approaching the two. She was dressed in a long, emerald dress, with a matching overcoat and a small parasol to shield her jade skin from the sun. Her other hand held a small fan. Her black hair was tied into a complex shape, with only two loose locks framing her face on both sides, fluttering gently from the quick and practiced movement of her fan.

Despite her refined appearance, there wasn’t even a hint of spiritual energy circulating through her pores: this woman was no cultivator. When Liu Fakuang saw her, his face lit up like the morning sun.

“Who is your friend, my dear?” The woman drawled, giving Qian Shanyi an interested look over as she came up to them.

Dear? Is this his fiance? Bless my luck, an opportunity!

Qian Shanyi stepped closer to Liu Fakuang, sneaked a hand around his waist and pulled him closer before the man could react. The other woman’s eyes narrowed jealously.

“Fellow cultivator Fakuang was just helping me with a little administrative issue,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes innocently, and using her other hand to brush off imagined dust off his sleeves, “he has been ever so helpful!”

The woman’s gaze shifted between the two of them, and Liu Fakuang chuckled awkwardly, trying to politely extricate himself from Qian Shanyi’s grasp. She held firm.

“Is that so, dear?” The woman’s tone became as cold as ice, and she closed her fan with a single dangerous clack of ivory, putting it away into her dress. “And what help might that be?”

“Lanhua, it’s not like that!” he chuckled again, finally managing to pull himself free, “I was just going to show fellow cultivator Lan where the port authority was and help her with some documents!“

“I even said it wasn’t necessary, but dear Fakuang insisted,” Qian Shanyi helpfully threw some more oil on the fire, “he said with him there, it would be done in no time!”

“I don’t suppose you forgot we were supposed to have lunch together, dear Fakuang,” the woman’s tone somehow became even colder. Qian Shanyi couldn’t manage that range of emotion with her voice alone, “while you were busy helping honorable immortal Lan?”

“Ah, no, it’s just it would be so quick -” Liu Fakuang looked between the two in a bit of a panic, until he finally made a decision, and bowed deeply. “I am sorry, fellow cultivator Lan Yishan, I think I’ll have to go with my betrothed and won’t be able to help you.”

Miss Lanhua seemed pleased at that, and while outwardly Qian Shanyi made sure to appear dejected, in her soul she shared the sentiment. She would need to find a way to pay this woman back for her unknowing assistance.

“But then I would have to wait in a queue for ever so long,” Qian Shanyi sighed theatrically, bringing her deception to a close, “and I was already feeling quite hungry. But I suppose I shouldn’t get in the way of young love…”

“Look, I - ”, the man looked torn, but then sighed and reached into a small bag on his waist, drawing out a stack of papers clipped to a small wooden board, as well as a tiny inkwell and a brush on a short chain. He held the board with one hand while writing with the other, then reached into his bag again, bringing out his seal, and stamped it on the paper. Tearing it off, he handed it to Qian Shanyi. She accepted it, hiding her surprise.

“Let’s make this easier,” he said, “I personally vouch that you are Lan Yishan, on my honor. With this paper you should be able to get a new seal made - just show it to anyone at any of the guardhouses, and they will tell you where to go. This way, you don’t even have to go to the portal authority.”

Qian Shanyi took the paper, and bowed in thanks. This was an entirely unexpected outcome, but very much an enjoyable one. Lanhua hooked her hand around Liu Fakuang’s, and led the man down the street. Qian Shanyi watched them walk away, and saw Lanhua glance back, giving her a completely different look: not of jealousy, but of interest and calculation.

Their eyes crossed, and for a moment, she had the strangest feeling that she was looking in a mirror.