Chapter 12: The Quiet Opening

Life often unfolds with a poetic irony, a quiet reminder that the grandest beginnings often come wrapped in the simplest moments. A tavern on the mountain? In a world ruled by cultivation and might, where power determined everything, it was the epitome of audacity to rely on something as mundane as food and hospitality. Yet here I was, a man without any discernible cultivation talent—opening a tavern where strength meant little but flavor meant everything. If there’s a philosophy hidden here, perhaps it’s this: even the mightiest cultivator must eat, and in those fleeting moments, they’re all mortal again.

They say that the first step is always the hardest, but they never mention how awkward it feels to take that step in complete silence.

The morning began early, the air crisp and cool as I sorted the last details in my tavern. I had spent the previous night poring over an ancient cookbook I found tucked away in my courtyard storeroom. Titled Heavenly Delicacies, the book exuded an aura that made Mei Yun, my sole employee, glance at it with reverence.

“Is this… an ancient treasure?” she asked hesitantly, her tone laced with awe.

I blinked at her, then at the book. Its cover was a little dusty, the edges frayed, and the binding creaked when opened. To me, it was just an old recipe book. To Mei Yun? Well, she regarded it as though it held the secrets of immortality itself.

“Treasure?” I chuckled. “It’s a cookbook. You know, a guide for making food?”

Her expression didn’t falter, her gaze serious. “Tavern Master Li, ordinary mortals cannot possess something like this. The energy it radiates... it’s faint but profound. It must have been written by a culinary sage. You truly are… remarkable.”

She said that last part so solemnly that I didn’t even know how to respond. A sage? Me? I flipped open the book, staring at the recipes.

“If you say so,” I muttered, more to myself than her.

I frowned slightly. This was becoming a pattern. Ever since she started working here, Mei Yun had been acting… strange. Her words were overly formal, her gaze filled with what could only be described as awe.

“Is everything ready?” I asked, trying to shake off the odd feeling.

“Yes, the tables are set, the courtyard is spotless, and the storeroom is organized,” she reported. “I also polished the menu board, as you instructed.”

“Perfect,” I said.

She hesitated for a moment before adding, “It’s remarkable how you’ve created such a place. Truly… divine.”

There it was again—that strange tone, as if she believed I was some kind of hidden expert. I decided not to address it, focusing instead on the task at hand.

Inside the tavern, I stood before the counter, a piece of charcoal in hand and a blank wooden board before me. Creating the menu was a daunting task, not because I didn’t know what to serve but because I wanted it to reflect the spirit of the tavern.

The Heavenly Delicacies recipe book sat open on the counter, its pages filled with intricate illustrations and detailed instructions.

Now, as I flipped through its pages, I couldn’t help but chuckle. The recipes were undoubtedly impressive, but to Mei Yun, it seemed as if the book contained techniques for ascension rather than cooking.

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I jotted down a few dishes on the menu board:

1. Mountain Spirit Stir-Fry

2. Five Element Soup

3. Heavenly Herb Rice

4. Mystical Fruit Platter

Most of these were names I’d come up with to make the dishes sound more appealing. In truth, they were simple recipes elevated by quality ingredients and a bit of flair.

By mid-morning, the tavern was ready. The tables were set, the kitchen was stocked, and the menu board stood proudly at the entrance. Everything was perfect… except for the absence of customers.

Mei Yun busied herself with minor tasks, her movements precise and deliberate. She glanced at me occasionally, as if expecting me to conjure guests with a wave of my hand.

“Is something wrong?” I asked, catching her gaze.

“No, nothing,” she replied quickly. “I was merely… admiring your composure.”

“My composure?”

“Yes. Most people would be anxious, but you remain calm. It’s as if you already know the outcome.”

I laughed softly. “If by ‘knowing the outcome,’ you mean I’m bracing myself for an empty tavern, then yes, I’m very calm.”

She looked at me as if I’d just spoken in riddles. “Truly remarkable,” she murmured.

By noon, my first “guests” arrived—a group of children from the village. They had come because of my invitation earlier in the week, their faces lit with excitement and curiosity.

“Welcome,” I greeted them warmly, leading them to a table.

The children devoured their meals with the kind of enthusiasm only youth can muster, their chatter filling the once-silent tavern. Mei Yun watched them from the kitchen doorway, a soft smile on her lips.

“They’re so carefree,” she said quietly.

I nodded. “That’s the beauty of childhood. They don’t worry about tomorrow. They live in the moment.”

As the children finished their meals and scampered off, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. They were not paying customers, after all.

The hours dragged on, and no other guests appeared. I found myself pacing the courtyard, occasionally glancing at the empty path leading to the village.

“You keep looking outside,” Mei Yun observed as she swept the floor.

“Habit,” I admitted. “I guess I’m hoping to see someone… anyone.”

“You’re too modest,” she said. “A place like this doesn’t need to chase customers. They’ll come on their own once they hear about it.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You make it sound like this tavern is some kind of sacred ground.”

“Isn’t it?” she countered, her tone earnest.

I stared at her, unsure whether to laugh or feel concerned. She really believed I was some kind of expert hiding in plain sight.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow across the tavern, I leaned against the counter, letting out a heavy sigh.

“Well, Mei Yun, the first day was a success.”

She blinked at me, puzzled. “But no one came, Tavern Master.”

“Exactly,” I said with a grin. “No disasters. No complaints. That’s a success in my book.”

She frowned, clearly not following my logic. “But the purpose of a tavern is to serve customers. Without them, it cannot be considered successful.”

I waved a hand dismissively. “Details, details. Success is about perspective, Mei Yun. Besides, Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

“Rome?”

I paused, realizing the slip. “Uh… it’s a… never mind. Let’s just call it a metaphor.”

She nodded slowly, though I could tell she wasn’t entirely convinced.

As the first stars began to appear in the night sky, I lit the lanterns inside the tavern, their warm glow filling the space. Mei Yun watched silently as I moved about, her expression thoughtful.

“You know,” I said, breaking the silence, “this place may not attract hordes of customers overnight, but that’s okay. It’s about building something that lasts. Something meaningful.”

She tilted her head, considering my words. “You speak as though you’ve seen the rise and fall of empires, Tavern Master.”

I laughed and said in faintly,Well *I did read history*, let's not talk about it , "I’ve learned that patience is key. Rushing things only leads to mistakes.”

Her gaze lingered on me for a moment before she nodded. “You are… truly an extraordinary person.”

There it was again—that strange reverence in her tone. I didn’t know how to respond, so I simply shrugged and turned my attention back to the tavern.

As I sipped my tea, a sense of quiet satisfaction settled over me. The day hadn’t gone as I’d hoped, but it wasn’t a failure either.

I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. I had hoped for at least one real customer, someone who could validate all the effort I’d put into this place. But as I stood there, the empty tables and quiet atmosphere felt oddly comforting.

“Tomorrow is another day,” I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.

As I extinguished the lanterns and locked up for the night, I felt a sense of quiet determination. The first day may not have gone as planned, but the journey was just beginning.

And who knows? Maybe tomorrow, the mountain would echo with the footsteps of those seeking more than just a meal—they’d find something unexpected.

A

fter all, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that life has a way of surprising you when you least expect it.

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