It turned out, I didn’t really need to worry about a lack of a serving dish. The very instant I said ‘You’ll need to find your own bowls’ a rather round outer disciple had sprinted off his log like a bat out of hell. A few other disciples left more sedately, whether to acquire bowls, or out of disgust with my lecture, I could not tell, but the majority just sort of milled around chatting, clearly confused about what to do next. A few minutes later, the fat disciple returned with a massive stack of mismatched bowls, wooden, earthenware, even a few of white porcelain, all balanced precariously in his arms.
As I diced more carrots, he began distributing his bowls. It was difficult to tell exactly what was going on from my podium, but from the way people clustered around him, and the occasional flash of silver changing hands, it looked like he was either selling or renting out his massive stock of bowls. He seemed like he would be worth getting to know, I didn’t know how much tropes would apply in this seemingly real world, but shamelessly scalping one’s fellow disciples was pretty classic Xianxia protagonist behavior, even if being overweight wasn’t.
"What exactly was that supposed to be?"
I looked up, my knife never slowing, to see Elder Li standing before me. It was interesting how natural any bladed implement felt in my hand these days. I’d never been bad with a knife, even in my old life I could do a 12 part chicken-dismantling without a single stray cut, but now, I had a sort of supernatural exproprioception for sharp objects.
"A lecture."
I would try to be kind, conciliatory, but standing at my podium, fully half the crowd could hear every word we said. There was only so far I could bend.
"That was an embarrassment to the sect. This many disciples gather to learn from your experiences with cultivation and the sword, and instead you teach them about mortal cookery? Many of those in the audience have worked for years to achieve grain liberation, to step beyond the limits that bound them.”
I frowned.
"I never said I would speak about the sword. Did Elder Liang imply as such when she organized this event?"
"That's beside the point. Your reputation speaks louder than Elder Liang ever could. These disciples took time out of their days to hear you speak, and what you offered them is trivia any housewife could provide, which will offer no aid to their cultivation.”
“Good food helps build a strong body.”
“And cultivation builds a stronger one. One free of the impurities within muscle built by mortal grain.”
“These things are not mutually exclusive. Mortal cookery is the foundation of immortal cookery. Being able to reason about qi interactions in your ingredients is pointless if you don’t have the foundation to handle the ingredients themselves properly.
“Immortal cookery is a frivolity beyond the means of most of our disciples to ever engage in." Elder Li shot back, his voice slowly rising in volume. "Only pampered nobles can hope to afford to eat their way to the heights of cultivation.”
“No mountain has only one path to the summit, Elder Li. Cooking isn’t some pit you throw money into any more than alchemy is, it is not lesser to it just because it lends itself less to violence.”
"Don’t spout platitudes at me. Can cooking repair a broken core like a pill can? Can a meal command lightning, or restore a missing arm? Alchemy is the foundational art of transformation, cooking a poor shadow that apes its meanest miracles. At least a sword can protect a man, cooking cannot offer even that.”
I sighed. I really didn't want a conflict with Elder Li. But needs must when the devil drives.
“I have never found swordsmanship to be an art that lends itself to teaching by lecture.” I said slowly, finally ceasing my chopping. I held the knife I’d purchased at the market before me, and stroked a finger along its side. “But if you so desperately want a demonstration…”
I focused on that curious sense for sharp objects I’d begun to develop, and focused on the knife in my hand. I imagined what it would be like to cut, to feel the knife glide through unresisting flesh. Then I did it again, and again, and again. Something built in the edge, less a pressure than a potential, a memory of things yet to occur. Following my intuition, I kept going, until the knife felt like it had reached the very edge of what it could bear.
I’d removed quite a few things from my ring, preparing for the second batch of rice. Bowls of already prepared rice of course, carrots and peas still in their shells, and an entire raw chicken.
I flipped the knife over, and plunged it directly into the breast of the chicken.
It wouldn’t be strictly correct, to say the chicken exploded. It was more like someone suddenly turned on a garbage disposal without the splash guard. The potential cuts stored within the knife seemed to blend with each other as they all activated at once, their momentum transferring in unpredictable directions. Little bits of raw chicken flew everywhere, thoroughly coating the two of us.
Immediately after I did it, I felt bad. It was stupid and childish, and more importantly, a waste of food. I hated wasting food. But I’d already committed.
“Is that what you wanted?” I asked, puckering my lips to blow a small piece of chicken-goo out from the corner of my mouth. The pulped meat was all over both of us.
The look Elder Li gave me almost made me feel bad. He was so… disappointed.
“A brute, through and through.”
I snorted, my frustration with this whole situation suddenly giving way to a manic amusement.
“You should look in the mirror.” I said with a chuckle. “You’re the one who can’t see value in a discipline that doesn’t immediately lend itself to the acquisition of power.”
Elder Li looked like he’d swallowed lemons, between the insult, and the thin patina of chicken that now coated his robes.
"You are a fool, if you think my objection is about power. We cultivate to defy the tyranny of the heavens, transcend the limits of mortality. Your lesson offers nothing toward that end, the heart of our purpose."
“I disagree. If you will excuse me, there is a line forming.” I gestured past Elder Li, to the milling mass of disciples that was slowly forming into something resembling a line behind him. “I would be happy to continue this discussion with you at a later time, if you would like.”
"If our disciples desired to be servants, they would have stayed at home. We owe them better." Elder Li spat out as he turned to leave.
“On that at least, we agree.” I said quietly. If he heard me, he gave no indication.
As Elder Li stalked away, I took stock of the mass of humanity before me. They had organized themselves roughly by rank, but not entirely. At the very front of the line, was a familiar face. My disciple. I could already see what had happened here, no doubt all the other inner disciples congregating at the front had wanted to avoid crowding myself and Elder Li, but she had had no such compunctions.
“Su Li.” I greeted her with a nod.
“Elder Hu. Can this Su Li offer any assistance?”
“Certainly.” I pulled a large wooden spoon from my ring. “You can handle serving, while I prepare ingredients for the second batch. Two scoops per person, no seconds unless everyone who wishes has already eaten.”
“Yes, Elder Hu.”
I wondered why she addressed me as Master Hu in private, but by my title in public. I would have to ask about that later.
Quickly, I shucked off my now thoroughly chicken-coated outer robes, after giving my face a quick wipe down. I suspected I had at least a little chicken still caught in my hair, but since I was still wearing it in Elder Hu’s customary tight bun, I couldn’t do much more than run my fingers over the top without undoing the whole mess.
Never before had I been so thankful to be wearing three layers, except perhaps the time I’d spilled salsa all over my vest at my aunt’s wedding.
The line moved quite fast initially, most of the inner disciples towards the front simply accepting their portion, thanking me for the lecture, and moving on.
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A few of them thanked me in the formal third person Su Li liked to use. I suspected it was as much as a way of trying to get me to remember their names as it was a genuine courtesy. I might have been reading too much into the situation, but it seemed like the higher ranking portion of the crowd in particular had thinned heavily when Elder Li and I had begun arguing. They might just have had no interest in mortal food, but I suspected many of the higher ranking disciples viewed accepting a meal from me as a sign of taking sides in our dispute.
Still, at least twenty of them accepted a bowl, including Liang Tao, who requested a second on behalf of his master. I tried to remember their faces, but it was too many, too fast, for me to track them all.
A few disciples offered to assist me as Su Li had, but I waved them off. I didn’t need more entanglements at this stage, or additional help. I only had the one wok, I wouldn’t be able to cook until it was empty anyway.
“Elder Hu, this one is inner disciple Fang Xiao, and he begs your leave to ask a question.”
I took a break from my chopping to take a look at the disciple who had spoken.
Fang Xiao was the sort of disciple I imagined spent his time beating girls off with sticks. He was the first person I’d seen in the sect who had k-pop hair. Not the bright colors some of them sported, his was jet black, but he wore his in a style that resembled a side-swept undercut, except longer all around, terminating in a great poof of stylishly tousled bed-head that hung low, partially occluding one of his eyes. Around his exposed wrist, dangled a one piece white jade bracelet set with three brilliant yellow stones, which matched the singular stud earring he wore in the same style. Even wearing the silken version of the generic sect uniform, it was abundantly clear the young man put a great deal of effort into his appearance. He stood a few inches taller than me, though a little shorter than Elder Xin, with the same sort of trim but fit build the men here favored.
“You may ask.” I replied.
“Was Kan Ye mad?”
I thought about it for a moment.
“Yeah, probably.”
Fang Xiao’s forehead tensed for a moment, surprised.
“But then, what he said. ‘Everything in this world is exactly the same.’ Is it true, or not?”
“That” I said slowly, “Is a dumb question. Good on you for asking it.”
“I’m sorry?” He half asked, half apologized.
“Don’t be, it’s sometimes dumb questions that teach us the most. Smart questions can only give you answers about what you know you don’t know. Dumb questions can teach you about what you don’t know you don’t know.”
Fang Xiao looked thoroughly confused at this point, clearly not expecting the conversation to go in this direction.
“All ideas are wrong. Some of them are useful.”
I held up a carrot.
“What is this?”
“A carrot.” Fang Xiao answered slowly.
“And what is this?” I asked again, holding up a different carrot.
“A carrot?” He asked, more than answered.
“Yes, they’re both carrots. And yet, they are not the same carrot. This one is short and stout, with deep divots along its crown, probably from a rabbit trying to get at it, and a number of thin lateral roots. The other is thinner, more flexible, with the majority of its roots extending from the tip.
“Carrots are interchangeable, but no alchemist worth their salt would not consider two Tri-Colored Lilies to be interchangeable. Two swords are certainly not, and two humans? The very idea is laughable.
“A name cannot encompass the entirety of a thing’s nature any more than a map can literally embody the portion of the world it depicts. At least, not in normal circumstances.” I added, suddenly remembering that we were in a world full of people who could opt out of the laws of physics.
“If neither of us can fully describe this vegetable with a word.” I wiggled the carrot in his face. “Then how could we expect Kan Ye to distill the nature of all skill and endeavor into a single sentence? Is it a true statement? No, not strictly. Nothing that broad could ever be wholly true. Is it useful? Probably. Does it embody a dangerous sort of arrogance that might lead one to ruin? Also probably.”
“Thank you Elder Hu, this one understands.” Fang Xiao said, with a curious look on his face.
I took a good look at him, trying to piece together exactly what he thought he understood. He squirmed beneath my focused attention, clearly uncomfortable with the scrutiny. He said he was an inner disciple. I wondered exactly what that entailed. Liang Tao clearly had a master, but I wasn’t sure that was a requirement for the rank. How often did he directly interact with the elders, I wondered. Most of us seemed fairly unapproachable for the disciples, perhaps my former self most of all.
“I’m not so sure you do. Be careful about taking Kan Ye’s words too literally.” I wanted to say something more, but I couldn’t quite find the words to articulate what exactly he should know.
Before I could find them, Fang Xiao bowed low and turned away, taking the pause as dismissal.
As he left, several other disciples who’d been close enough to hear my impromptu speech had a variety of looks upon their faces, but nobody spoke up.
“Enough gawking. If you don’t have a question, keep the line moving.” I returned to my chopping, as the line began moving again. As we got towards the outer disciples, most of them accepted food without comment. Few introduced themselves, even in thanks. I was more than fine with this, and content to let it continue.
Until I recognized a familiar face. Or, well, a familiar body shape.
“You were the one who brought all those bowls.”
“Y-Yes Elder Hu. This one is Qian Min.”
I nodded. Qian Min cut an interesting figure. He was definitely heavyset, by far the most overweight disciple I’d seen here, but it wasn’t all fat. His shoulders were broad and well muscled, hinting at a powerful physique beneath the belly. Unlike most of the male disciples, he wore his dark brown hair cropped short.
“Good thinking. Your enterprising nature does you credit.”
“I apologize if I overstepped.”
I waved him off.
“Not at all. You saved me from needing to resolve the bowl problem myself. Please, have some rice.”
I refrained from mentioning my suspicion that he had made a little profit off the endeavor, I didn’t care, and reassuring him that I didn’t care seemed like far too much trouble. After Su Li served him, Quan Min lingered off towards the side, eating slowly. It was transparently obvious he wanted to ask something, but I let him stand there, waiting for him to muster his courage. Only when he had finished his bowl, and seemed on the verge of leaving, did I prompt him.
“How was it?”
“It’s… Good. It tastes like home.”
That brought a smile to my lips. I had no doubt immortal chefs could do far better, but the Pathless Night didn’t seem like the sort of place that lended itself to people spending quiet evenings with friends over a home cooked meal.
“Elder Hu?” He finally asked.
“Yes?”
“I.. I have a recipe that has been giving me trouble. I’ve been trying to adapt a five spice braised pork to work with spirit beast meat, but no matter what I try, it doesn’t braise properly. The meat tightens and refuses to soften, even if I cook it for hours.”
I gave Qian Min a profound nod as I panicked internally. Of course, the first disciple who actually wants to discuss cooking has a qi interaction problem.
“What meat specifically did you try the recipe with?”
“The shoulder of a sun swallowing hog.”
Sun. Closely related to fire I assumed. Braising didn’t really work at higher temperatures, right? I vaguely recalled reading somewhere that protein denaturation worked better under 200 degrees. Perhaps the meat was heating itself? Or did its aspected nature alter it in more profound ways, perhaps requiring higher temperatures to denature?
“Without testing the specific interaction, I cannot give you a sure solution, but several potential factors stand out. The sun-aspected qi of the beast may release during cooking, and perhaps push the temperature of the meat above that of the surrounding liquid, inhibiting denaturation. If you observe the braising liquid often boiling even at low fire, and remaining tough then eventually collapsing, you might try directly countering that qi, or reducing the temperature of the mixture, perhaps even directly cooling it. If the meat refuses to soften at all, it might simply need additional spiritual ingredients to be compatible with braising at all. It might well require temperatures higher than what water alone can reach to denature.”
“Denaturation?”
“The internal process that occurs during braising that results in meat softening. In mundane beasts, it ceases to work well at temperatures approaching a boil. The meat will still soften eventually, but if the temperature is too high, it will do so by becoming mushy, instead of tender.”
Qian Min nodded along, as if I’d confirmed something he’d long suspected. Perhaps I had, I doubted most mortal chefs here knew much about proteins. I wondered if cultivators with sufficiently powerful divine sense could see them directly? It still didn’t seem like knowledge that would be widespread. For most chefs, knowing the how was useful, knowing the why was trivia.
“Thank you Elder Hu, I will try that. I did notice my braise was getting unexpectedly hot.”
“Let me know how it goes. It’s an interesting question.”
Qian Min bowed deeply at the waist, before leaving. Or rather, retreating outside my field of view. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him waving down disciples to collect their bowls.
I looked out at the line. It still stretched to the far end of the clearing. Halfway done, if that. Truly, this sect had a lot of outer disciples. Scraping the last bits of rice out of the wok, I began a second monstrously large batch of rice.
I’d always liked cooking for crowds, but this was ridiculous.
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Fang Xiao walked away in a daze. It had hit him, like a bolt from the blue, the simple truth at the core of Elder Hu's lesson. It'd been a small risk, asking the legendarily impatient Elder for clarification, however good a mood he appeared to be in, that could change in moments.
His stomach had sunk, when the Elder had declared his question dumb, only to leave him shocked as the man launched into a lecture to correct his misconceptions. Even if it had taken direct prompting for him to grasp it, the truth he had gleaned was well worth it.
A tantalizing hint at the very nature of meaning. Fang Xaio slowly stumbled home, his attention already turned inwards as he reacquainted himself with a technique he'd long since mastered and put aside as a dead end.
Everything in this world was exactly the same.
False.