Chapter 20
Chapter 20: Couldn’t Pass
For several days in a row, Hu Qing stuck close to Da Mu, running here and there with him—and still didn’t see Master Han once.
Master Han was busy, too. He oversaw staffing, cultivated on his own time, and didn’t spare any special attention for a minor assistant.
Da Mu, however, kept finding chances to praise her. “Da Qing is really something. Whatever you hand her, she can do it. I don’t think her knife work is any worse than mine.”
Master Han scoffed. “You don’t know a damn thing.”
Da Mu scratched his head, baffled.
One day, Hu Qing was in Da Mu’s workspace, slicing vegetables on her own little cutting board. Swish, swish, swish—threads as fine as silk, pale as snow. A figure came to a stop directly in front of her.
Hu Qing didn’t flinch. She finished the cut cleanly, then lifted her gaze and smiled. “Master Han.”
In the past few days, she hadn’t gone wandering. She also hadn’t run to Master Han to curry favor.
Who did she think she was? Was it some honor to him if she begged?
If she already knew something wouldn’t work out, why do it?
Of course, that didn’t mean she’d been idle. She’d asked around.
For example, she’d learned there were several teleportation arrays in Deng Yun Realm Immortal Realm, and the fare was standardized. One thousand low-grade spirit crystals for a one-way ticket.
Da Mu had even said, “Pretty cheap, right? It’s so everyone can travel to other immortal realms more easily.”
Cheap?
Hu Qing had almost gone numb.
A thousand low-grade spirit crystals equaled one mid-grade spirit crystal. A thousand mid-grade spirit crystals equaled one high-grade spirit crystal.
Was a thousand low-grade spirit crystals expensive?
Not really. Back when she had some freedom, she could have scraped that together.
But now she didn’t have even one.
Room and board were covered, but there was no wage. At this rate, when was she supposed to save up a thousand low-grade spirit crystals?
Meanwhile, Da Mu—just a helper—earned one low-grade spirit crystal a month.
“Honestly, they don’t even have to pay us,” he’d explained. “We’re apprentices. Food Delicacies covers food, lodging, supplies, and cultivation resources. One low-grade spirit crystal a month isn’t even useful. But the higher-ups said it’s pocket money. I don’t have anywhere to spend it, so I’ve been saving it.
“Hey, Da Qing, are you short on money? I can lend you some.”
What a foolish kid. Offering to lend money like that. And she wasn’t the type to be too embarrassed to take it, either.
“How much do you have?” she’d asked.
“A few dozen.”
Hu Qing had sighed. “Too little. Save more.”
As for the ascension pool, Da Mu didn’t know anything. He knew even less about other immortal realms. He wasn’t at the level where those things mattered yet.
After she learned the ticket price, Hu Qing threw herself into cooking. She practiced hands-on with Da Mu and studied every cookbook she could get her hands on.
Still, one question kept nagging at her.
Why was it called the way of food and not the way of cooking? The way of cooking sounded so much smoother. The way of food made her think of gastroenterology and the way of medicine.
Once, Ye Xi had answered with a straight face, “Because I don’t like anyone whose surname is Chu.”
Today, Hu Qing greeted Master Han with the warmest smile she could manage. “Master Han, you’ve come.”
Master Han reached out and pinched a few strands of what she’d cut. Da Mu hurried to boast again, “She cuts even better than I do.”
Master Han said flatly, “Not better than you.”
Da Mu choked on his own words. He shook his head, doubting his ears. His hair was covered anyway—when you were cutting, you couldn’t just scratch your scalp.
Hu Qing frowned. She genuinely didn’t understand. “Master Han, where am I lacking?”
“Your Dao isn’t here,” Master Han said.
Hu Qing froze for a heartbeat, then smiled. “Master Han, you’re overestimating me. I’m just… an ordinary person. I haven’t even stepped onto any Dao.”
Master Han shook his head. He popped the strands into his mouth, clasped his hands behind his back, and walked away.
Hu Qing stood there, stunned. When he was gone, she turned to Da Mu. “What did that mean?”
Da Mu blinked at her. “Of course you can’t step into the Dao. You’re barely any age at all.”
She nearly rolled her eyes. Right. She was still young.
So why would Master Han say something like that?
Hu Qing turned it over for a long time. In the end, she decided that if Master Han had bothered to come to her at all, she should seize the opening and cling to it for dear life.
After that, whenever she found a gap in her day, she went looking for him. Sometimes she couldn’t find him. Sometimes she could catch one look.
Once, twice, three times—he ignored her every time.
But by the tenth, the twentieth, the thirtieth time, it was hard to keep pretending she didn’t exist.
“Cut something for me,” he finally said.
Hu Qing lit up and put on the best display she could.
Master Han shook his head. “No time.”
She retreated immediately, quick and obedient.
Later, it became a routine. One glance from Master Han and Hu Qing started slicing without a word. Another glance and she stopped, wiped her board, and withdrew—again without a word.
Everyone in the kitchen watched the whole dance. They laughed that Master Han was impatient and marveled at Hu Qing’s patience. She never looked flustered, never looked hurried. Compared to how restless they’d been when they first joined, she was almost unnervingly steady.
Master Han, on the other hand, thought sourly, She’s steady to the point of stubbornness. Too much of a mind of her own—hard to teach.
From the first day he’d tasted her cooking, Master Han had sensed something in it—something he couldn’t name, something he didn’t have.
He was sure of it. Hu Qing was unusual in the way of food.
The feeling was like discovering an ingredient you’d never seen before, or a menu no one had written yet, or a completely unfamiliar balance of flavors. He wanted to understand it. He wanted to study it.
But he had no idea where to begin.
If he taught her, he worried he’d ruin it—erase the very thing that made her unique.
If he didn’t teach her, he still couldn’t figure out how to draw that uniqueness out.
It was maddening.
Hu Qing had no clue what was happening in his head. All she knew was that she couldn’t understand what “proper cutting” was supposed to look like. She’d watched everyone else cut. She’d copied them.
She was cutting the same way.
So she asked Juan Bu.
Juan Bu’s voice was sour. “I’m an artifact spirit who can’t even eat. Why are you asking me?”
Hu Qing frowned. “Why do I feel like you’ve gotten more resentful lately?”
“Take a guess,” Juan Bu snapped. “We finally reached the immortal realm, and the person I’m stuck with goes to work in a kitchen. Not even as a cook—a little assistant who can’t even pass a vegetable-slicing test.”
Hu Qing clicked her tongue. Bad luck. She wasn’t going to argue with something that wasn’t even human.
The next day, when she demonstrated again, she switched to a clean, thin sword. She tossed the vegetables up and flashed her blade—swish, swish, swish—light and shadow flickering as the strands fell neatly into a plate.
Master Han’s face darkened. “Is this a street show?”
He pointed toward the door. “Get out.”
Hu Qing drooped as she left. All right. Acrobatics didn’t score points.
The next time, she borrowed an old, clunky cleaver Da Mu had scavenged from who-knew-where. The moment she brought it out, Master Han’s cheek twitched. He gritted through it and watched her cut, cut, cut.
When she finished, he snapped, “Get out.”
Hu Qing grinned, shameless. “Don’t be mad, Master Han. Look at this knife—the color’s so deep. People say an Immortal Food Master’s soul lives inside.”
Master Han looked like he wanted to swing at her. “That’s filth you didn’t scrub off!”
His voice rose. “If anyone drags this kind of trash back here again, I’ll fire him!”
Then he shoved Hu Qing toward the door. “It’s not the knife. It’s you.”
Hu Qing wandered around in a fog, grabbing anyone she could and asking, “What’s wrong with me?”
No one knew. If they could see what Master Han saw, they’d be as capable as he was.
That night, Hu Qing sat alone in her room, pouring and sipping at her own cup. “It has to be true,” she muttered. “I have talent in the way of food. Otherwise why would Master Han bother at all?
“My cooking tastes good. Even Shuang Hua said so. But the problem he keeps talking about—what problem?”
Juan Bu was no help.
Hu Qing thought until her head ached, then sagged with frustration. She truly had no direction.
Every day was slice, slice, slice. Not even a spark of fire, not even a hint of progress. Her hands—and her heart, as an artifact refiner—itched until she wanted to claw at her own skin.
Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months.
By the time she realized it, Hu Qing had already been at Food Delicacies for half a year. In all that time, she hadn’t gotten a single response from the Gold-Devouring Divine Beast. She was probably too far from Little Li Realm. Even message talismans didn’t work well across realms.
As long as she could be sure Hu Nuan was safe, she could steady herself.
Half a year. The mountain of vegetable strands she’d cut could have blanketed a whole house. Master Han still wouldn’t pass her, and she still hadn’t earned a single spirit crystal.
Hu Qing had run out of ideas. At least food and lodging were covered here. At least she could ask around for news.
Don’t rush, she told herself. You can’t swallow hot tofu in a hurry.