Chapter 377: The Skill Every Future Disciple Must Learn

The kitchen of Fuqiu Temple had once again begun to smoke, and the Daoists of Fuqiu Temple had once again begun to look forward to it.

But this time was different from before—

In the past, the kitchen usually held only the junior sister and Lin Jue; she tended the fire, he cooked, and the senior brothers only entered when Lin Jue ordered them to do something. Today's first meal was the same—she tended the fire, he cooked—but now three young acolytes circled around them.

The second master's newest disciple was named Yan Little Lingxiao, taking his master's surname and name, and since he was still unfamiliar with Lin Jue and very young, he was timid and silent, standing quietly to the side.

But Ji Yin and Ji Yang talked a lot.

"Ninth Uncle, Ninth Uncle, why don't we have a Third Uncle?"

"Ask your Eighth Uncle!"

"Eighth Uncle, Eighth Uncle, why don't we have a Third Uncle?"

"Ask your Ninth Uncle."

"Why ask me? It's not my business!"

"Huh…"

The two young acolytes grew puzzled.

"I get it! It's because our Patriarch, like Elder Ma of Shear Peak, can't count!" Ji Yang declared confidently.

"Slap…"

The junior sister slapped his head.

Ji Yang clutched his head, even more confused.

The junior sister paused to think, then said: "It's because your Third Uncle is free-spirited, loves traveling the rivers and lakes, and was chased everywhere by a female ghost. He has no fixed residence, so he can only send us letters—we can't send him any. That's why he doesn't know we've returned, and hasn't come back."

Ji Yin and Ji Yang listened, stunned, then thought seriously.

"Chased by a female ghost!"

"So scary!"

The two young acolytes immediately grasped the key point.

But the kitchen soon fell quiet.

Because they saw the Eighth Uncle had scooped up flour.

Ji Yin and Ji Yang had experienced this deeply—they had already resolved: since their master wouldn't learn, they'd have to do it themselves, and they must learn well from the Eighth Uncle!

Little Little Lingxiao didn't know any of this; he only knew his master had shoved him out, told him to learn well, and with no choice, he tilted his head, trying his best to watch closely.

One bowl of flour, two bowls of flour, three bowls of flour…

Poured into the basin.

A pinch of salt added.

The three acolytes stared hungrily.

"Flour needs salt—it makes the dough more elastic, tougher, tastier, and has many benefits," Lin Jue said, amused by their gazes. "Then we add a little water to the basin… Your master's really something—wants to eat but won't learn, so he sends you out to do the hard work!"

Ji Yin and Ji Yang dared not reply, eyes fixed.

Little Little Lingxiao scratched his head.

As he spoke, the dough was kneaded, divided into small portions, oiled, and set aside.

Lin Jue sliced winter bamboo shoots from the mountain and salted pork he'd brought back from Jingcheng. At his command "Light the fire," the junior sister, who had waited long by the stove, blew into it—whoom! —the firewood burst into roaring flames.

The pot heated, oil shimmered, and the salted pork slid down the side—sizzle! —immediately releasing rich aroma.

Seeing the three-layered pork belly turn crimson in the heat while the fat turned translucent, Lin Jue stirred a few times, flipped the spatula, scooped up three pieces, and handed them to the three acolytes.

The three acolytes differed in height but moved identically—standing on wooden blocks or low stools, gripping the stove edge, staring intently at him.

"You're more diligent than your master today—you've earned the right to tend the stove," Lin Jue said. "Thanks to you holding the stove, it didn't collapse. By tradition, you may eat before your master."

"…"

The three young acolytes exchanged glances.

The junior sister smiled—

Her brother had invented another new excuse.

But looking at them, she understood their thoughts.

The world's chaos now surpassed even ten years ago. Before the eldest brother took them in, Ji Yin and Ji Yang were apprentices in a theater troupe; though only seven or eight, they'd long endured hard training and daily hardship. Little Lingxiao had just been sold by his family—he wasn't from a wealthy household.

They were just like she had once been.

The rule her brother had spoken of—that those who cooked had the right to taste first, especially children—was something she'd never heard before, something she'd learned only from him.

It was a rule utterly unlike the world below the mountain.

These three junior nephews had never heard of it either.

She herself had first thought it disrespectful to senior disciples—these three would think the same.

Yet her own earliest memory of being fed by her brother under the excuse of "tasting the saltiness" had become her most cherished recollection. She imagined that when these three acolytes grew up, this moment would be unforgettable to them too.

As the junior sister watched the three acolytes each reach out, carefully pinch a sliver of meat, and put it in their mouths, she thought this.

But just as she thought it, another spatula, bearing a piece of meat, was extended before her.

"You tended the fire—you earned it too."

Not just her—the fox and the colored raccoon-dog, who had been licking each other nearby, had somehow also earned it, and each got a piece of meat.

Cooking here on the mountain felt like being an ordinary Daoist who knew no cultivation or magic, just as it had been before.

Three meals a day, all grains and staples, had to be handled by themselves. Each disciple had their own skill: those good at pottery made vessels as needed by their brothers; those skilled in cooking prepared meals according to their brothers' tastes, always striving to make them better.

But with disciples gathered around, it was far warmer and livelier.

A pot of winter bamboo shoot and salted pork soup gradually turned milky white, its surface shimmering with oil, releasing a rich, fatty aroma.

Lin Jue took more dough portions, had the three young acolytes wash their hands, and with the junior sister, they flattened, stretched, thinned, and widened them into sheets like blankets, tossed them into the pot to float and sink.

This was the dish all the senior brothers had requested.

When the blanket noodles were cooked, the junior sister brought bowls and arranged them neatly on the stove.

Lin Jue ladled out the soup—one bowl each. The wide, thin noodles, pure white, floated in the milky, oily broth of bamboo and pork, sprinkled with a few green scallion bits, ready to be served.

This was tonight's dinner.

When Lin Jue stepped outside, night had fallen. Outside the door stood mostly middle-aged Daoists—some carrying tables and chairs to the ancient pine, some entering to fetch meals, some coming for chopsticks, some asking their disciples: "Did you learn the Eighth Uncle's divine skill?"

Others reached out to borrow the glow of the dusk's afterglow, hanging it beneath pine branches as light—like lamps, like the sun—casting a gradient of yellow and red through the rising white steam of the blanket noodles, thick with the warmth of home.

"I declare: the method of making blanket noodles shall become, like the Divine Step Technique, a skill every future disciple of Fuqiu Peak must learn!" the seventh brother shouted, chopsticks in hand. "Starting with the next generation!"

"Impressive, little brother," the sixth brother said. "Someone might think you're the temple abbot."

"Huh? That sounds just like something the Third Third Shixiong would say."

"Hahaha…"

"Let's eat! Let's eat!"

"Slurp!"

"Little brother, your skill hasn't faded since the old days!"

"Indeed! Still tastes exactly the same!"

Not a single mistake in content or presentation!

"Too bad the Third Third Shixiong can't eat this!"

"Do you think old Third's suffering out there?"

"Who knows…"

Just as they said this, footsteps sounded outside.

Precisely, the fox heard them first.

It had been savoring its meal when it suddenly turned its head toward the door—then the temple's cloud leopard and slender hound also sensed something.

"Tap-tap!"

A knock came at the door.

"I'll go!"

Ji Yang dashed forward. Outside, a voice asked: "Is this Fuqiu Peak, Fuqiu Temple?"

It was a letter carrier!

Everyone was startled and rose to greet him.

He was dressed as a merchant, heavily clothed, yet shivering with cold, lips blue. He pulled a letter from his chest and handed it to them, then recoiled at the sight of the temple's cloud leopard.

"Don't be afraid—it won't hurt you."

"Yes, yes, yes…"

The eldest brother took the letter, and only then did the man speak:

"I'm a merchant traveling between Huizhou and Qinzhou. In Zhang Ziyun County, northeast of Qinzhou, I encountered a demon and was saved by a Daoist. When he heard I was a Huizhou merchant, he asked where I came from. Since my home is near Yixian, the Daoist, my benefactor, asked me to deliver this letter here. The mountain was hard to find—I took a wrong path and only arrived now."

At these words, everyone exchanged glances.

"Was the Daoist young or old?"

"About thirty, very heroic and striking, rode a horse with a very large sword."

"Luo Laosan…"

Everyone knew at once—it was the Third Third Shixiong they'd just been speaking of.

Letters were hard to deliver; the messenger must not be neglected.

Lin Jue still had plenty of blanket noodles left in the pot—he immediately told the junior sister to ladle out a bowl and invited the merchant to sit and eat.

The eldest brother opened the letter; everyone gathered to watch.

At the same time, they asked the merchant with concern:

"How did you meet that man? How is he doing? Oh, he's my third senior brother—I haven't seen him in years. Could you tell us in detail?"

It was already winter, the weather was terrible—cold and treacherous to travel. I accidentally took a night path and encountered a demon, which claimed to be a celestial soldier under the Eastern Wang Mu, demanding I produce my letter of conversion from the Long Life Sect, saying only followers of the Eastern Wang Mu were permitted to travel at night. I had no knowledge of any of this and was immediately harassed by it.

"Just then, that Daoist also happened to be traveling at night and passed by there."

"That Daoist was truly righteous! And so skilled! He summoned several celestial soldiers and instantly slew those demons!"

The merchant, holding his bowl, shivered from the cold, feeling the warmth radiating from it, yet did not immediately pick up his chopsticks—he began recounting the tale for them.

As he spoke of this, he seemed both relieved and excited by the memory, his face flushed slightly.

"That Daoist looked quite decent—he wore a Daoist robe, and I remember his complexion was good and he was very talkative."

"Oh right—"

"Beside him was a beautiful red-clad immortal maiden!"

"A red-clad woman?"

Everyone exchanged glances.

Especially Lin Jue and his junior sister—their expressions were strange, they stared at each other, silently exchanging glances and thoughts.

And Lin Jue recalled the words of that "Yao Hua Empress"—

"It is fate, it is fortune—not disaster, not misfortune."

"It is coincidence, it is wonder—hard to tell at the moment."

He remembered how, when he'd first heard of them from Master Daoist Qingxuan, one had been chasing while the other fled—he had no idea how the two had come together.

"Honorable traveler, having come from afar, you must be cold and hungry. Don't worry about anything else—this is my younger brother's stewed noodles, still steaming hot. Eat first, warm your belly and your body."

"Yes, yes, yes!"

The merchant was already starving. Hearing this, he said nothing more, lifted the bowl, and began wolfing down the noodles.

The three young Daoist acolytes had no idea what they were looking at, nor why they were so interested in a single letter—it was an adult matter, none of their concern. They simply held their bowls and ate heartily.

Not only the acolytes were astonished—the merchant was too.

He felt the noodles were thin yet chewy, the broth savory without being overpowering; though simple in appearance, it was clearly prepared with great care—containing bamboo shoots and meat, quite substantial. The noodles soaked up the broth, steaming hot, and as they went down, brought a quiet, soothing comfort—he realized, without noticing, that half the bowl was gone.

This temple was remote, yet the food was this delicious!

And looking beside the benches, on the ground—

Even the temple's cloud leopards, slender hounds, foxes, and cats were eating the same meal.

(End of Chapter)