031. IDENTIFIED

He figured it out as he half-walked, half-ran through the night.

How full of secrets the street felt at this small hour. They teased and beckoned beneath the moon, veiled silver-blue in its knowing light. Dead ends looked like doorways; doorways looked like mouths.

A shadow darted across an alley opening ahead of him, bearing the silhouette of stacked steamer baskets on a shoulder pole. Ming Shi carried straight on into the dim passage, following his map.

His footsteps splashed through a glimmering puddle as he ran past a billow of steam. Behind the billow there came the thwack-thwack of someone beating out their washing, getting out stubborn, stray Intent. The soap they were using smelled like mango sherbet.

Above, laundry fluttered like prayer flags—aprons and chef’s robes hung out for the moonlight to cleanse.

He turned left and hurried along a high stone wall with ornate round windows that revealed a courtyard within. A soft, warm light came through one of the windows, and out of the corner of his eye Ming Shi caught a glimpse of a man sitting cross-legged beneath a tree, a lit stove in front of him.

Meditating.

Ming Shi almost laughed.

“Seated meditation until you can identify as something other than stupid.”

Young Master Fang’s insult was more than just mockery. Those words were instructions.

The first step in any cultivator’s journey wasn’t any sort of beginner culinary techniques at all.

It certainly wasn’t lighting flames to heat stoves.

It was the simple act of sitting, breathing, and igniting their first cycle of qi.

“Ensure you have legs.”

He'd been trying to run before he could crawl. He’d been missing that first step, that very first basic, painfully obvious step that really any mortal could take if they wanted.

It just required some self-study with the right cultivation manual and a little—or a lot—of practice and effort.

Good thing I know a guy who does study guides, thought Ming Shi, as he turned into Black Scale Market. The ringing staccato of metallic hammering filled the air, a percussion of repairs and commissions that couldn’t wait for the daylight or preferred the cover of the night.

He reached his destination and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” came the muffled voice of Boss Wu.

Ming Shi pushed the door open and stepped in. Once more he heard and felt the low dong sound that announced his entry.

The shop was as jam-packed packed with equipment as it was when he’d left last night. In fact, it looked like there were some new arrivals. A row of portable kilns had been put on display near the entrance, increasing in size as he made his way past them.

“Well,” said Boss Wu, looking up from the counter he sat behind. He was writing in his ledger by the light of a single flame that cast his face in a dramatic, chiaroscuro shadow. Reaching behind him, he took down something from a shelf. “That was quicker than I expected. I guess you’re here looking for something along these lines?”

Boss Wu held up a manual with a bold title:

Breakthrough for Dummies:
Mortal Cook to Qi Condensation in Just 30 Days!

The cover featured a man and woman striking heroic poses. They were wielding chopsticks and spatulas, channeling flames and blasting qi to soundly roast and defeat a character written in red ink: MORTALITY.

“Yup,” said Ming Shi. “That’ll do.”

Because that’s what it was. That was the step he’d been missing.

He’d missed the obvious fact that breaking through to Qi Condensation was the necessary starting point, not the destination. It came before practicing cultivation techniques, not after.

No wonder the Steady Flame Path: Beginner’s Manual wouldn't open past the first page. It was for beginner cultivators at Early Qi Condensation, not beginner mortals with zero cultivation.

In his defense, Liu Baozi had never had to think about this. He’d been born at Foundation Establishment, skipping mortality and Qi Condensation completely.

All day Ming Shi had been reaching for remembered ability. He’d been trying to push his qi to perform something it had always been able to do: to cultivate through cooking and cook through cultivation.

But the him that he had been treating as a reference point was Liu Baozi. Specifically, Liu Baozi of the Pearlescent Steam Constitution and Foundation Establishment–blessed existence.

He no longer had that spiritual constitution or cultivation level.

He was now Ming Shi, Mortal Cook.

And like every aspiring mortal cultivator that ever lived, he had to begin at the real beginning.

“Why did you tell me to start with the Steady Flame Path: Beginner’s Manual?” said Ming Shi, approaching the counter. He was slightly breathless from how quickly he’d made his way here and also from the minor crisis of realizing he’d been trying to cultivate backwards.

Boss Wu shrugged and grinned. “I wanted to see if a kid from Three Carrot Province could figure out what was wrong.”

Yup, thought Ming Shi, that also sounds about right. Why’d I ask?

Boss Wu handed the manual to Ming Shi—it was heavier than it looked, the weight of desperate hope bound in cheap paper, probably—then clapped his hands smugly. “And so you have! Good news!”

Ming Shi’s eyelid twitched. “Don’t put it that way. Please.”

“Good news,” Boss Wu carried on, ignoring Ming Shi. “The breakthrough from Mortal Cook to Qi Condensation is peewwww.” He shot a pointed finger straight ahead as he made the noise. “Super straightforward.”

A trail of qi had followed his finger and now a row of lamps sprang to life behind him, transforming the store’s lighting to something closer to normal again.

“One conscious, guided cycle of qi through your meridians, that’s all. That’s all it takes to let the Heavens know that you Intend to defy them. Any mortal with enough willpower and patience can do it. You’ve just got to get a mindful handle on your own spiritual anatomy. Just gotta find the right breathing exercises and meditation styles that work for you until you finally get it. In theory, that is.”

Boss Wu leaned back in his chair, smiling as he crossed his arms behind his head.

“Uh-huh,” said Ming Shi wryly. “That’s the real problem, no?”

It was indeed. If it was that easy to achieve, everyone would be at least Qi Condensation. Practically speaking, your success or failure in this first breakthrough depended a lot on the spiritual constitution you were born with: the layout of your meridians, the innate qualities of your qi.

If you were lucky, your constitution did the work and cycled your qi for you. If you were unlucky, you were chock-full of blockages that you might never clear. And, of course, as with anything, having money really helped. The rich could buy pills; the poor were stuck with perseverance.

Still, Ming Shi was glad he’d come and confirmed his revelation. He’d dashed here at Heaven-knows-what-ridiculous-hour because he knew himself too well. If he hadn’t taken some immediate action, he’d have been a tightly wound mess during market hours, unable to enjoy his cooking.

He also knew that the Breakthrough for Dummies manual wasn’t the full solution. It only addressed part of the problem.

Nonetheless, he now had a starting point to get to … well, the starting line.

There was just the small matter of putting theory into practice.

He tucked the manual into his robes decisively.

“Ah-ah-ah,” said Boss Wu. “You haven’t paid.”

“… Can’t this go on my tab?” asked Ming Shi.

“You’ve reached your credit limit with me,” said Boss Wu, smirking.

Ming Shi snorted. “What do you want, then? Obviously you want something.”

“Spring rolls.” Boss Wu’s smirk disappeared. “I want spring rolls.”

“… Seriously?” said Ming Shi.

“Hot. Fresh. Crispy. I like all fillings. Surprise me.” Boss Wu’s eyes misted. His gaze was fixed on Ming Shi but it was clear he wasn’t seeing him. It was as if he was looking straight through him—through to a plate of spring rolls. Or maybe he was looking at Ming Shi as if Ming Shi was a giant spring roll. Either way, there was no mistaking the fact that Boss Wu really liked spring rolls.

“Like, now?” Ming Shi glanced around. He spotted the doorway next to the shelf behind Boss Wu’s back counter. “You have a kitchen back there?”

“Later.” Boss Wu shook himself and his sneaky, snaggletoothed smirk reappeared. He pulled out his ledger and wrote something down. “I'll let you know when. I’ve made a note.”

“Fine,” said Ming Shi. Spring rolls for a breakthrough study guide seemed a fair trade. He hoped Boss Wu kept up with this habit of surprising discounts.

“Before I go,” said Ming Shi, “I have three questions.”

“Shoot,” said Boss Wu. “I might even give a mostly right answer.”

“Where does Chang’s congee rank among the qi-boosting dishes in the Lower District?” asked Ming Shi.

“Top five,” said Boss Wu right away. “And ranking the chefs within that cohort comes down to personal taste. I mean that both gastronomically and in terms of your approach to cultivation.”

“Good,” said Ming Shi. “That brings me to my second question. What kind of tastes does Chang’s congee appeal to?”

“Depends who you ask.” Boss Wu rubbed his hands and smiled. “Chang’s qi-boosts focus on the quality of one’s qi. It’s a subtle thing—and why he has such a cult following. It doesn’t impart a raw power boost, like Milkmist Recovery Sweets. And it doesn’t speed your qi-cycles like Yang Ji’s chicken wings. No, Chang’s congee is adaptive. Based on your condition, it either boosts those aspects of your qi that are particularly strong and unique, or it nourishes and improves the weaknesses in your qi flow that are holding you back. It makes your qi better, simple as that. So you get a nice buzz to work off of right away, and you get well-rounded long-term benefits over time.”

“Great,” said Ming Shi. He nodded. “Last question. What are the penalties for murder in the Lower District?”

“Same as anywhere,” said Boss Wu, chuckling. “Enforceable if you get caught, debatable if you’ve got a reason, and besides the point if you call it a duel. Oh, and if you’re a big enough deal, you just transcend them.”

“Awesome,” said Ming Shi. “Fantastic. Really good to know.”

“Got plans with that knowledge?” asked Boss Wu, resting his chin on one hand.

“Maybe,” said Ming Shi, laughing as he headed for the door.

Courting death is a plan, right?

It counts. I’m sure it does.

The thing that had awoken laughed louder in reply.